Those of you who know me outside of the blog world may know this story already. Some of you may know the director's cut extended version and some may only be familiar with the trailer. This is the chance where I explain how my time in New Zealand was not the enjoyable time that I had hoped it would be, and how my trip of a lifetime got curtailed.
As a disclaimer I want to add that this is no slight on New Zealand. The small part of the country that I visited was wonderful and provided a peek into what the rest of the length of the islands would offer. I just couldn't put my heart into it. My heart was occupied on the other side of the world.
As I've already described in the previous entry, my first few hours in New Zealand were magical. The next morning I woke up to rain. I booked myself on to start my Kiwi Experience tour the following day then headed out for a wet, walking tour of Auckland. As the tour finished I checked my phone. The excitement of getting a working mobile yesterday was about to morph into a critical lifeline. Alerting me on the screen was a missed call, a text and a voicemail from my brother in England. My stomach contracted with panic as I ran through the possible scenarios in my mind. Immediately I knew something was wrong. I had only bid James farewell a few days ago. Heat was rising to my head. I pressed the button to listen to the voicemail message. As I listened to the message the world blurred out around me. The words meant nothing. All sense and comprehension drained away.
My mum had had a stroke.
It was serious but no one knew what was happening. She wasn't awake but they were keeping an eye on her. No one could make any prognosis until she woke up.
It was almost as if I was receiving the news that had been looming for a long time. My mum has never led the healthiest of lifestyles, and coupled with my pessimistic mindset, in the back of my mind I had half expected this type of news for most of my life. I just never expected it to be when I was on completely the opposite side of the globe.
After talking to my brother, the initial deep dark hole that had appeared in front of me was covered over. She was in the best place she could be. There was nothing that I could do. Nobody knew how she would be when she woke up. I was told to stay where I was until someone knew something. It was painful, but it made sense. But then again, sense doesn't really come into it when your mind is racing to all sorts of worst case scenarios.
Nevertheless I attempted the impossible task of taking my mind off the goings-on at home. My family were insisting I stay, at least until there was any further news. They knew how much these travels meant to me. And they did, but it seemed ridiculous to carry on when my Mum needed me. But whilst I was in New Zealand I tried to see as much of it as I could. So I joined the Kiwi Experience bus as I'd planned to head up to Paihia in the Bay of Islands.
I must've been the most miserable Kiwi Experience traveller ever. It has a reputation for being a party bus, and although my fellow passengers weren't whooping it up immediately, they were chatting and making friends. I wasn't in the mood for any of it. Watching the picture-perfect, lush, green hills of the countryside roll by out of the window, I was in my own world. It made me incredibly sad that I couldn't enjoy my experience of this wonderful country as I should. I felt as though I was wasting the experience.
When we reached Paihia I was still preoccupied. To try to clear my mind I went for a walk along the sea shore of the quaint seaside town. The heavy, white clouds were looming on the horizon. The rays of sunshine beaming down on the sparkling sea and the cool air would have made it a perfect evening if I hadn't had the millions of thoughts weighing heavy on my mind. As the sun set, I headed to the hostel to try to see if sleep would resolve any of the issues playing in my mind.
Waking up on the creakiest top bunk in the world, I tried to reach out to my phone without waking everyone else in the dorm. Another voicemail message flashed on the screen. Panic rose in my chest again. What news did they have about Mum? But Mum hadn't changed. This was something else. The news came through that a very dear Uncle of mine had suddenly and unexpectedly suffered a heart attack and passed away. I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. Sat on the top bunk in a hostel dorm, on the other side of the world, surrounded by strangers, I was about to burst into tears. My mind mulled over how my family would be feeling and coping. My heart broke for the pain my Aunty and my cousins must be feeling. My thoughts raced down a thousand different avenues all at once. And although there was nothing I could do for my Uncle, I felt I should be there for the rest of my family. I found it impossible to think how my cousins felt losing their Dad and brand new Grandad. I had to be there for my Mum.
That day we were heading up to Cape Reinga, the most North Westerly tip of New Zealand. It is also a very spiritual place. Despite being a long way from home, I felt comforted by being here. The Maori name of the point, 'Te Rerenga Wairua' means 'the leaping-off place of spirits'. Maoris believe the spirits of the recently deceased travel here to leap off the cliff into the afterlife. Whether or not you share these beliefs, you cannot deny the beauty of the scenery and the dramatic surroundings of the meeting of the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean. As last views go, it's not too bad. I said thank you and goodbye to my Uncle on that breathtaking, windy cliff top. Amongst the throngs of tourists I managed to steal a quiet moment of reflection. Life on Earth is truly beautiful but it is not infinite, and none of us know how far through our journey we are.
I replayed the events and little snippets of news in my mind. I couldn't make sense of it all. Everything seemed like a horrible, horrible nightmare. None of it seemed real, partly because I was sat in a town that was supposedly a paradise with these painful realities happening to my loved ones thousands of miles away and nobody to talk to about it. The events at home felt so far removed from where I was that it was like recalling a long-forgotten scene from a film. In my mind I knew I had to come home.
The logistics of coming home proved a little tricky. Liaising with companies that keep opposite office hours took its toll on my emotions. But eventually I managed to sort it. I would have to wait two days until the flight, but I was set to return to the UK. Somewhat earlier than planned and bypassing my visit to Asia, the wheels were set in motion to return home. As I ended the call to finalise my flights I took stock of the events of the past few days. Sat on the floor of a hostel corridor at two in the morning, the tears came like a flood. The emotions I felt at that point were like no others I'd ever experienced. I felt grief for my Uncle; sorrow for his family; unbelievable worry and concern for my Mum; anxiety over the logistics of buying a new flight; distress over not being able to help my brother; guilt for being uselessly sat by the beach on the other side of the world; uneasiness over having to wait two days to take action; disappointment and anger over abandoning my trip, and then guilt over feeling angry. The emotions were just too confusing and I cried.
But then I went to bed and got some, albeit restless, sleep. Although my heart was right in its desire to be at home and support the people I love, this time was the clearest example in my life that life is for living. The old cliche of life's too short is painfully real. I had one more day in New Zealand before making my long, unexpected journey. Although I couldn't enjoy it as free-spiritedly as I might have a few days previously, I was going to bloody well live my life the best I could for that day.
What would you do with one day in New Zealand?
Sunday 29 June 2014
Monday 23 June 2014
Kia Ora
Get to Auckland two days after leaving LA? This leg of the journey meant crossing the international date line. I was losing a whole Saturday. This was serious travelling now (that's without mentioning the child-like excitement I was experiencing about heading to the Southern hemisphere for the first time; obviously I experimented in the first sink I got to). Whether it was the tiredness from travelling, or maybe my brain is just not capable of processing such time-travel, but I just couldn't get my head around it. Where did the day go? What if I was going to do something important on that day and never got the chance to? All pressing questions swilling around my sleep-deprived, confused mind as I disembarked the plane in Nadi airport, Fiji.
Although it was early in the morning, you could feel the stifling, humid heat as soon as you passed through the plane door. This was the tropics. I could see lush vegetation covering the hills around the airport as we queued along the outside walkway to get through customs. I'm still not sure if I can count Fiji as a country I've visited, but I think I should be able to as I definitely got bitten by a Fijian fly as we tried to dodge the swarms loitering around the lights aiding our passage through the dim dawn light.
Soon, regrettably not as soon as I'd have liked thanks to a backlog of flight delays, I was settling onto the flight to Auckland. It's hard to fully explain to anyone how excited I was at this point. The little sleep I managed on the plane was interrupted by the nervous excitement of tummy butterflies normally reserved for childhood Christmas Eves. In seemingly no time the plane was soaring over the Maori coastline. I admit now I probably infringed the personal space of the young man sat next to me as we prepared for landing (well, they should have given me a window seat).
On landing I thought I may have thrown up. I'm an excellent flyer; it was pure adrenalin-fuelled excitement bubbling in my chest. Grabbing my carry-on bag I queued to get off the plane, onto New Zealand soil whilst smiling around at everyone I could see. At one point I had to refocus my mind onto some mundane task I had to do, because if my thought process kept going in the direction that it was I would break down into floods of happy tears right there in the aisle of that plane.
The extent of planning my time in New Zealand only stretched to booking myself onto a Kiwi Experience tour bus (which was now making me slightly hesitant as most fellow travellers referred to it as the 'party bus'- see the Las Vegas blog entry for my feelings towards "partying"), and the first night's accommodation in an Auckland hostel. But first I had to get to downtown Auckland. No worries. I was easily pointed in the direction of the bus. Another need was to switch my phone to a NZ tariff. No worries. A Vodafone (other mobile companies are available) outlet greeted me from the arrival lounge where a nice young man advised me and set up my new sim (those of you familiar with my technological skills will fully appreciate the appreciation I felt for this service). As I left the airport I was walking on air. It was all going unbelievably smoothly. My heart was so full of joy and anticipation as I rode that bus through to Auckland that even the industrial estates and suburbs we passed looked exciting. To a watching bystander I must've looked like a complete simpleton smiling to myself the whole journey.
That evening, after dumping my bag at the dorm of the hostel, I headed out to explore. Once again I was drawn to the sea. Walking through Auckland ferry port, I soon found myself continuing my journey onto a Devonport bound vessel. Devonport is a suburb on the North Shore, easily accessed by a short ferry ride. I knew nothing about the place as I bought my ticket. But this didn't hinder the enjoyment of my destination. The fresh sea air felt wonderful after almost a day of recycled aeroplane air. Sitting at the back of the ferry, I didn't mind the cool spray hitting me as I surveyed the outline of downtown Auckland on our retreat from the city.
Devonport was a magical step back in time. The range of specialist shops along the high street. The Art Deco cinema. The incredible butterfly that followed me on the trek up Mount Victoria. The kitsch toadstools 'growing' from the headland overlooking the harbour. The wonderfully designed, colourful 50s style houses, all individual, perched on the hillside. I treated myself to a taste of home as I sat eating my fish and chips from the paper, on a bench along the promenade to watch the comings and goings of the harbour as the sun was setting.
It was a very good day.
I feel maybe it was too good.
That was the hi light of my time in New Zealand. A memory I will cherish forever. Even writing about it now raises an aching feeling of bittersweet joy from my stomach to my throat. But it strengthens my resolve to return to properly release those butterflies of excited anticipation that are still bursting to escape.
Although it was early in the morning, you could feel the stifling, humid heat as soon as you passed through the plane door. This was the tropics. I could see lush vegetation covering the hills around the airport as we queued along the outside walkway to get through customs. I'm still not sure if I can count Fiji as a country I've visited, but I think I should be able to as I definitely got bitten by a Fijian fly as we tried to dodge the swarms loitering around the lights aiding our passage through the dim dawn light.
Soon, regrettably not as soon as I'd have liked thanks to a backlog of flight delays, I was settling onto the flight to Auckland. It's hard to fully explain to anyone how excited I was at this point. The little sleep I managed on the plane was interrupted by the nervous excitement of tummy butterflies normally reserved for childhood Christmas Eves. In seemingly no time the plane was soaring over the Maori coastline. I admit now I probably infringed the personal space of the young man sat next to me as we prepared for landing (well, they should have given me a window seat).
On landing I thought I may have thrown up. I'm an excellent flyer; it was pure adrenalin-fuelled excitement bubbling in my chest. Grabbing my carry-on bag I queued to get off the plane, onto New Zealand soil whilst smiling around at everyone I could see. At one point I had to refocus my mind onto some mundane task I had to do, because if my thought process kept going in the direction that it was I would break down into floods of happy tears right there in the aisle of that plane.
The extent of planning my time in New Zealand only stretched to booking myself onto a Kiwi Experience tour bus (which was now making me slightly hesitant as most fellow travellers referred to it as the 'party bus'- see the Las Vegas blog entry for my feelings towards "partying"), and the first night's accommodation in an Auckland hostel. But first I had to get to downtown Auckland. No worries. I was easily pointed in the direction of the bus. Another need was to switch my phone to a NZ tariff. No worries. A Vodafone (other mobile companies are available) outlet greeted me from the arrival lounge where a nice young man advised me and set up my new sim (those of you familiar with my technological skills will fully appreciate the appreciation I felt for this service). As I left the airport I was walking on air. It was all going unbelievably smoothly. My heart was so full of joy and anticipation as I rode that bus through to Auckland that even the industrial estates and suburbs we passed looked exciting. To a watching bystander I must've looked like a complete simpleton smiling to myself the whole journey.
That evening, after dumping my bag at the dorm of the hostel, I headed out to explore. Once again I was drawn to the sea. Walking through Auckland ferry port, I soon found myself continuing my journey onto a Devonport bound vessel. Devonport is a suburb on the North Shore, easily accessed by a short ferry ride. I knew nothing about the place as I bought my ticket. But this didn't hinder the enjoyment of my destination. The fresh sea air felt wonderful after almost a day of recycled aeroplane air. Sitting at the back of the ferry, I didn't mind the cool spray hitting me as I surveyed the outline of downtown Auckland on our retreat from the city.
Devonport was a magical step back in time. The range of specialist shops along the high street. The Art Deco cinema. The incredible butterfly that followed me on the trek up Mount Victoria. The kitsch toadstools 'growing' from the headland overlooking the harbour. The wonderfully designed, colourful 50s style houses, all individual, perched on the hillside. I treated myself to a taste of home as I sat eating my fish and chips from the paper, on a bench along the promenade to watch the comings and goings of the harbour as the sun was setting.
It was a very good day.
I feel maybe it was too good.
That was the hi light of my time in New Zealand. A memory I will cherish forever. Even writing about it now raises an aching feeling of bittersweet joy from my stomach to my throat. But it strengthens my resolve to return to properly release those butterflies of excited anticipation that are still bursting to escape.
Monday 9 June 2014
Planes, bikes and automobiles
Our road trip was coming to an end. We were on the final leg of Route 66 heading to Santa Monica. But to get to that seaside resort, we had to drive through the great, sprawling city of Los Angeles. This section of road swiftly became my most hated road of all time. It is well known that residents of LA have an almost physical aversion to walking which means that the car is king. I'm not arguing about the need for a car; the sheer size of the city underlines the automobile necessity. What I am going to moan about is the traffic.
Where do all the cars come from? Where are all the people going in their cars? And my most pertinent question: how do LA locals deal with this madness on a daily basis? As we drove from our hotel towards the coast, we got engulfed in the longest, widest mass of cars I've ever seen. Six lanes wide on either side of the carriageway and both moving at a crawl. I cannot recall the name of the road due to the fact that all these arteries cutting through LA are pretty much identical to the unaccustomed eye. All huge, beige coloured ribbons of concrete with repeated signs and flooded with the same insane volume of vehicles.
It took so long to get anywhere that you had to give yourself a good few hours head start to get to where you wanted to be at a certain time. We left our hotel with the plan to get to Santa Monica and we arrived AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER. This was a 19 MILE journey. Our destination was in the SAME city. We were driving a CAR. How is this possible?
Anyway, moving on (breathe), we reached the Pacific Ocean. And it was beautiful. My mantra is always 'Life is better by the sea' and it was certainly true on that day. I watched the blue sea lap against the pale, golden sand and my traffic stresses eased. Unlike the hoards of sun seekers at a British seaside when the sun shines, the California sands stretched on for miles with only a handful of people enjoying the scene. The numbers swelled as we headed towards the more commercial areas such as the world famous Santa Monica pier.
It was on this pier that our Route 66 journey reached its end. The official end of the Mother Road is the end of the pier. As driving down the pedestrianised pier is frowned upon, we left the car in the car park (not the freeway, the real car park) and walked to our final destination. In some ways it was a bit of an anticlimax, but it definitely felt good to get closure. We might not have started the road in Chicago, but we finished it in the right way. The romance surrounding the significance of this end of the road was everywhere. Memorabilia boards, souvenir shops and signposts EVERYWHERE! But I suppose that was what we had come for. We had driven off into the sunset as far as we could get without sinking the car.
Now all we had to do was turn around and head back the way we came. From the edge of the pier we hired bicycles to help us make the most of the short time we had by the coast. We spent a few hours cycling down and up the beach cycle path, past lots of beach communities and stopping for a little while in Venice Beach. It was as colourful, relaxed and oddball as I'd imagined. Passing the range of tie-dyed artists, book sellers, tattoo studios, jugglers, dancing violinists, fast-food stands and the magnificent roller-blading, electric-guitar playing rasta-man, I wondered how anyone got anything done. But I guess it's a different way of life there. I have a feeling I may never be cool enough to pull off that lifestyle, but for a few hours, cycling along that beautifully eclectic community on the beach, with the sun shining on me, I became part of that rich tapestry of life.
Later that day, I had to make another journey. This one would be a little longer (even taking into account the traffic-extended car journey time). I was to continue my journey by plane to head across the Pacific to Fiji and then to New Zealand. Inside my head and my heart was a storm of emotions. I had been looking forward to this leg of the journey since I had the tiniest germination of an idea for these travels. I had spent my whole life anticipating my visit to New Zealand and so I was incredibly excited. But I also felt a sadness gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I had spent the past 15 days experiencing new places across America with my Dad and my brother, who I hadn't seen for the previous two months. Before I met up with them I had gotten used to travelling independently. Yet since our reunion, despite their ongoing, small irritations, I had grown used to having them around. Now I was to strike out on my own again, heading to far away, exotic lands without seeing close family for another two months. It was like the initial separation all over again.
My stomach began to do backflips as we drove to the airport (a situation that wasn't helped by the fact that despite leaving extra early, the evil LA traffic still almost hindered my check-in timing) for me to start this next part of my journey. I kept the goodbyes brief at the passenger drop off point; if the next few months were to go anywhere near as quickly as the past few, I'd be back having a cup of tea in England in the blink of an eye.
And in the meantime, there was a hell of a lot more world to see. New Zealand has a long way to go to live up to my expectations. Only one way to find out if they do. Hoist that backpack up and in the words of Whitesnake: Here I go again on my own...
Where do all the cars come from? Where are all the people going in their cars? And my most pertinent question: how do LA locals deal with this madness on a daily basis? As we drove from our hotel towards the coast, we got engulfed in the longest, widest mass of cars I've ever seen. Six lanes wide on either side of the carriageway and both moving at a crawl. I cannot recall the name of the road due to the fact that all these arteries cutting through LA are pretty much identical to the unaccustomed eye. All huge, beige coloured ribbons of concrete with repeated signs and flooded with the same insane volume of vehicles.
It took so long to get anywhere that you had to give yourself a good few hours head start to get to where you wanted to be at a certain time. We left our hotel with the plan to get to Santa Monica and we arrived AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER. This was a 19 MILE journey. Our destination was in the SAME city. We were driving a CAR. How is this possible?
Anyway, moving on (breathe), we reached the Pacific Ocean. And it was beautiful. My mantra is always 'Life is better by the sea' and it was certainly true on that day. I watched the blue sea lap against the pale, golden sand and my traffic stresses eased. Unlike the hoards of sun seekers at a British seaside when the sun shines, the California sands stretched on for miles with only a handful of people enjoying the scene. The numbers swelled as we headed towards the more commercial areas such as the world famous Santa Monica pier.
It was on this pier that our Route 66 journey reached its end. The official end of the Mother Road is the end of the pier. As driving down the pedestrianised pier is frowned upon, we left the car in the car park (not the freeway, the real car park) and walked to our final destination. In some ways it was a bit of an anticlimax, but it definitely felt good to get closure. We might not have started the road in Chicago, but we finished it in the right way. The romance surrounding the significance of this end of the road was everywhere. Memorabilia boards, souvenir shops and signposts EVERYWHERE! But I suppose that was what we had come for. We had driven off into the sunset as far as we could get without sinking the car.
Now all we had to do was turn around and head back the way we came. From the edge of the pier we hired bicycles to help us make the most of the short time we had by the coast. We spent a few hours cycling down and up the beach cycle path, past lots of beach communities and stopping for a little while in Venice Beach. It was as colourful, relaxed and oddball as I'd imagined. Passing the range of tie-dyed artists, book sellers, tattoo studios, jugglers, dancing violinists, fast-food stands and the magnificent roller-blading, electric-guitar playing rasta-man, I wondered how anyone got anything done. But I guess it's a different way of life there. I have a feeling I may never be cool enough to pull off that lifestyle, but for a few hours, cycling along that beautifully eclectic community on the beach, with the sun shining on me, I became part of that rich tapestry of life.
Later that day, I had to make another journey. This one would be a little longer (even taking into account the traffic-extended car journey time). I was to continue my journey by plane to head across the Pacific to Fiji and then to New Zealand. Inside my head and my heart was a storm of emotions. I had been looking forward to this leg of the journey since I had the tiniest germination of an idea for these travels. I had spent my whole life anticipating my visit to New Zealand and so I was incredibly excited. But I also felt a sadness gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I had spent the past 15 days experiencing new places across America with my Dad and my brother, who I hadn't seen for the previous two months. Before I met up with them I had gotten used to travelling independently. Yet since our reunion, despite their ongoing, small irritations, I had grown used to having them around. Now I was to strike out on my own again, heading to far away, exotic lands without seeing close family for another two months. It was like the initial separation all over again.
My stomach began to do backflips as we drove to the airport (a situation that wasn't helped by the fact that despite leaving extra early, the evil LA traffic still almost hindered my check-in timing) for me to start this next part of my journey. I kept the goodbyes brief at the passenger drop off point; if the next few months were to go anywhere near as quickly as the past few, I'd be back having a cup of tea in England in the blink of an eye.
And in the meantime, there was a hell of a lot more world to see. New Zealand has a long way to go to live up to my expectations. Only one way to find out if they do. Hoist that backpack up and in the words of Whitesnake: Here I go again on my own...
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