If you go, you should know, it matters not where, but why.

I’ve always been a fan of circles, mostly because I encounter them constantly. If you look carefully enough, if you pay attention, if you stop to smell the proverbial roses, you start to notice patterns. Arguing their meaning is, well, meaningless. It doesn’t matter if they matter. But they are there, and as I sit here in the airport in Nadi, Fiji, stewing in the 30° evening air, swatting away memories of my first steps into this last adventure with the flies, I find myself at yet another end at the beginning, and left once again in awe of the universe, in all its subtlety.

 

I flew Air Pacific from LA here back in February, on my way to Asia. I’m taking the same airline back to the States, via my first stop on this leg of travel, Fiji. Just as I found myself again in Rome on my way back from Europe, realizing it had been a year nearly to the day since I’d first stepped foot in the ancient Italian capital on my first European adventure. How is it that I continuously seem to find myself back where I started? Whatever the reason, I’m eternally grateful for the opportunity for comparison. Sometimes it’s difficult to appreciate how far we’ve come until we circle back to the beginning.

 

 

I’m staring down a blinking cursor, feeling the fluttering electricity of the hundred thousand words I want to make it conjure, but unable to translate, unable to properly select the vernacular of my mind, heart, and soul at present. I feel as though I’ve lived four lifetimes since I left, and I have no idea how to describe that in words. I will say, however, that beginning tomorrow I’ll be in the careful hands of my nearest and dearest, my family, and a string of long lost friends, and though it was sad to leave my mates in Auckland, my loyal beautiful companions who gave me so much with what I consider to be inadequate reciprocation, I am elated with the prospect of these next few months. I’m beginning to think of America as some foreign, exotic land that I’m looking forward to exploring. I feel removed enough to be able to examine it from a cultural standpoint, fascinated and probably baffled.

 

 

 

But before I throw my musings into the speculative abyss of the future, allow me to toss a spotlight onto the past few weeks, my much anticipated journey to the South Island…

 

 

 

 

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

 

 

I tarried in Auckland long enough to catch Anika Moa, one of my favorite kiwi musicians, at the Spiegeltent, one of my favorite venues, with Karen. The show was part of the Auckland Fringe Festival, and the Spiegeltent, which travels around the world to different Fringe events, was the very same as it was when my flatmates and I saw Camille in Edinburgh. (We even sat in the same seats… circles again.) It’s designed to reflect the nuances of a traveling circus, one of my favorite themes (past life, I’m convinced), and the atmosphere lent itself beautifully to Anika’s immaculate voice and spunky style. It was a great show.

 

The next day I caught a flight down to Nelson, where I was promptly adopted by a couchsurfing family, Nerissa and Darren. I spent several days being spoiled by homecooked family meals, my own room, and comic books and board games with their 12-year-old son, Ian. I spent a day hiking around the legendary Abel Tasman National Park, but otherwise just enjoyed chilling out for the first time in six months. (I also got a psychic reading in town that was, to say the least, very interesting. I’ll let you know if I actually end up a gypsy.)

 

I didn’t really know where specifically to go next, so I set out hitching. My first lift took me all the way out to the west coast, and from there I caught a series of rides until I made it to Franz Joseph. I spent the night in a hostel with the trio of German girls who had gotten me there, and met Hilary along the way, an Aquarian from Nova Scotia who shared my state of mind. We took a midnight walk through the woods to find glow worms, and along the way discussed every topic under the stars. She had just completed a meditation course similar to the one I did at Suan Mokkh and had made some important self discoveries in her travels. Both of us felt as though we had finally cut loose and reconnected with ourselves, and were back on the right paths. She slipped a bracelet she had made me into my backpack the next day.

 

I spent most of the day exploring the glaciers, surprised and refreshed that most of the trails around the area were free (too many natural wonders in NZ charge admission). I got on the road that night and headed all the way down the remainder of the coast with a couple of Swedish guys. (As it turns out, they had spent some time with Hilary the night before, and she had used one of their wrists to measure my bracelet.) After a long ride and a stop over in Wanaka, we carried through to Queenstown as the sun was setting, casting lovely light onto the cliffsides as we traversed intensely winding mountain passes. I found a bed in a hostel and got up early to investigate trips to Milford Sound, the top of everyone’s suggestion list. A couple of guys from Sydney in the lobby overheard my inquiries and offered to drive me out there, since they were on their way anyway (easiest hitch ever). We drove four hours through some more breathtaking countryside and caught a boat out into the sound, which is actually a fjord. The weather was stunning (the guide kept reminding us of how bafflingly lucky we were to have such a perfect day), but I was a little disappointed, since the usually numerous, boisterous waterfalls were nonexistent in the sun, and the Tasman Sea was placid, as the Tasman never should be. But far be it from me to complain about Milford Sound. There were dolphins and seals and overall, pretty spectacular.

 

The Aussie boys and I stayed the night at a backpackers in Te Anau, but not before hitting the local pub (they were Australian, after all). You can’t beat lively discussions, bad bar music, and pool, especially in a small NZ town.

 

We went back to Queenstown the following day, where I immediately booked an overnight cruise to Doubtful Sound. It wasn’t for another two days, however, which gave me some time to kill. I don’t believe in killing time and have trouble staying still for too long, so naturally I decided to jump off a cliff.

 

I started slow with a paraglide, reasoning that while I love heights and views, I hate drops, and a paraglide would cut the plummeting out of the equation. I hooked into my tandem and, with a running leap, jumped from the mountain face into what proved to be a gorgeous, though rather boring ride. It was too easy, so I decided to kick it up a notch and try a hang glide. Nice weather was once again against me, as we waited an hour for a breath of wind. My fellow hang glider was a 60-something Australian lady on holiday for a few weeks, who was terrified of heights, but determined to prove to her kids that she could do it. She ended up having the best time, and though I hardly knew her, I was proud.

 

I got to talking to the instructors, Sean and Niall, and they invited me to crash at their flat of some fifteen international people, one of which (Brian) I had met the night before anyway (it’s a small town). Early the next morning, after a rather sleepless night, I embarked on my Doubtful Sound excursion, which ended up being discounted 50% simply because the boat had malfunctioned and the tour organizers had to cut kayaking out of the equation (it had been so long since I’d done a tour catering to Western tourists… the concession, to me, was immense, infinitely surprising, and exceedingly helpful). On the boat ride across Lake Manapouri (apparently one of the most beautiful places in NZ when it snows) I met Ben from DC who became my buddy on the trip. Once across the lake there was another bus to take us to yet another boat (this is why I didn’t hitch this trip). It was misty and rainy, as Fjordland should be. We tooled around the sound (another misnomer, actually a fjord), saw waterfalls and seals, learned about the flora, fauna, and history of the area, then settled in to a massive buffet dinner and some lively conversation with a small group of travelers we had assembled. The morning brought sunrise and another huge meal, as well as more drifting around. We all agreed we wanted to jump ship and live forever on one of the small islands that dot the fjord.

 

I made my way back to Queenstown and again met up with Sean for one last coffee. He was kind enough to give me a lift out of town, which turned into a lift nearly half way to Invercargill. From there it was a series of rides until I hit it. My last lift was a lady called Rose who offered to let me stay the night at her house (her daughter was away at camp and I was more than welcome to sleep in her room). It turned out to be fate. Rose is one of the few people I’ve met who traveled like me, even more intensely. She went through Asia in the 80’s with only a small backpack, among other remarkable feats. Now she’s a lawyer, specifically an advocate for children, which is the field I’m interested in going into. To top it off, her husband Mike turned out to be a clinical psychologist. The three of us could have stayed up talking all night, and very nearly did.

 

In the morning, Mike drove me to the outskirts of town for my toughest hitch. It took me six rides and four hours to get from Invercargill to Curio and Porpoise Bay, which I was prepared for ahead of time (Annika, a Danish girl I’d met on the Doubtful Sound cruise, warned me that going through the Catlins Mountains is tough going for a hitchhiker, but well worth it). My last lift was an elderly gentleman named Jim who took care of the grounds around the campsite and had been living in the area for 15 years. After driving me around to show me the highlights, he convinced me to stay and dropped me at a hostel he knew to be good. There I met Tim and Dave, a couple of Americans, and Eva, a Swiss girl cycling around NZ, and the four of us set out to explore the famed petrified forest, search in vain for penguins, and hang out with the nearly domesticated sea lions in the area. We made dinner and enjoyed a quite night of books and tea, enveloped in a gale force storm throwing a tantrum outside.

 

The next day a Canadian girl called Christie, who had been staying at the backpackers as well, offered to give me a ride as far as Surat Bay. It was a random, last minute union, but we ended up having quite a bit in common. Along the way we stopped to check out the Cathedral Caves and a short hike up to a dazzling waterfall. In the end I decided to stay the night with her in Surat Bay. We made some dinner and set out exploring, missing the penguins (again) but catching some incredible views from a lighthouse nearby.

 

The next day I grabbed a lift to Dunedin, which took me entirely by surprise. It was my favorite city by far, the cultural atmosphere of Wellington coupled with the teeming energy of a university town. It didn’t hurt that the Fringe Festival was in town, as well as the NZ Documentary Film Fest that I was gutted to have missed in Auckland. I spent a satiating couple of days drinking in a desperately needed heroine-esque dose of culture. There were two documentaries that I managed to squeeze in, one about Nepalese women during the Maoist Revolution, and another about a Palestinian boy whose father made the courageous decision to donate his organs after he had been accidentally shot by an Israeli soldier. There was a play by a local playwright about the trials and tribulations of his half Samoan / half English background, that explored domestic violence, growth, change, and culture (it had a talented cast of three who switched brilliantly between a wide range of characters). There was a circus/cabaret show that concluded in fire dancing, fire eating, and fire juggling (my days in Edinburgh came shooting back to me). And finally, there was a small matinee folk show, featuring two bands: The Tomato Plants are new to the scene, which showed, but the lead singer had a remarkable voice, and the uke player looked and sounded like Seth Rogen. (Who knows? Maybe it was Seth Rogen.) The other band, Delgirl, is exactly what I want to be when I grow up. A trio of 50-something women whose voices blend so harmoniously together they sound like a river. One played guitar, another played upright electric bass, and the third played an array of instruments, including the uke, the banjo, and the drums. (The latter looked like Tina Fey. I don’t think it was Tina Fey, though.) I was immediately enamored.

 

I stayed with Ani, and Egyptian born kiwi studying medicine who I found on CS. She was so easy going and fun to be around, and her friends were fabulous. My friend Tim, who I’d met in Curio Bay, joined me for the Fringe as well, and between the three of us and Ani’s friends there was never a dull moment. One day Tim and I spent wandering around the botanic gardens and the museum, finding oddities everywhere and just laughing at everything.

 

On my last day I finally connected with Katherine, my friend Alex’s sister. Alex had insisted that we were fated to be friends, and we both knew he’d never forgive us if we didn’t meet up. She showed up with her six-month-old son Ezra (who, by the way, she had dressed as a bumble bee) and treated me to the butterfly exhibit at the museum. We immediately bonded.

 

After wandering around the curiosities in the attic of the museum, Katherine dropped me near her home north of Dunedin to catch a lift to Christchurch. My last ride was a couple of guys from Ashburton who invited me to join them for laser tag once we got to the city. I of course accepted and ended up just crashing with them for the night. One of the guys, Jon, agreed to drive me all the way to Kaikoura the next day, since I wanted to go and he hadn’t been in ages. We made it up just as the sun was setting and decided to sleep in the car, partly to save the money, and partly just for the experience. I’ve never been more freezing in my life, but it was all worth it to see the sun rise over the sea, painting the snow capped mountains in soft pastels.

 

In the end, we bagged the whale watching idea because we were told no one had seen whales in days, and decided to head back to town.

 

Two hours outside of Christchurch, we got into a car wreck. Everyone’s fault (and, thus, no one’s fault), we hit a van that decided last minute, without looking, to make a right turn as we were overtaking traffic. It was bad, but it should have been a lot worse. Had Jon not regained control of the car, we might have ended up crashing into a garage, into fuel pumps, into a fuel truck, or into any one of the parked or moving cars nearby. It was also pretty impressive that it happened in front of the only garage for miles. Overall, pretty lucky, though it gave me a nasty case of whiplash. At everyone else’s insistence, and since health care is free, I opted to get it checked out, which meant a ridiculous looking spectacle of a neck brace and an ambulance ride down to Christchurch. It was my last hitch. Figures.

 

Once at the hospital, the doctors decided blood tests and x-rays were unnecessary, pumped me full of pain killers and sent me on my way. I spent my remaining time in the city trying to figure out how to backpack my way back to New York with a sore neck and back, but the pain has, to my very pleasant surprise, already subsided (which is good because I seem to have acquired far too much crap again and am back to looking like a pregnant turtle until I make it home.)

 

I made it back to Auckland and was greeted at the airport by Karen, who was kind enough to pick me up. Once I got home, Channy and Nicky invited me over to Jason’s for dinner. The next day (yesterday) the La Zeppa kids met me for a lovely picnic in the sun and an evening of pizza at Frances’ house. I got my proper goodbyes from the people who made my hectic, stupid, dumbfounding schedule in Auckland manageable. For most of them, it doesn’t really feel like goodbye anyway. I know in my heart that I’ll meet many of them again, for we’ve all got that spark to get out there and go, and in that we’re bonded.

 

Besides, the word “goodbye” seems to have been replaced by the word “facebook” anyway.

 

 

 

So, here, again, in familiar Fiji, at the end of the beginning all over again, I realize: a year ago, I was knee-deep in a meditative silence in a Thai monastery. A year from now…?

 

…Well, where do you think you’ll be?

 

 

 

 

 

xo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Cause it’s a winding road
I’ve been walking for a long time
I still don’t know where it goes
and it’s a long way home
I’ve been searching for a long time
I still have hope
I’m gonna find my way home

all these dreams took me so far
and I felt I just couldn’t go on
and I want to hang out the window of your car
and see just how good this baby can run…