June 1, 2010
“Once in a while you get shown the light, In the strangest of places if you look at it right” – Scarlet Begonias, Grateful Dead
For the past couple of weeks I’ve felt crappy. Not physically ill but emotionally drained. The unrelenting, cold wet weather is draining. I hate having cold feet but that seems to be every day and night even though I wear thick socks in my imitation Ugg boots. The clouds never part and the skies have opened up on this northwest corner of the South Island. This is not remarkable, or unpredictable weather. People here don’t seem to mind or notice it, but it’s rough for me. I have always been a bit of a weather whiner. Certainly it’s a product of my blessed San Diego upbringing and not a sign that I’m being a puss. Either way, I’m tired of the rain. Everywhere I go it is washing out hiking trails, making roads un-drivable and closing tourist-related companies like kayak rentals and hiking guides. More than a few of my recent days have been spent in the relative warmth of a tiny hostel in a blip of a town on the motorway. There are so many beautiful places I want to see and the weather is conspiring against me.
Compounding my issues is the spate of bad luck I have suffered lately. My laptop power cable blew a fuse so I was forced off course to Christchurch to fix it. It was under warranty and Dell took care of it quickly and for free, but I still had to drive 400 km away from my desired destination. A week and a half later, a couple of blown heater hoses to the radiator and I was confined to Westport for two days. Westport is a gateway city, hardly a destination. One of my big hopes for the West Coast was that I would get some decent surf. It had been more than a month since my last surf session and I was itching to get back in the water. Among Kiwis, the West Coast is legendary for its big and consistent surf. Even though the surf reports predicted good things and I checked every surf spot in the book between Okarito and Karamea, there was nothing of note. It was always blown out and never bigger than waist high. I got skunked.
But these are hardly problems of note. These are the pebbles on the road of life. In all of my downtime, made vulnerable by my discomfort, I had too much time to think. I was lonely. I didn’t understand it until after phone calls with Dad and my former travel companion Lauren, but it became clear and embarrassingly obvious. So many days on the road and I am craving some stability and predictability. I want to start re-building my life. I want friends and social circles and planned activities. I miss sharing meals with people I care about. There is more to see in NZ. There will always be more to see. It is impossible to see it all. I have always known that, but as I traveled and my nebulous plans came to fruition it was clear that my plans weren’t big enough. Three and a half months ago I arrived in NZ with the intention of traveling for about 2 months. Never did I think that I would have to make arrangements to be in a city where the US v England World Cup match will be broadcast in the middle of June. I just assumed that I would have settled into a more conventional life pattern by then.
At the moment I’m in Nelson, the largest city at the north end of the South Island. I was here 4 days ago after leaving the rain of the West Coast behind me. No one informed the beautiful city of Nelson, however and it has rained every day. I arrived on Friday evening and the following morning I was wandering the local farmer’s market when my buddy Tyler texted me with an invite to join him in Kaikoura for a weekend of surf. It was perfect timing. Even though I spent three days huddling for warmth, trying to ignore howling winds, lashing rain and near freezing temperatures I was doing it with a friend. It felt really good to have a shared experience again. Now that I’m back in Nelson, I have a few days to check out the Golden and Tasman Bay regions. I’ve already booked my ferry back to Wellington. There is a home stretch to my travels. I’m not on it yet, but I can see it coming.
