Oh, New Zealand: the memories that will stick + a note to my good friend

My New Zealand vacation - a two week whirlwind that included an ultramarathon and backpacking two of the country’s “Great Walks” -  took place over two months ago, and I haven’t been able to distill all the activities into separate blog posts as I thought might be ideal - organized by activity, summarized with action items and resource links - you know the kind. I’ve tried several time, but instead, I keep coming back to a journal entry I made at the trip’s end. It recaps my sentiments exactly, and if there’s more to say, I suppose it’ll come later. 

One note of explanation - I wrote this as a message to Erin, my best friend and travel buddy. In our two years of friendship, we’ve traveled to more new places than I’d been in the previous five, our wanderlust matched only by a mutual thirst for adventure and desire to explore everything this diverse, beautiful, chaotic world has to offer.

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Now that it's all said and done, what will be my favorite, enduring memory of this vacation? 

Maybe the ultramarathon - my most challenging 50K yet, with hills that never seemed to end - ushering runners through forests of towering redwoods, across lush, mint-green pastures dotted with bleating sheep, climbing several (5?!) fences on the way, then sliding butt-down, feet-first on steep, muddy trails that had succumbed to heavy rain and footfall. It finally ended on a stony, narrow beach with a steep uphill finish where you greeted me with a smile and ecstatic hug, before leading the way to find a hot meal and cold beer. 

Perhaps it will be the "awkward goodbye" shared with a friend we'd made from Holland when parting ways on the Routeburn Track. He met my eager-American-bear-hug with a delicate cheek kiss (an attempt to avoid my wet poncho), to the laughing amusement of other backpackers looking on, who then coached us all through a variety of goodbye customs, ending in a fist bump (“box", according to our Dutch friend), which I proceeded to follow up with another wet bear hug anyway. 

Or, it could be the morning I sat cold and shivering, on a wooden platform high above a body of swirling water as my feet were securely tied together and attached to a bungy cord in preparation to jump off a bridge. I was following your flawless performance (you made it look so easy), only to realize that actually jumping would have been against my will, and the since the handsome bungy employee’s hand was resting on the small of my back not in an effort to comfort me, but because he wanted to push me off that bridge and into the abyss, I should probably woman up and admit that bungy is not my bag. The moment I made that decision and stepped back from the ledge, you were there, reassuring and validating, letting me know it was OK.

And finally, like you, I didn't mind being constantly mistaken for a college student. I know New Zealanders have a reputation for being excessively kind, so that may have been a factor, but this is a fun memory, and something we should enjoy while it lasts, because I do have the occasional gray, and I'm pretty sure that's not on the list of spring break criteria. 

This trip took me out of my comfort zone - though I was sure it had been shattered a while ago - and I'm thankful for it. You taught me to live out of a backpack for days at a time, surviving on ramen and instant coffee and carefully rationed chocolate - and to feel richer for having done so. I think I accepted a thing or two about my own limits as well (both physical and mental), and my inclination to throw them out the window probably more often than I should. I realize more clearly that I need a measure of rest and a few simple creature comforts to feel at peace, and you reminded me that I have everything I need to make that happen. 

I think, in the end, my clearest memory of our time in New Zealand may be that day we glimpsed a snow-capped mountain through dense clouds that raced before our eyes as we leaned back for rest on the rugged Routeburn Track, a rock wall supporting our heavy packs, a steep ledge just steps before us. We caught our breath and sipped water, commenting on how thankful we were that conditions weren’t any worse (it was only gray with a light drizzle at the moment). A hut warden had said the sky would "rain itself out", and it seemed he'd been correct until seconds later, when hail started to fall, hard and fast, bouncing off our ponchos, rolling onto the muddy, puddled trail. We looked at each other, wide-eyed in surprise, then burst into laughter, the optimism of our previous exchange revealing its truth as flimsy. We tucked our water tubes away, shifted back under the weight of our packs, then walked on, miles from the next shelter, and content with the journey we were taking.

​My friend, you are a very patient, kind, caring, playful person and I wouldn't have taken this trip, or had such a rich life experience without you. I hope it's one of many more.