I never knew red pepper would cost me so much money until I came to New Zealand.
I fancied myself a global citizen with a knack for efficiency, creative ideas and forward thinking in my travels. I was 45 years old with 43 countries visited under my belt, many months living abroad in various places, and even a suite of trips I crafted for other people’s enjoyment as part of my career working in philanthropy. I had backpacked in Alaska, journeyed on a camel in Jordan, rowed in pangas along Honduras’ Moskitia coast, so I could figure out how to craft a four year-old friendly itinerary as a solo traveling parent in a country we had never been. I have memories of driving a Segway in Rome’s city streets at night, burning my leg along the muffler of a motorcycle in Viet Nam, and sleeping with cockroaches on a bare mattress in Ecuador, so driving on the left side of the road was within reach.
One of the kindest things my late mother ever said to me was, “Linds, you could live and find your way anywhere in the world.” I didn’t know it then but she was right; she saw me before I saw myself. Adventuring was a super power of mine, and it took me 45 years to finally embrace it.
A few months ago, I found myself in a unique moment where I had the time, the dollars, the interest and some work and personal connections on the ground to explore a new country: New Zealand. Following the birth of my son, the coronavirus pandemic, the loss of both parents, a full career, and an abundant blended family life in the last four years, I snatched that kismet up and ordered my Lonely Planet guide to this marvelous place. Let the wonderings begin…
Fast forward to 10 days ago when Chase and I are walking off the international flight, relatively free of jetlag thanks to the epic “skycouch” feature on Air New Zealand, and I get slammed with a $230 USD fine for bringing in three slices of red pepper in my son’s snack box. Suffering from a foggy head following a 13 hour overnight flight while parenting a four year-old, I simply forgot how much he had consumed throughout the duration of the flight. I assumed the snackbox was empty, I guess? I don’t even have a good answer for this error. My best mother self (in the comfort of my own home, in my routines and familiar ecosystems) would have made me sharper on this detail. But, hell, I got it wrong this time. Caffeine-less and now without any snacks to give my boy as we awaited my financial sentence from the kind Kiwis greeting us foreigners at the customs hurdle of arrivals, I was humbled. That was the start of our road trip in New Zealand.
We started our journey in Auckland, where I rented a harborside apartment across from the Maritime Museum. Chase loved the ocean views and the ferry sounds, and I was pleased with myself for taking on a new urban center and all the headaches that tend to come with it – bag transfers with high security doors and elevators, city car parking, corner stores, higher costs in general. But I was motivated to show my son as many different types of landscapes and “ways to do life” as possible. I wanted him to develop a range in which he could “find home” regardless of location or surrounding company. Travel was a practice for living in peace within ourselves everyday, regardless of whether we are at home or on the road.
We took a day trip to Waiheke Island, an increasingly popular vacation destination for Kiwis and ex-pats offshore from Auckland. We jumped on a hop on/hop off bus and tooled around the island, popping into a winery or a playground whenever we spotted one along the way. At Batch Winery, I took a photo of Chase holding a brown bottle with lemonade in it, and the moment foreshadowed how this kid would look with a beer bottle in his hand as a teenager and young adult. Every single day since Chase was born, I have teetered on the tightrope that every mother does in wanting her child to grow up, but also stay small for as long as possible. On that sunny day with my preschooler and his beer-like bottle, I looked forward to meeting the future man we were raising. But I was also a little heartbroken by how quickly my baby was growing up.
After two nights in Auckland, we started making our way south and it felt good being on the road. I came to New Zealand for the countryside, the access to outdoor adventure, the conservation ethic (which also appealed to my career), so once the sky opened up and the land widened, I started to recognize myself again. We explored a few small towns, playing it all by ear and aiming to spend the night outside Tongariro National Park. This stop was relatively midway between Auckland and Wellington, so once we arrived, we took a few walks around the park and encountered waterfalls, a dormant volcano and a restored Maori village called Whakapapa. We had a dinner picnic at a table facing a gorgeous orange sunset, and then we took a walk around the grounds of our motel with Chase playing hide and seek periodically. We were staying at a small, multi-accommodation place called the Discovery Lodge, which brought back memories of hostels and backpacking in my 20s and 30s. The communal kitchen, the camping gear laying out to dry by various tents, the story swapping of places seen and treks completed before arriving at Tongariro. All of it felt familiar and wonderful. I booked a basic en suite room but I was envious of the camaraderie growing in the kitchen a few doors down between Kiwis, Aussies, Brits, Americans, Germans and whoever else was passing through for the night. A scoop of the world was packed in that kitchen, one I wanted Chase to see, hear and perhaps even love someday.
Our next day we rose with the sun and hit the road with our two bags, two backpacks and one travel tray, which Chase and I came to call “his art table” that buckled over his car seat. This new gear offered pockets for markers, paper, a water bottle and other essentials for littles on a road trip. Within a day of driving, we found a rhythm between music (“singing time” and his practice of learning every word of every song of Disney’s Moana soundtrack), Mommy’s music class practice (e.g. listening to audio tracks for my a cappella group’s repertoire), drawing time and screen time. There was no schedule to it whatsoever, just an implied understanding of mixing up the energy when we’re on the road for a few hours everyday together.
What I’ve come to love during these days driving are the small towns that accompany the main southbound routes of the North Island. Kernels of local living are found here in the 1970’s-style gas stations, the one cafe serving espresso, the farm produce being sold in baskets in small sheds. Of course there are the major tourist hubs in Rotorua and Lake Taupo, which we did not see on this journey. But there was Hamilton, Cambridge, Tokoroa, Ohakune, Otukou and so many other places that look insignificant on every map, but offer something bigger in person.
I would regularly greet and ask questions from locals and other travelers, eager for tips on sights and experiences that guidebooks may not surface. Chase would regularly ask me why I was speaking to so-and-so, and such-and-such, and I established a phrase with him that I hope would burnish in his memories: when we’re traveling, we make friends along the way, whether at a cafe, a playground, a ferry boat, a hostel kitchen. This makes the days richer and more connected to the place we’re exploring. The colleagues we met in Auckland; the bus driver who waited for us to return from the bathroom before starting his route on Waiheke; the gay couple from San Francisco who we met on the ferry and chatted about their dentistry practice and birds; the woman making breakfast on a camping stove outside our room when we were leaving Tongariro; the barista who recommended some local hot springs. Individuals we’ll likely never see again, but who warrant our presence (and our gratitude when extending help or ideas) in those few moments when our pathways cross. Herein lies the depth of connectivity among humans that I tend to miss when we’re in our daily routines with the same faces at home, school and work.
While we were an ocean away from our home and loved ones, we were right at home too. Onward to Wellington, where we’ll pick up the Interislander ferry to the South Island.
