Chase and I had a first in our lives the night we arrived in Wellington: we shared a chicken kebab wrap at a local Turkish eatery in downtown Wellington for dinner this evening. My Dad would have loved this place, it had the look and feel of a family-owned, multi-generational spot in Queens, which was west of my hometown and a New York City borough he knew well. Chase and I literally took turns with bites, sharing the same plate and swapping sips of our “vacation drinks” – orange Fanta for him, Lemon Lime Bitters for me. It’s always a win when a child eats the food they say they wanted. A small but mighty victory that is worthy of a quiet bow. I was crushing motherhood.
(Parenting tip, please forgive me: by categorizing these as drinks for vacation, I save myself the daily headache that comes with young children asking for treats, snacks, sugar, all things bad for them a THOUSAND times a day. So far, it’s worked over the last year. Chase doesn’t badger me for orange soda when we’re at home. Hopefully, it sticks when we return to the states in a few days.)
Wellington is a gorgeous capital city nested in a harbor at the bottom of the North Island. The terracing of homes on the hills gives it whiffs of Sausalito, California, and scattering of nearby islands’ reminisce the small towns across the San Juan Islands in Washington. It’s home to the famous Te Papa Museum, which we loved, especially the crafts room on the top floor for kids. For one night only, we stowed ourselves here to grab the morning ferry, the Interislander, and head to New Zealand’s South Island. After kebabs and our nightly “gajama party,” which consists of Chase being in pajamas, me (sometimes) being in pajamas, and a Disney movie with microwave popcorn, we had a brief sleep before preparing to set sail on this epic, beautiful boat. Chase was dazzled by the idea of cars driving INTO a boat and being transported without the boat sinking. I loved that this thing has an entire children’s playground on the car park level. There was an elevator and eight floors of decks, cafes, views and more. One of the most enjoyable boat rides I can remember.
Upon landing in Picton, we plopped ourselves into a landscape that one would imagine when thinking of New Zealand’s wine country. Golden-leafed vineyards stretched up against majestic mountains with the sun expanding overhead in a bluebird sky. A postcard lay before us. Chase napped during this lovely stretch of driving, so I enjoyed meandering through the valleys quietly as we made our way to the little town of Nelson. I had plans to see some colleagues based here, which offered a wonderfully soft landing. We exchanged shop talking about conservation and I learned about my colleagues’ top priorities in New Zealand. More importantly though, we laughed together, and I heard about everyone’s backstories within and beyond their careers. They cuddled Chase and were generous with chocolate ice cream and limoncello. It was like coming home despite being a new place for both of us.
If I were to ask Chase what he remembers about Nelson, it would be my colleague Abbie and the bumble bee he encountered at 5 AM one morning. After those two things, then he would rememberAbel Tasman National Park.
(Side note) I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t arrive at a major adventure with a heap of reflections on my life, ranging from my work to my family, to my history and future. Travel is where the canvas of my life gets reviewed, revised, made blank and positioned to take on some new colors and ideas. Might be why I enjoy traveling often, as it holds space for pulling the camera lens back and revitalizing my courage to think bigger about my priorities for myself, my family, my work, and what I can contribute to the world. Plus, I learned the term “Deeply Feeling Kid” from a premier child psychologist last year and I’m pretty sure I am one of those living in an adult-sized body. So, given my inclination to be preoccupied, I was completely aware of when my attention snapped me into the present moment. Like a gift of breath and assurance to wake up and notice what’s in front of me without boiling the ocean on all the things I’ve done wrong in the past few months.
One of the most beautiful of these moments was when we arrived at Abel Tasman National Park. I was encouraging (bribing) Chase to do a short 2-mile hike with me, promising a lollipop at the end to keep him going. He survived and we celebrated, and when we completed our loop around Bark Bay, the ocean was at low tide. We found a spot to unpack our picnic, swap our clothes for swimsuits and water shoes, and make a plan to enjoy this idyllic setting. As I was re-packing my backpack (after a lunch that Chase definitely did not eat in kebab-style), I realized Chase was nowhere in sight. I looked around, mildly concerned but mostly trusting in my kid, who’s developed a pretty good strike zone for knowing when to be confident in new settings and where he needs to ask for help. I looked out on the open floor of the lagoon and saw little footsteps that eventually led to a small person racing across in blue sandals, a sunshirt, swimshorts, and a hat. A tiny being with a big voice and a contagious giggle living his most alive self against this gorgeous split screen of forest and ocean. That was my son. That little boy running away from me across the lagoon with arms up, yelling and singing fragments of Moana songs, that was my Chase. Where I would have typically yelled after him to pause and let me know where he’s wandering off to, I just stood there quietly and admired him for a few minutes. It took my breath away to see him so free in nature, and so happy. All the deeply feeling reflections fell away. I was just Chase’s mother feeling hugely proud and grateful.
That moment at Abel Tasman, that’s why we’re on this trip.
