ISO Humanity

“Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connect to rather than what we are separate from”. ~T. Williams

New Zealand is Mecca for those who love the outdoors. One of the things that impresses me most about New Zealand is its ability to make nature accessible in endless forms that seem to work in harmony with the land and with people.  For example, hundreds of trails pass through farms or forests owned by private citizens who appear happy to share their bounty. And despite people “trespassing” on their land, I haven’t seen a single piece of litter or graffiti on one of these trails. It’s refreshing and harmonious and we’ve attempted to make choices during the trip that align with this philosophy.

Our time here began with a farm stay near Paua Bay on Banks Peninsula. Many small farms open their homes to guests as a way to help stay solvent as farming subsidies and wool prices decline. Our host family was one of two remaining (out of forty original families) who have farmed the land on Banks Peninsula for seven generations. The warmth of our hosts, fresh vegetables from the garden and sheep sheering were delightful but the highlight was a demonstration of the working dogs used to move 4,000 sheep around the property. Australian Kelpies were used to heel the animals, driving them towards their destination while Border Collies herded them, keeping the flock from breaking apart. It was fascinating to watch the distinct role of each dog and their ability to react to commands. The same family of dogs have been bred and used for as many generations as the farm has been in operation and their trainer (the daughter-in-law of our hosts) has earned a reputation for being one of the best in the country.  The dogs are impressive and spirited; evidenced by friendly nips both Bill and I received while trying to photograph them up close.

Herding dog at Paua Bay Farm

Sheering sheep at Paua Bay Farm

Our next encounter with nature was swimming with the world’s smallest dolphins in Akaroa Harbour. These tiny dolphins weigh a maximum of 100lbs and only 7,000 remain, 1,700 of which live in this area of New Zealand. We were initially hesitant to do this, knowing the Hector dolphin’s endangered status. But in true Kiwi fashion the experience is designed to be entirely on the dolphins terms, not the humans, and there’s virtually no interference with nor disruption to their natural habitat. The dolphins are not fed, enticed or entrapped in any way and the guides make it clear they may or may not choose to interact with you. That said, they are curious in nature and often want to play. So, we took our chances, signed up for an excursion and hit the jackpot! Our group of 10 swam for nearly an hour with 30-35 dolphins who raced, dove and spun around us like slippery grey torpedoes. Our guide nearly had to fetch a harpoon to get me out of the water…this was definitely a highlight of the trip.

Searching for Hector’s dolphins at Akoroa Bay

Since then we’ve been making a circuit around several national parks – Nelson Lakes, Abel Tasman and Kahurangi. Each one has offered incredible scenery, challenging hikes and sunshine aplenty. Getting there however, has blown the transmission on one rental car and left the second smelling like a bon fire whenever we reach a trailhead. It seems in New Zealand the roads are also built in harmony with nature. Blast a hole through a mountain or reduce the grade on a hill to make driving safer?   Hell no! Guardrails? What’s that?! Shoulders? Forget it – that would infringe on a foot of forest… The Kiwis appear to live by the Theory of Darwinism; if you’re not capable enough to figure out how to navigate the roads well…you may die. Here’s the description of one such “hill”, Takaka Hill, en route to Abel Tasman National Park: “A very exciting and sometimes very exposed, unsecure driveway with innumerable twists and turns across marble karst rock formations with hairpin turns up to 320 degrees”. It’s 26km (16 miles) from beginning to end and takes 60 minutes to cross. Don’t forget you’re driving on the opposite side of the road. I have to admit, my perspective on “protecting a species” changed a bit when I became the species whose environment wasn’t being altered in a way that tipped the scales to my advantage. Three weeks still left in New Zealand…let’s hope I’m evolved enough to make it to the next leg of the trip…

Ridge trail to Mt. Robert, Kahurangi National Park

Abel Tasman National Park

Though a few days have passed, I feel compelled to post about my last outing on Aitutaki in the Cook Islands. While I’m not a religious person, I find positive expression of faith by other people uplifting. For that reason, I often seek out a service or ceremony to attend in the local religion while traveling. My chosen sermon on Aitutaki was one of the best I’ve ever experienced and left me yearning for a weekly dose of The Island Spirit.

The Cook Islands Christian Church was built in 1828 and is the oldest church in the fifteen Cook Islands.   Carved entirely of limestone it resembles a sacred white cave, but with better lighting and simple, stained glass windows.   The pastor is a jolly round islander, with small black eyes and full cheeks who resembles a tan Burl Ives. The Sunday I attended he wore an oversized suit that hung loosely on his broad shoulders; navy jacket , dark green pants. An understated ensemble compared to the remainder of the congregation. The island women pride themselves on brightly colored dresses and expressive, hand made hats. The dresses are made from local fabric often adorned with Maori patterns and the hats range from freshly strung frangipani (gardenia) wreaths to elaborate designs that would grace the pages of Vogue. The common denominators being an abundance of color and a small oval shell in the center of the top of the hat. Imagine the Kentucky Derby meets Maui and you have the right idea…

The sermon itself was in Maori so I didn’t catch the theological highlights.  This was ideal as it cleared a path to feel the experience. I closed my eyes and absorbed the singing of hymns that had the distinct beat of Maori song. Imagine a regular volley of voices passed from men to women. The chorus is sung staccato – brief, strong exclamations of words similar to the fire breath used in yoga or the breathing exercises taught in birthing classes. Tribal and passionate. Beautiful. I felt like I was on a vaka (Maori canoe) being rowed to Tahiti 200 years ago.

The non-singing elements of the sermon were no less enjoyable. More than once the pastor delivered an impassioned speech with a stern face that resulted in ripples of laughter from the congregation. The same response was elicited from several men who seemed to be giving testament. Standing, they would gesture wildly while telling their stories then their faces would melt into mischievous, boyish grins and the audience would echo in laughter. There was a consistent thread of joy, lightness and humor throughout the two hour experience that distracted from the fact that I was soaked in sweat from the blazing heat and my ass was stuck to the wooden pew.   I was grateful I had chosen to sit in the back so I could sneak away before the end. I had worn a dress and hadn’t taken into account that my only method of transportation into town was a bike. A man’s bike that required me to pull a Britney Spears getting on and off it. All well and good in the privacy of your own accommodation, not so good in a sea of departing Sunday parishioners.   So I left a bit early, sparing a scene and reveling in the Island Spirit…

Next stop – New Zealand

Arriving on Rarotonga in the Cook Islands I was welcomed by one of the great charms of travel – local vernacular. On the drive from the airport to the villa we were told our hamper would arrive between 9:30 – 10:00 the next morning. Since this was the first stop on the trip I was tempted to explain that we didn’t have any dirty laundry yet, but I opted to say nothing. The hamper arrived the next morning filled with papaya, paw paw, local breads and fresh squeezed juice, just in time for breakfast and a chuckle.

As the days went by, a couple things struck me about both Rarotonga and Aitutaki. The first was the inescapable view of the lagoons that surround the islands contrasted with shimmering white sand. Varying in width, the lagoons are a myriad of visual striations ranging in color from robin’s egg blue to bright aquamarine and spotted with dark patches where coral reefs lay mere inches beneath the surface. Over the next few days I was amazed at how dynamic the color was; every changing angle of the sun, every passing cloud, every vantage point from the beach yielded a different visual effect, each seemingly more beautiful than the last. I spent a considerable amount of trying to find the right words to describe the colors accurately; to no avail. Suffices to say it is one of the most stunning and pristine places I have ever seen.

The second thing that intrigued me was that most houses on the island had graves in the front yard. In The Cooks, the deceased must be buried on your own property. In some ways it seems logical that a culture that reveres its elders and places a high value on family would keep the dearly departed close. Then I learned that most land in The Cooks is leased and steady emigration is resulting in a slowly diminishing population, particularly in the northern group of islands. When I inquired about what happens to your ancestors when the lease is up or a family moves away the answer was simply “You must take them with you”. At this point, and out of courtesy not to offend, I stopped asking questions and let my imagination fill in the blanks. I now gaze upon those dark patches in the lagoon with a slightly different perspective…

The internet connection here is extremely slow; perhaps a subtle message that pictures wouldn’t do it justice. I’ll still try to post a couple once I’m in a location with a stronger connection.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ~ Mary Oliver

As I walk down the front steps and away from my home it occurs to me that one can never be fully prepared for what’s ahead. Yet there is such possibility in the unknown! I’ve paid my bills and sent in my taxes. My car and home are being looked after; my best friend knows how to access the safe deposit box should I not return. Hours of preparation have been spent, adequate peace of mind has been gained and I could not feel more free walking away from it all.

No alarm.
No meetings.
No place to be, yet anywhere to go.
No obligations, but a deep sense of purpose.
One big, grateful, open heart.

As I stand in front of a blank canvas I’m both thrilled and terrified at the possibilities that lie ahead. First stop, the Cook Islands…13 hours from now…