|
[Click + in upper right for larger text.]
Pastoral scenes of New Zealand, sheep grazing on lush grass back-dropped by spectacular mountains, had for many years inspired my dream to be there. Wooly sheep, in fact, far out-number the human population on the islands.
People of New Zealand call themselves Kiwis, not for the green fruit with brown fuzzy skin, but for the bird which is a national symbol and whose shyness and nocturnal habits make it hard to get to know.
In an interesting juxtaposition, the indigenous Polynesian people, the Māori, share Aotearoa with a European population. Elizabeth II, as the Queen of New Zealand, is the Head of State.
When Peter Jackson’s vision of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, shot in New Zealand, hit the big screen, my longing to visit “The Land of the Long White Cloud” was renewed.
So, when our time on Hawai’i felt complete and we were ready for a new adventure, New Zealand was our natural destination during the wintertime of the northern hemisphere. The guide books suggested making the trip with no less than one thousand dollars per person per month. We would go for three months and had three hundred dollars between us upon arrival. It was the perfect opportunity to test our idea of carrying all we owned in backpacks like self-contained turtles and hitchhike for transportation. I wrote a poem for the occasion and printed it on cards to give to our prospective rides:
New Zealand Dream
From days of youth I dreamed to be,
In the land of the Kiwi,
Where wooly sheep are more than men,
And magic dwells in forest glen,
Where ancient Polynesian pride,
And English tea live side by side,
Where Frodo found true friend in Sam,
And in New Zealand now I am.
We landed at Auckland International Airport on January 1, 2005 after a fourteen hour flight with a layover in Tahiti.
Somewhat dazed and hefting huge backpacks, we had just walked to the first round-about when a female driver called out, “Do you want a ride?”
We hadn’t even lifted our thumbs!
At our grateful acceptance, she carried us to a camp site and was pleased to receive a card with my poem. Memorable moments followed us on the trek south to Wellington. Another unsolicited ride came from a woman police officer who saw that we seemed uncertain as we stood looking at road signs. When she heard our story, she told us, “Well, normally I am on my way to a meeting in Rotorua. But give me a moment and I will take you where you are headed.” She cancelled her meeting and carried us out of her way. She put the poem card on her dashboard.
That was just after a ride which had a shaky beginning. We’d come from a camp site in the morning and were resting from our heavy loads alongside a fence in front of a house. We heard a small dog yapping in the house and saw what looked to be a black Poodle inside. A car on the street slowed and the driver said, “Watch out for the dog. He’s quite mean.”
I asked, a little confused, “Are you talking about the Poodle?”
“No,” he responded, “I’m talking about the Rottweiler. He’s in the back yard. He doesn’t like intruders. In fact, it’s best if you move along.”
We had no intention of lingering. Rather than engage, I thanked him and we waved.
We’d walked a few hundred yards when the car came back. The driver asked if he could give us a ride. We accepted, and he drove us for that leg of our journey, several kilometers. We got into a conversation with him and his passenger. They began to warm to us. I asked the driver, “What was that all about, with the Rottweiler?”
He admitted that he’d made it up. The house belonged to a relative who was away, and he was trying to protect it from intrusion. He said he gave us the ride to make sure we did move along. But once they got to know us some, they relaxed and we were laughing together. They were delighted with the poem of New Zealand.
Copyright © 2008 Gary R. Smith
|
