Kia Ora, Llama!

The sky was a brilliant blue, a fully saturated color that is usually reserved for postcards. A glowing orb of warmth radiated between the thin stretches of cloud that looked as though someone had loosely pulled a cotton ball and scattered bits of it about the sky. I stepped into the sunlight, blinking in wonder. “We’re not in Minnesota, anymore!” I thought to myself. “Hallelujah!”

Don’t get me wrong--I love Minnesota. I adore our state with it’s many Scandinavian-American quirks, and usually try to recruit everyone and their cousin to live here. Here you can be in the metro area, but a mere thirty minutes later you can be in the country looking at open expanses of field that stretch as far as the eye can see, or stumble upon one of our 10,000 lakes. I have loved Minnesota because I can be my expressive, artistic singer self, diving into our rich history of choral music, but I can also find the outdoors. For a kid who grew up canoeing with her dad, skiing and building snow forts with friends, and was generally covered in grass stains between the ages of 4 and 11 (ok, 12), Minnesota is glorious.

But as many a Minnesotan will tell you, this winter has been tougher than most. I love winter and snow as much as the next northerner, but having accumulated some 60 inches (that’s about 152 centimeters to the rest of the world), I was ready to dig out of endless winter.

And so I was more than ready to absorb myself in the warmth of New Zealand at the end of their summer and beginning of fall. Having a good friend to visit there made it all the better!

My dear friend Robin picked me up at the Auckland airport on March 15, and we were off on a Kiwi road trip! This was a feat in itself--Auckland is about two hours from Robin’s New Zealand home base in Tauranga, and required feats of bravery in the form of driving on the left side of the road. Kudos to Robin for her masterful maneuvering on tiny, twisty roads, up and down through the rolling hills and mountains of New Zealand. She did an amazing job! (Actually, Robin and I have had some, uh, interesting car adventures here in the states, and as I told her throughout our road trip in New Zealand, I think she may fare better on the left side of the road!)

For the first two days, we stayed in the Bay of Plenty area. I am thankful that Robin is a master planner. I bounded off the plane thinking I was ready to tackle just about anything. Robin knew better. One shower later (to get rid of the stink of 16 hours of plane ride), Robin, her husband Rich, and I headed to Manganui, a 10 minute jaunt down the road to a small mount and beautiful ocean view.

We proceeded to hike up this small mount, which was quite lovely. Here you can see a glimpse of the stairs we climbed. The angle is a bit off here, but it gives you an idea of what we climbed. (I now acknowledge that this is not my best camera work--I wanted, like so many of us, to believe that I am invincible and was not at all susceptible to exhaustion. I’ll be human enough to admit that I might have been wrong.) This was one short portion of the climb. There were more stairs around the corner

As we climbed, we met an interesting old codger. He was a salty man, weathered by long hours in the sun, carrying a pack and a walking stick. Meeting him, you get the feeling that he may live in a small hovel carved out by rocks and trees near the mount. He fancies himself a psychic and endeavored to tell us about the demise of the US and the northern hemisphere. I don’t think I could write every detail of his ramblings if I tried, but suffice to say, friends, if a man named Douglas Wilder wins the American presidency in 2012, you should join me in flocking to the southern hemisphere on the earliest flight or boat ride you can book. Apparently he will help incite the demise of the entire northern hemisphere and the southern hemisphere will be the only safe place left. (Anyone fancy taking a canoe through the ocean? That would be a very different kind of adventure, but exciting nonetheless!)

The rest of the afternoon is shrouded in a haze of memory. I remember playing “don’t touch the ground” with Robin and Rich, hopping from one large rock to another during low tide. It was a delightful throwback to childhood, made all the more fun by the prospect that you had to grasp at the edge of taller rocks and hope that you had something to throw your foot on to make your next move. (Being at least 4 inches--that’s 10 cm--shorter than Robin and Rich, I got a bit creative with this process.) On this rock-lined shore, I happened to see my first wild penguin. Sadly, it was an expired penguin--small and blue, we could only tell it was a penguin by its little webbed feet. Robin bemoaned our sad little feathered friend, especially since it was one of my first New Zealand wildlife sightings. Admittedly, I have approximately 37 penguins in my classroom at school that my students have gifted to me over the years, and it was a bit depressing to see a departed penguin instead of one that was happily swimming in the gorgeous aquamarine ocean. (Rich and Robin both offered to taxidermy the little blue penguin for my collection, but I opted to pass. Somehow, I just didn’t think customs would find it kosher.)

Before I knew it, I was falling asleep at Robin and Rich’s kitchen table while Robin and I were trying to map out some of the finer details of our impending road trip. They packed me off into the spare room, and blessed sleep had me immune to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow. Day 1 in New Zealand had already brought a welcome burst of sunshine and warmth, and the journey was just beginning!