013: Postcards from New Zealand
Surprise! It's not a New Year's Resolution or 2022 recap post 🤡
Happy New Year! We’re finally back from New Zealand, refreshed and ready to step into 2023. James started strongly and wrote a New Year’s Manifesto (and he calls me the dramatic one), whereas I’m easing into my writing rhythm and goals. Honestly, I still feel like my mind’s on vacation, reliving the lovely and life-giving moments of my recent trip—I’m just glad that I can afford the extra day or two to continue daydreaming.
I used to write postcards to close friends whenever I traveled, jotting down the daily events from our temporary lives in a foreign land. While I don’t write postcards anymore (I’m terrible at sending them on time) I still believe that it’s not the places you visit, but the unique circumstances and people you meet that forge memories so special.
I wanted to reminisce, so think of this week’s newsletter as three postcards I would have sent you vs. a logistics-oriented travel guide (which I’ll also publish soon).
Written while drinking the last of my Jin Xuan “milk” oolong tea… 🥲 Oh well, time to buy some more!
Cathedral Cove
Dec 17 • The journey along the way
Having arrived in Auckland early with a few days to ourselves, we drove 2.5 hrs to Cathedral Cove, a famously beautiful beach that we then hiked to for another hour. I know it was mostly the weather’s fault, but we still felt somewhat catfished once we arrived at the end of our hike.
To be fair, it was a nice beach. However, we found ourselves impressed with so much more along the way, such as the views of Hahei Beach or the lush jungle we hiked and drove through. We’d even stepped into a church accidentally (which actually turned out to be a cute restaurant?) before reaching our destination.
We sat on the beach for a while, trying to make the most of the view we’d journeyed to. James likes to meditate, but I find it difficult to let my mind just wander. Similar to the hike, I fixate on destinations instead of what I can observe while finding my way. Still, I tried my best, jotting down the thoughts that came so that I could let them go. These thoughts soon became motifs, popping up again at later points of the trip. Still, I was the most thankful for the reminder to live in the present.
Just for fun, here are my meditations from the beach:
It’s the journey, not the destination
Sand feels different in every place you go. This is something you’d only know if you’ve been to many places, and took the time to play in the sand.
In order to write good stories, you need to witness growth.
See new sights —> traveling? hear new ideas?
Experience extreme situations —> hardship, discomfort? growth is exclusive to only those who opt in?
Maybe that’s why people like solo traveling? Because it’s both of the two?
New Zealand is a dream destination, but it also looks like home. Maybe California is also a dream, but I haven’t sought its beauty as intentionally.
Breathe in the sea air. It’s good for your lungs but better for your soul.
Nicest portapotty EVER
Milford Sound
Dec 23 • Awestruck, my new favorite emotion
A lucky glitch in a booking system led James and me to each have our own guide for a twilight kayak adventure through Milford Sound—an accidental private tour. As a result, our tour guides, Damon and Jack “Fluffy,” took us off the typical path to explore different parts of the sound.
As we paddled, they told stories of previous tours: how on a rainy day, the mountains would trickle hundreds of waterfalls like tears; how in the iciest winters, they’d kayak to a cacophony of crackling as ice broke from the glaciers above and plummeted into the surrounding sea. I could hardly believe it as I dipped my hand into the temperate waves that rocked by, already overwhelmed by the sheer awesomeness of everything around me.
Suddenly, James’s kayak zoomed past us, riding a large ocean swell. My guide, Fluffy, yelled to me, “Wanna go surfing, too? PADDLE! PADDLE! PADDLE! … aaand HOLD!” We chased and raced, splashing in the choppy surf.
“This part of the sound is over 200 meters deep,” said Damon. “Out there,” he gestured backward, “that leads to the Tasman Sea—the Pacific Ocean.”
We discussed the surrounding ecosystem and fjords, Kiwi slang (chur! sweet as!), their education system, identity and the relationship between the majority white population and the native Maori people, various book and podcast recommendations, how New Zealanders can seldom afford the lamb and crayfish they are so famous for exporting, and how to cook the abalone and blue mackerel native to these waters.
At one point, we arrived below Stirling Falls, or Wai Manu in Maori, which translates to “cloud on the water.” Damon explained the ancient Maori ritual that involves taking pounamu, a sacred green stone, directly under the falls. Then, he added, “If you guys are down for it, we can take you directly underneath the waterfall. See that little crack there, where it’s all white? We can get the front of the boat into that if we work together. But you’re gonna get hit with a ton of water.”
James and I looked at each other, knowing there was only one response. Few people can say they’ve taken a waterfall to the face. I’m glad I became one of them.
Lake Tekapo
Dec 25 • The endlessness of the sky and new beginnings
Lake Tekapo sits in the Aoraki Mackenzie International Dark Sky Reserve—an area protected by the government from aircraft and light pollution, ideal for stargazing. What we didn’t consider was that they limited the stargazing observatories to tours booked weeks in advance—which we learned the hard way as we faced the closed gate at Mt John Observatory at 10:30pm on Christmas.
“I mean, isn’t it just the night sky? Don’t you just look up?” I exclaimed, flabbergasted. Truthfully, I was feeling guilty for not researching tours well enough in advance.
“I mean… maybe we can just pull over somewhere and try,” said James. By now, we were the only car to be seen for miles. We pulled into a small dirt lot, turned off the ignition, and looked upward, but the stars had not yet emerged. We waited as the sun’s hazy yellow glow faded and for it, and then the moon, to both set beyond the horizon. It was midnight when the sky became black and our eyes started adjusting.
In the darkness, we could finally make out a few speckles, then constellations, and finally the streak of luminance that was—confirmed—not a cloud but the milky way. Without a fancy camera, we could only capture the ephemeral sky with our memory.
“If only I had a better camera,” I muttered. I lamented my inability to preserve this moment as I squatted, trying to position my iPhone against my makeshift tripod (purse) on the ground. I had little to show for my results, but I was proud of my inventive attempt.
The darkness also called us to contemplation, with James sharing his goals for the new year, and the rest of us following soon after. To my surprise, his dad’s resolution was to take more photos.
I knew his dad liked photography from the comments he’d make—the lighting was too harsh, the focal length too short, the composition was off—only people who wanted to take good photos would care about those elements. He had brought his nice DSLR camera on the trip, but it had seen little action. He left it at home for stargazing since he needed a tripod for the long exposure shots he envisioned in his head. I thought it understandable, especially since I was feeling the same frustration, but I also felt sad that his high expectations prevented him from even trying to capture the beauty before us.
He explained he wouldn’t be able to take great photos without first taking bad or okay photos, and that’s why he wanted to practice just taking more photos, regardless of his current limitations. He asked that we all keep him accountable as he shares his photos online, to which we all heartily agreed.
I’d like to think that something about my shoddy attempt to document this night at all costs perhaps inspired him, but he was the one who inspired me more: earlier that day, I had read a Twitter debate about whether people are less open to learning new things as they age. While I disagreed, almost everyone else had agreed with the OP that older people become more risk-adverse and reject opportunities to learn new perspectives or try new hobbies. It worried me to possibly have a limited window where I’d want to put myself out there and live boldly, and I couldn’t exactly banish the fear.
Instead, James’s dad’s yearning for self expression confirmed my hope, at least for me and those I like to surround myself with. Deciding to share ourselves with the world takes courage, no matter if you’re 28 or 58, but it’s never too late to start.
That’s all for this week! I hope you enjoyed these 3 short vignettes from my trip. I’ll be brainstorming a content calendar for the coming weeks—If you have ideas on what you’d like me to discuss in future posts, why don’t you leave a comment or reply to this email?