United States of America - Maui and Hawaii

Our bathroom had a shower with a one-foot square head that sent warm droplets down at a steady pace replicating the feeling of standing outside and soaping up in a gentle rain shower without the onlookers and indecent exposure arrest.  The shower enclosure was large and finished with one-inch, cream-colored tiles and had a bench in there beside the clear glass door which allows one to sit in the flow of water and contemplate how to come up with the money to pay for a Snickers bar in the general store in the corridor.  We had a two-night stay booked in the Westin Ocean Villas in the Lahaina area on the western shore of Maui, but it wasn’t enough time to settle into fancy resort life after squeezing every penny for ten months.  Don’t get me wrong, we loved staying in this swanky place with granite counter tops in our kitchen and down comforters on the king size beds, but we couldn’t quite shake the feeling that somehow we weren’t worthy to stay there.

We left Oahu on a Hawaiian Airlines flight at 9:00 AM and touched down in Maui about thirty minutes later. The crew barely had time to hand out the complimentary juice and coffee, but they got it done, bless them.  We picked up a shuttle to the rental car office and in short order jumped in our speedy Chevy Malibu and headed back toward the airport in order to find the Costco we spotted from the shuttle window.  It was a little early for lunch, but we had only a quick bite before leaving the hotel in Honolulu, and we were eager to munch on some $1.50 hot dogs (including a refillable drink!) and Very Berry Sundaes, and I’m sure my fellow Costco patrons will testify to the excellent taste and value of this fare of which we’ve been long deprived.  People can whine all they want about the perceived problems plaguing America, but take if from someone who hasn’t been here for a while, we’ve got it pretty dang good in this country.

The drive to the western shore of Maui took forty-five minutes along a highway that hugged the coastline. We took our time and enjoyed watching all the surfers catch towering waves.  Many of them had camped out on the beach in tents and vans with their families and friends, and I felt a pang of envy as I wished that I could be out there with them.  Alas, my age and physique, still chiseled but slightly more fragile with the passage of time, prevents me from hanging ten with the fellas.  We pulled into the covered portico of the Westin Resort where valets descended upon us and relieved us of our car and luggage and placed the groceries we had purchased on the way into cold storage lockers behind the bell stand.  Because of our early arrival, we anticipated our room wouldn't be ready for a while, but the friendly guy at the reception desk gave us pool passes and his blessing to enjoy all of the facilities to the fullest.

We sat in rocking chairs overlooking the pool and watched fancy ladies swish by wearing posh straw hats tilted at a jaunty angle and sporting flowing frocks known as “resort wear.”  We hoped the bright Maui sun would prevent the other guests from staring at our threadbare “pauper wear” as they floated by carrying beach bags and fancy drinks topped with pink umbrellas.  We were out of our element but pleased to share the privileged air in this beautiful setting with families, older couples, and dreamy-eyed newlyweds looking out to the islands of Molokai and Lanai across the deep blue strait curiously named the Lahaina Roads.  A state of relaxation and general laziness prevents me from further research on this matter.  The cool blue water of the enormous pool behind the resort lured Deena and Joseph into its depths while Deveny and I preferred to fall asleep in our rocking chairs until receiving the summons that our room was finally ready.

Other than a few small fees, our stay in this sumptuous resort was free thanks to my wife’s wizardry, and we felt truly blessed as we walked into our large bright fourth-floor suite overlooking the park in front of the ocean.  The place was completely tricked out with a well-equipped kitchen, full refrigerator, stacked washer and dryer, and the aforementioned tiled bath.  We settled in and took a short nap before getting into the perfect position on the balcony to watch the sunset while holding cups of freshly brewed kona coffee.  Almost made me forget about the cash I shelled out in tips so far that day, another practice familiar to Americans but unusual to the rest of the world.  Deena and I explored the kitchen cabinets and found all the tools necessary for a major session on the huge gas grills in the building courtyard where we grilled up a fantastic combination of chicken, corn, and pineapple for a real Hawaiian feast.  We didn’t have much of a plan for the next day, but we didn’t care—a life full of schedules is coming soon anyway.

We entertained the notion of arriving on the beach early the following day in hopes of spotting some loggerhead turtles, but the soft sheets on the king-sized beds must have had some sort of magnetic quality, and we were late rising.  Deena and I took our hot beverages out on the balcony and sat and talked long and deep while we looked out to the ocean past the plumeria trees.  We finally got our act together and made it down to the seashore and found a spot to place our towels under the shade of a huge leaning palm tree where we stayed long enough to enjoy the soft breeze and to run in and out of the strong surf.  A guy nearby had an amazing dog who couldn’t get enough of the frisbee-catching game entertained us. He would point his nose at his choice of disc from several options before every throw.  Eventually the call of the pool was too strong to resist, and we spent the rest of the afternoon in and out of the refreshing water.

There was a lava formation about five miles away from the resort that I wanted to check out, so after showers, we piled into the car and drove down to the rocky point to the north.  The short hike along a steep path down to the ocean ended at an ancient lava flow that looked like piles of melted ice cream.  The stream of lava was swift here long ago, and as the strong surf pushed back, it created unique sharp formations called dragon's teeth.  The breakers were still strong in this spot, and we enjoyed walking along the rock formations and taking pictures of foamy explosions as they made landfall.  Sunset was fast approaching, so we raced back to the resort and found a spot in the soft grass in the meadow above the beach to watch the show. As if things couldn’t get any better, a lady approached us with a heavily-laden tray and asked if we would like some cupcakes.  Her birthday-party surplus was our benefit, and as we lifted several thick frosted cakes off the platter, I asked if she were an angel, and she quickly replied "yes" with a wink.

Our time on Maui was short, but it was fun and relaxing, and we drove to the airport early the next morning refreshed and in good spirits.  We returned the rental car and crammed into the shuttle van with a family that included four small children and their mom and dad who did their best at keeping track of them and all the gear it took to facilitate their vacation.  On the way to the terminal, the mom did her best to keep the kids in check while the dad sat silently and stared out the front windshield probably wondering why they brought all those little kids to Hawaii—I’m sure they enjoyed themselves at some point.

Another thirty-minute flight brought us to the shores of Hawaii, or the “big island" to which it’s more commonly referred, and we made quick work of securing another rental car for passage to the Sheraton Kona Resort, another destination above our station in life.  We arrived before check-in time, but thankfully our room was ready, and we were able to settle in and rest a bit before striking out on our last big adventure of this trip.  Hawaii Volcanoes National Park was about two hours away from the resort, and Deena and I had purposed in our hearts to show the kids some red hot lava before heading home to North Carolina where there is only red clay under the top layer of earth.  The drive was scenic as we slowly ascended to the high country and passed vast fields full of jagged volcanic rock in shades of earth brown and terracotta in front of high plateaus with a tight covering of pale green foliage.  The forecast called for rain, but the thick clouds released only small sprays of mist, and the long views out to the ocean remained clear for most of the drive.  

Even though the national park is open 24 hours, the visitor center closed at 5:00, and we just barely made it and managed to talk to a ranger about the best things to do in the park before he clocked out for the day.  We had a couple of hours before sunset, so we had dinner at the restaurant overlooking the vast hardened lava lake below the caldera of Mount Kilauea. We had a great view of the smoke rising from the current lava bed and the steam vents beyond.  With a little daylight left, we drove south to the Thurston Lava Tube and hiked through this ancient cave formed by an aggressive lava flow in an area now covered by thick rainforest.  Due to standing water in the tube, the lights weren’t working; so we trekked a couple of hundred yards by the light of our phones through the winding prehistoric cave feeling like we were in the Land of the Lost.  

After our rainforest trek, we headed back north toward the Jagger Museum and made one more stop at the steam vents on the way to check out the viewpoint.  By that time, smoke and steam from the volcano were thickening in the twilight sky, and a lone photographer greeted us at the overlook as we lined up at the rail.  He told us that the lava activity was the best it had been in nine years and that we were in for a treat at the Museum observation deck.  His eyes got wide as we joked about the lack of lava in North Carolina, and our eyes got even wider when he told us he was from our neighboring suburb back home—wow.  

We shared a few parting sentiments and made our way to the museum where a crowd was already clamoring for this historic nine-year view. The sky finally went dark and the thick white plume coming from the depth of the volcano had a bright orange core that lit up the surrounding area with a light as old as the islands themselves.  The lava field was a good distance away, but we could see it exploding in fountains of fire sending globs of molten rock against the sides of the basin like a shower of sparks from a welder’s torch.  As we stood there amazed, I immediately gave this awesome display of nature the rare distinction of one of the coolest (and warmest) things I’ve ever seen. The drive back to the resort was long, dark, and rainy, but we had fun talking about the natural wonders we had seen that night once again praising the attributes of our country’s National Park System.

The resort had a tasty breakfast spread the next morning, and we made them pay for their generosity by making multiple trips to the tables as we feasted on the lounge balcony overlooking the grounds and the sea.  Deena and I spent the morning in the lobby in two wicker papasan chairs looking out to the charcoal-colored cliffs with waves crashing all around feeling like we were inside a large, colorful mural.  Several weasels played in the large green grassy area below our window and a warm breeze blew through the branches of the old tropical trees reaching us in a soft, honey-scented touch.  Joseph spent his morning on the basketball court while Deveny worked on her sleeping technique, which is just about as perfect as it can get.  We all got together and spent our last afternoon of leisure around the pool laughing and relaxing together before the final journey home.  

So that’s it.  Ten months on the road, and it ends on the big island of Hawaii before a two-day odyssey across the United States ending in the southern piedmont of the Old North State, which we’ve missed.  I’ll write a wrap-up post after the dust has settled, but in the meantime, we’re anticipating seeing our family and friends and taking up our lives again with incredible memories that we made as a little family traveling around a big world that somehow seems just a bit smaller now.

United States of America - Honolulu

Over the past ten months, we’ve stood in many long immigration lines and waited for our passports to be inspected and stamped and have hastily filled out other documents in a travel-induced haze before landing in yet another country.  On several occasions, we crossed borders on land in some of the most godforsaken towns I’ve seen where bored officials held the power to allow my little family to jump through another hoop in order to keep moving forward.  We’ve purchased entry visas, some reasonable, some exorbitant, and stood in queue hoping our research was accurate and that we had filled out the forms in accordance with the statutes set forth by the sovereign nations in which we were hopefully about to enter.  

A few days ago after a nine-hour, overnight flight, we stood in yet another long line in an airport, half asleep and holding our passports and immigration forms as we waited to gain entry into another sovereign nation.  At one point, as we slowly made our way through the line, I happened to glance over to the corner of the large room drably decorated by the inspiration of bureaucracy, and there by itself tacked tightly to the wall, was an American flag with its familiar red, white, and blue colors, and I knew we were home, and I didn’t mind jumping through another hoop at all.

Home in this case was in a much broader context as we had just landed on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—Honolulu, Hawaii which as of August 2, 1959 became the fiftieth state of the United States of America.  As the cordial lady at the immigration desk checked our documents, I thought back over the last twenty-four hours, which we would somehow magically repeat due to crossing the international dateline, and I marveled at how just the day before we were taking pictures with the Sydney Opera House in the background, and now we were preparing to explore yet another place as a younger man I never thought I would see.  

We left Auckland, New Zealand, before sunrise after walking over a mile from our hotel to the airport in frosty conditions in order to avoid the fifteen-dollar-per-person shuttle fee and checked our bags at the ticket counter wondering if we would see them again over twenty-four hours later.  As I knew it would, the month spent in New Zealand flew by as we experienced daily discovery of inspiring natural beauty and genuinely nice people, but as the days of May dwindled, we were ready to move on knowing that we were getting closer to home.  Our flight had a twelve-hour layover in Sydney, Australia where we landed just a few hours after leaving Auckland, and we checked our travel-stained orange backpacks into an airport locker before summoning an Uber ride into the city.

The air was a good twenty degrees warmer than it had been in the Shaky Islands, and we enjoyed lazily exploring the downtown streets before finding a flavorful beef and rice lunch at a busy Chinese cafeteria.  We killed another hour by taking advantage of the free wifi at Starbucks before joining an early afternoon walking tour which promised the sights and history of Sydney, the most populous city in Australia.  Our guide was Indigo, an energetic, well-spoken university student who did an excellent job informing our group about the attributes of her home town during our two-and-a-half-hour stroll through the historic districts.  The tour ended at the harbor late afternoon, and we were treated to a memorable view of the opera house with its iconic shells glowing in the light of the setting sun with a pink and purple sky beyond.

We had a quick dinner before catching an Uber ride back to the airport where we waited to board an overnight flight bound for Honolulu. Thanks to modern medicine and a couple of Harry Potter movies, it seemed much shorter than the actual nine-hour journey.  Miraculously, our luggage was waiting for us at the carousel after the immigration process. We quickly booked a shuttle to our hotel in Waikiki piloted by a gregarious young man who gave us the lowdown on all the places to get tasty cheap food near our accommodation.  

After a short ride, we pulled up to the Sheraton Princess Kaiulani hotel, our home for five days in Honolulu where Deena’s mom stayed numerous times when she worked as a flight attendant back in the 1960’s.  During a video call, Deena’s mom told her when she stayed in the hotel she never imagined that she would have a daughter who would visit the same place with her own family one day—a tear rolled down my cheek while I listened to their conversation.  We settled into a third-floor room with a balcony overlooking the pool and eye level with the branches of tall palm trees. A tray full of kona coffee was ready for brewing.  After a long nap, we found lunch at a Japanese noodle house, walked through the lobby of the historic Surfrider hotel across the street, and stepped onto the soft sand of Waikiki Beach with the volcanic cone of Diamond Head sweeping up from the blue water of the lagoon.  Deena and I shared a smile and stood there with our arms around each other for a long time.

For the rest of the day, we did our best to restrain ourselves from an all out feeding frenzy as we suddenly had available most of the treats we had fantasized about for so long, but we did purchase some Reese’s Cups, Cheetos, and a twenty-ounce bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, which I slowly tipped to my lips and let the ice cold, citrus-honey elixir flow exquisitely into my ten-month deprived mouth.  I considered buying a couple of cases for a Diet Mountain Dew bath back at the hotel, but that would have been borderline excessive.  As I checked some things on the internet at the hotel, I was amazed at the speed of the wifi. The kids noted their phones magically had 4G capability once more, and the TV had familiar programming where the show hosts used a language and accent that caressed our ears as we looked out to the deep blue skies through the rustling palm branches.  We ended our first day in Hawaii sitting by the pool listening to two guys in flowered shirts strum a guitar and a ukulele wondering if we were dreaming.

I’ve quickly discovered why kona coffee is such a big deal. The little coffee shop on the corner next to our hotel does a fine job of extracting a rich, fragrant brew from freshly ground beans.  They charge a reasonable price for a large cup, but the first time I bought one, I wondered why the barista asked for an amount slightly more than the price listed on the chalkboard.  It dawned on me that I was back in the US where tax is added at the point of sale and not included in the price display, and I realized how much easier it had been over the last ten months simply to pay the quoted prices.  It’s also easier to get over such a small thing standing in the warm, humidity-free air where an ever-present, refreshing breeze carries the sounds of voice and guitar harmonies and the honey scent of fresh flowers.

Sor far, we’ve taken advantage of the daily free programs offered by the hotel and enjoyed a lei-making lesson in which we strung purple and white orchid blossoms into long chains under the direction of Nate, a native Hawaiian who’s traveled to all fifty states over the years.  The following morning, Nate gave the children a ukulele lesson, and they learned to play You Are My Sunshine and a couple of other tunes popular with crooners. They picked it up fairly quickly considering we forced them out of bed at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM.  

Waikiki Beach is one of the few places we’ve visited where the enormous view looks just like the postcards. The sight of a long line of surfers riding curling waves on colorful boards two hundred-yards out is striking.  The sandy-colored hotels bordering the lagoon look almost natural among the tall palm trees, and we’ve enjoyed several lazy sunbathing sessions on this famous stretch of beach along with hundreds of other tourists sporting smiles that match the wide ones on our faces.  I’ve been mesmerized by the color of the ocean extending from the shore about twenty yards out where the soft blue water has thousands of swirling, light green ripples which creates an iridescence that looks like a long strip of liquid opal.  We’ve done our best to savor the time spent together in this beautiful place while the days continue to tick by quickly as we anticipate our return to North Carolina.

There are a bunch of things to do on Oahu, and our plan was to do almost none of them but to enjoy some relaxing time on the beach and in the pool sipping drinks full of crushed ice and cherries and pineapple slices.  We did manage to make a trip to our phone-carrier store where we bought new phones for Deena and me and finally awarded the kids their very own phone numbers.  With those minor goals achieved, our only other major goal was to visit the USS Arizona Memorial, and we just about blew it.  Two million people visit the memorial every year, and the majority of them book their tickets months in advance which never occurred to us even after our scare at the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam.  After a little investigation, we realized that every single advance tour space was booked through July. Deena and I exchanged the same slightly panicked looks we shared when we realized we might not get into the Louvre or St. Peter's or the Frank house.  With some perseverance, we managed to make it into those places, and we weren’t ready to give up on the Arizona this late in the game.

With a little more research, we found out that the National Park Service releases three-hundred tickets daily to the Arizona at 7:00 AM so last minute losers like us have a small window of opportunity to score a visit.  So, at 6:59 AM yesterday morning, I sat on the edge of the bed with my steaming cup of kona coffee beside me, my new phone in my hand with the park service number entered, and my index finger poised over the dial icon like I was attempting to score tickets to a Led Zeppelin reunion except this was bigger.  The hour struck, and I dialed only to receive a busy signal—dangit!  But with my second attempt I reached a recorded message, which led to a live operator, which led to four crispy tickets to the 1:00 tour the following day—the relief I felt was like experiencing a brand new emotion.  We found out later that day that the city bus had a stop behind our hotel and a round trip would only cost fifteen dollars for the entire family.

We boarded the bus the next day at 11:00 and arrived at the memorial under bright sunshine and a brilliant blue sky.  After I gave the park ranger in the ticket office my hard-won reservation number, he printed out four tickets, and we were off to explore the on-site museums before our appointed tour.  The USS Arizona is a United States National Monument under the supervision of the National Park Service. Over the last ten years, we’ve visited countless national monuments along with twenty-three national parks from Alaska to Florida, and we’ve loved every one of them.  In each park or monument, Deena and I had the kids participate in the National Park Junior Ranger program in which they completed workbooks designed to enhance learning about the individual parks, and they were awarded badges after a park ranger had them recite the national park oath.  When Joseph and Deveny were younger, they loved completing these tasks and receiving another shiny gold badge to pin on their official junior ranger hats, and they have quite a collection.  Once they got into the teen years, the programs were met with resistance as they became increasingly uncool, but we made them do the work anyway—dadgummit, they’ll appreciate it one day.

As the bus entered the memorial complex, I noticed the familiar and much loved NPS arrowhead logo on the side of the staff building and I turned to the kids and said, “Hey guys, this place is a national monument,” already knowing the reaction I would get.  True to form, the kids responded with some of the best, well-practiced eyerolls and a few statements of protest, but their efforts were futile as we walked straight to the bookstore and acquired two junior ranger workbooks, and they accepted their fate.  

We spent the time leading up to our tour walking through the small museums designed to lead visitors through the events surrounding the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941 that changed the history of the world.  Our favorite exhibit was the scale model of the memorial structure which was placed over the sunken ship. It gave us a clear perspective of its position in the harbor.  I remember as a kid reading about the negotiations between the US and Japan that took place right up to the day of the attack and how I felt anger at the deceptive nature of these talks as the Japanese aircraft carriers were already in place. Our tour began with an excellent movie about the attack, and it made one point about the event that was especially poignant:  the majority of the men who died that day never knew what was coming or what hit them.  As their lives were horribly interrupted, they never knew that the attack on Pearl Harbor would trigger events that would change the world and result in the United States rising to overpower its enemies amidst tremendous sacrifice.

I was not aware that in 1961, Elvis Presley performed a benefit concert in Pearl Harbor that raised over ten percent of the funds needed to complete the memorial, and I find it odd that many credible sources, including the National Park Service, list the final amount with variances up to ten thousand dollars.  We boarded a boat behind the theater and took a short ride across the harbor to the iconic memorial structure built over the USS Arizona, which now serves as a grave for nine-hundred servicemen entombed in the wreckage.  There are still 500,000 gallons of oil held in the hull of the Arizona, and it’s estimated that nine quarts a day leak out in droplets that rise to the surface of the water, an occurrence that will continue for five-hundred more years by many estimations.  I have always been fascinated with the oil leaking from the Arizona, perhaps because it’s a visible, physical link to a major event from the past, and I spent most of our brief time on the memorial staring at the water watching the inky black droplets rise and bloom into rainbow rings on the surface.  

Arizona turret

Oil rising to the surface

The memorial was well done and sobering, and we sat and talked about the events of that day over ice cream bars sitting in the shade back at the visitor center on shore.  The kids understood the magnitude of the attack, and due to the excellence of the memorial, we all had a better comprehension of the cost of freedom in a dark world.  I found a park ranger who was glad to administer the junior ranger oath to my children, and I was glad to see that they were actually proud to raise their right hands and repeat the words as they stood in a cool sea breeze on the shore of Pearl Harbor.

New Zealand - Wellington to Auckland

I like snow.  I like snow a lot.  I especially like snow when viewed from the interior of a warm house by a large window cradling a mug of coffee in my hands and a pot of chili simmering on the stove.  I do not like snow when viewed from the interior of a small car staring with laser focus on the dwindling asphalt while crossing a high mountain pass nine-thousand miles from home with the lives of my precious loved ones hanging in the balance.  Such was my predicament when we drove from the warm but wet city limits of Wellington four hours north to Lake Taupo for our penultimate night in New Zealand.  

We had only about an hour left to travel, and as we gradually ascended a mountain range marked by rounded hilltops covered with tall blond grass, I noticed that the slopes had a funny bleached look to them.  The digital thermometer in the car began dropping, and we realized the bleached hills had a coating of frost, and the road signs became illegible due the the coating of windblown snow frozen to the metal.  The already grey skies turned leaden as we ascended into a heavy mist which burst into a snow storm that sent heavy, wet flakes swirling in the air and covered the narrow lanes on the road at an alarming rate.  Traffic slowed, my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and I had visions of my little family stranded on the side of the road trying to keep warm in our synthetic layers and down jackets that were warm but not blizzard warm.

We had set out from Christchurch three days ago in a steady rain that lasted the whole four hours to the small community of Maruia where we spent one night to break up the long haul to Wellington.  The mountain ranges were covered with long white clouds that sent rain showers through the valleys creating surging rivers and slick roads.  When we arrived at our small motel, the driveway was partially blocked by a large motorcoach and an ambulance, and the coach passengers stood in an adjacent parking lot with concerned countenances.  We managed to pull into the motel lot where we met the owner who was visibly shaken. She told us that a lady on the bus had suffered a heart attack and that she had tended to her while waiting for the medevac chopper—it landed in middle of the highway as we spoke.  The motel owner showed us to our room as the chopper took off and the chilly rain continued even harder.

Despite our somber arrival, we spent a quiet night in the comfortable room and heated some shepherd's pies we had purchased earlier that day for supper and watched HGTV until it was time for bed.  The next morning came quickly, and after coffee and a bite standing, we loaded the car and hit the road again bound for the crossing town of Picton about three hours away.  The skies were still grey, but the rain held off, and we were able to enjoy views of the thick forests full of silver ferns as we approached Picton, where we found our home for one night just down the road from the one where we stayed when we first came to the south island two weeks before.  This house near the marina was owned by Brad and Sandy, a couple in their mid-fifties that tried to downsize but failed when the realtor showed them the two-story house with a pool and a view of the mountains.  We quickly settled into our one large room with three beds and then drove back to town for supper.

I taught myself to use Brad’s espresso machine and was so proud of myself that I drank several cups of strong brew which fortified me for a speedy packing-and-car-loading session in the persistent rain.  We said goodbye to Brad and made the short drive to the Interislander ferry terminal and turned in the Corolla which had served us so well in our south island travels.  After checking our bags and boarding the ferry, Deena and I stood on the top deck and took pictures of the mountains surrounding the harbor before joining Joseph and Deveny on the middle deck for a pleasant three-hour voyage back to the north island.  Everything would have been rosy except for the storm that blew through the Cook Strait creating monstrous waves that slammed the hull and sent the ship rolling through the sea—which gave me the worst case of seasickness I’ve endured to date.  The rest of my crew were not affected by the undulating sea, and they showed compassion to me by keeping their teasing to a minimum.

Picton

Safely back on land, I sipped a 7 Up while we checked out another rental car and made our way into the hills of Wellington, the capital of New Zealand and our base for the next two days.  Through the same hospitality service we used in Christchurch, we had arranged to stay with Phil and Mary Clare, empty nesters that lived in the suburb of Tawa with their pumpkin-colored cat, Rocky.  Phil is the director of Prison Fellowship in New Zealand, and Mary Clare is a nurse who also has her own lactation-consulting business.  They have three grown children, two of whom live in Australia; the third is just down the road in Wellington.  

When we arrived, travel weary and still a bit green from the boat ride ride, Mary Clare pulled us in with hugs and a smile and sat us down in the comfy den while she prepared hot tea and cake.  The rain clouds had lifted by then, and we could see their back yard through big French doors.  Phil and Mary Clare enjoy gardening in their spare time, and the property behind the house was full of silver ferns, cabbage trees, and heavy vines twisted around arbors still full of purple flowers.  Beyond their weathered cedar fence, the hills around Tawa formed the sloping walls of a lush green bowl which protected several of the surrounding neighborhoods from the stiff breeze coming off the sea from the harbor.  Phil had traveled to Auckland that day and wasn’t due back until suppertime, so Deena and I sat with Mary Clare and talked about her life in Wellington while she prepared the evening meal.  Deveny discovered Rocky the cat, so she was off playing with her new friend, and Joseph discovered the brand new TV in the living room which had ESPN available, so he was set as well.

Deveny and Rocky

Rocky being spoiled

Mary Clare was born in Ireland, and even though she had been with Phil in New Zealand for thirty-five years, I could still detect a bit of Irish lilt mixed with her kiwi twang.  Phil arrived home flush with the success of a busy travel day, and greeted the girls with a peck on the cheek and Joseph and me with a firm handshake.  I had noticed earlier that there were turntables positioned around the house, and Phil and I were soon immersed in conversation about the superiority of vinyl recordings over digital. We soon discovered that we had a mutual affinity for blues music.  Throughout dinner and the rest of the evening, the background was full of blues from Robert Cray, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Paul Butterfield.  After Mary Clare served up a wonderful dinner of savory beef stew with herbs, mashed potatoes, and steamed red cabbage, we lingered over the meal for a long time talking about our travels, raising kids, and just life in general.  After a couple days of heavy travel, it was relaxing to just sit with good company and talk late into the night.

In our own rooms with electric blankets on comfy beds, we enjoyed a good night’s sleep and rose to the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen.  Phil also took his coffee seriously; he worked his barista magic grinding fresh Cuban beans and making double espressos in a cafe-quality machine that cost nearly three-thousand dollars.  I’ve begun a long, subtle campaign for my own candy-apple red, retro-looking espresso machine that takes up very little counter space and saves tons of money in the long run much like a new, efficient heating system.  So far, my bride’s not going for it, but I’m patient and cunning.

Mary Clare served us a filling breakfast of porridge with fresh apricot slices and chunks of brown sugar that melted into candy pools in the steaming bowls.  With the sun shining and a full day ahead of us in Wellington, we struck out for the summit of Mount Victoria for a full view of the city from the area’s tallest mountain.  The road to the top was narrow and lined with cars parked at all angles which made for a hairy drive, but we were soon standing on the viewing platform at the summit looking out over the deep blue water of the harbor and the city of Wellington built along the edge of the bay and extending into the hillsides all around.  It was a fantastic view, but strong wind gusts forced us back into the car, so we drove the winding road back into the city and ended up at the Te Papa museum where we spent the entire afternoon going through every display.  The exhibits there were mainly focused on the history of New Zealand told through presentations about the Maori, animal and plant life, and immigration in the nineteenth century.  Sir Peter Jackson had contributed to the museum and helped produce their most powerful display about New Zealand’s role in World War I, specifically at the battle of Gallipoli, which was completely detailed, engaging, and heartbreaking in the manner of all stories of war and sacrifice.

Wellington

We had planned to see a few more city sights that afternoon, but the museum visit took its toll, and we drove back to Phil and Mary Clare’s house where we were greeted with more hot tea and coffee and fresh lemon cake with cream cheese frosting.  One of Phil’s old schoolmates had a birthday that day, and Phil invited me to accompany the two of them to the local pub. I had a great time listening to these two old friends talk about the good old days while enjoying a pint of the local brew.  We picked up pizza to take home for dinner, and because Phil and Mary Clare left us in charge of the house while they went into town to see a show, we spent a quiet evening reading and watching movies until they returned.  Even though Phil had to catch an early flight back to Auckland the next morning, he stayed up late with Joseph and me to watch a pre-recorded rugby match in order to help us fully understand the rules of this brutal game that the kiwis love.

We ate a quick breakfast early the next morning and gave Mary Clare big hugs, loaded the car, and drove down the mountain in the light rain.  We had four hours to cover in order to make it to Lake Taupo and the last AirBnB stay of our trip.  We kept a leisurely pace, and by the time we reached the Tongariro National Park, the roads were starting to ice up in the mountain pass, and I kicked myself mentally for not trying to make better time.  The thick snowfall was beautiful as it covered the grassy balds and the boulders in the streams of azure blue water. My family enjoyed it while I entertained visions of freezing in a stranded car stuck grill first in a snowbank by the side of the road.  Thankfully, the road started to descend, the temperature rose slightly, and the roads became clear as the snow tapered off on the far side of the pass.  Thirty minutes later, we reached the shores of Lake Taupo, found our home for the night, and I let myself relax as I eased our vehicle into the carport beside our cottage safe and sound from the peril of winter in late May.

Snow in May

We spent a quiet night in our comfy two-room cottage and had a simple breakfast the next day before packing up again and driving another four hours to the Ibis Budget Hotel right around the corner from the Auckland airport.  The drive took us on a highway through the middle of the north island and the countryside I loved so much in Glen Afton where we stayed for the first few days in New Zealand.  Tomorrow morning, we have an early wake-up call and a flight to Sydney Australia, and then a connecting flight to Honolulu, Hawaii—our month in New Zealand is suddenly over. The variation of natural beauty in this country is wide and breathtaking as new vistas open up around every curve in the narrow roads, and the lush landscapes help the natives live with the dangers of shifting tectonic plates and geothermal instability.  While the coastal drives, colossal mountain ranges, and glacier-carved valleys of the south island will always be part of my memories of the most beautiful places on earth, my heart belongs to the quiet countryside of the north island.  The green, rolling hills with dells full of little patches of woods and small streams running along country lanes made me long for an afternoon walk on a fall day with the promise of a hot bowl of soup on the stove in a small cottage painted white and a yard planted with flowers.  

New Zealand - Queenstown to Christchurch

The world is a dangerous place, but there are people out there who place themselves a little farther over the precipice of doom, and Queenstown, New Zealand, is the place they come to do it.  For a fairly steep fee, the friendly kiwis in this frontier-like town will do their best to satiate the hottest desire for peril by placing adventurous tourists on jet boats in narrow canyons, at the end of bungy ropes on tall bridges, strapped to parachutes rocketing through the sky, and on mountain bikes on trails that would make a hill troll ponder taking the gondola tour instead.  After ten months on the road, we still had a bit of the adventure spirit left, so we pushed the limits of our collective cholesterol level by dining at the downtown Fergburger establishment which advertises “burgers as big as your head.”  It’s easy to get comfortable quickly in Queenstown looking from the mountainside streets over Lake Wakatipu. The bohemian feel about the place made me wonder where I should pick up my government-subsidized Birkenstocks and weekly granola ration.

Since the drive to Queenstown from Makarora was just over two hours, we took our time leaving Pete’s cabin and enjoyed breakfast looking out at the mountain range while one last fire crackled in the woodstove.  After we loaded the car and prepared to hit the road again, Pete and Cash came out to bid us farewell and sent us off with a proverb:  “No matter how thin you make a pancake, it always has two sides.”  We set off down the highway scratching our heads over that one and finally concluded that Pete is a New Zealand frontier wizard of the highest order.  We continued through the mountains past the picturesque town of Wanaka and headed farther south toward Queenstown, which is located in the bottom third of New Zealand’s southern island.  The countryside down this way is rugged and remote, and travelers are advised to be well-supplied and fueled before taking to the highway since the only roadside offerings are some of the best views of nature in the world.

The main objective for our visit to Queenstown was a tour of Milford Sound on the west coast. We had booked two nights in the Reavers Lodge situated on a steep mountainside with a panoramic view of the area.  This accomodation was a basic hotel with a continental breakfast and proximity to a pickup point for the Go Orange tour bus.  We typically prefer to tackle tourist destinations ourselves, but the Milford Sound excursion encompasses a twelve-hour day of bus and boat travel, and we decided to leave the driving to others.  Besides, Deena worked her magic and found an online deal that allowed her to book each of us for the child's price, which made the experience less expensive than if we had done it ourselves.  

The hilly streets of Queenstown were easy to navigate, and we quickly found the hotel. Because the staff let us check in early, we had plenty of time to find lunch and explore.  The city center reminded us of Colorado towns with streets lined by shops offering the latest outdoor clothing and gear and coffee shops full of the young and hip.  The mountains behind the city were steep and full of fall color against a bright blue sky, and gusts of bracing cool air made us thankful we had lugged our down coats all around the world.  Deena and I dropped the kids off at the hotel and drove back to a salon we discovered near the main drag and got some much needed haircuts from a delightful couple who had moved to New Zealand from Ecuador. The cool air rushing against my freshly-mowed scalp made me thankful I had toted my Carolina Panthers beanie for ten months as well.  After one more trip downtown for the much esteemed Fergburger, we called it a day early since we had a 5:00 wake up the next morning.

The temperatures were in the thirties as we stood shivering at the bottom of the steep hill below the Reavers Lodge and waited for our bus at 6:15.  The only light came from a solitary street lamp and the pre-dawn stars left over from from the nightly display.  We were the first pickup that morning for Shale, our driver and guide for the trip to the sound. Shale, a rare Queenstown native, was a cheerful bloke who piloted a large comfortable coach where we quickly staked our claim on prime seats and settled in for the day.

State highway 94 is the only road leading out to Milford Sound in the heart of Fiordland National Park. This location at the southwest tip of New Zealand is only fifty-five kilometers away from Queenstown as the kea flies, but the Southern Alps get in the way and leaves a four-hour trek ahead of those seeking the beauty of the fiords.  Once we left the mountains surrounding Queenstown, the terrain changed to fenced grassy plains full of sheep, cattle, and deer farmed for their wool, milk, and venison, and they all grazed in the shadow of distant hills and evergreen forests.  Shale provided a wealth of information about the flora and fauna as we motored along. We learned all about how the New Zealand countryside went from only one native mammal, a small bat, to the introduction of rabbits, which led to the introduction of stoats to curb the rabbit population, which led to the stoats decimating the population of native flightless birds including the kiwi.

After a few short breaks, we entered Fiordland National Park. The landscape changed dramatically to thick, deep evergreen forests with towering craggy mountains topped by ancient ice fields which fed torrential azure blue rivers of glacial melt.  With every bend in the road, we stared in astonishment at displays of natural wonder, and by the time the coach reached the harbor at Milford Sound, we figured we had seen the best of the national park.  We realized our error in this assumption as our tour boat left the dock for a two-hour cruise of the sound and circled in front of iconic Mitre Peak with waterfalls cascading down the surrounding cliffs.  According to all the smart people, Milford Sound and other fiords in the area, were carved out by the slow-moving rivers of glacial ice in the area millions of years ago. All the signage and tour narrative again may fulfill the human desire to explain our environment or uncover its ancient origins, but for the most part, I think it’s enough sometimes to just gaze and declare, “that’s real purty.”  

The sheer, towering cliffs descended gradually to the Tasman Sea where the blue green water of the sound met open ocean. When we turned around and took the voyage back, we had closer views of the waterfalls as they cascaded in showers of droplets that produced hazy floating rainbows.  Fiordland National Park is known for ten meters of annual rainfall that results in close to three-hundred rainy days, but this day wasn't one of them. We had brilliant sunshine during our tour, and the high cliff edges were sharp against a deep blue sky.  We spent the long bus ride back to Queenstown mostly in silence as we pondered the powerful natural beauty we beheld that day, and I’m hoping our memories of Milford Sound will stay potent over the years as the many pictures we took did poor justice to the enormity of the slice of earth we saw in southern New Zealand.

Thankfully, checkout from the Reavers Lodge was 11:00 the next day which allowed us to sleep a bit later and enjoy a continental breakfast in the hotel community room.  By the time we loaded our gear, the clouds had lifted from the lower slopes of the mountainsides, and we got some nice parting views of Queenstown as we pointed the car northwest for the countryside of Fairlie which lay at the end of a three-hour passage through the central valleys.  Again, we were rewarded with a completely different landscape as low, barren hills gave way to long stretches of plains covered in brown grasses and low scrub.  The plains were traversed by meandering rivers flowing past stone banks. As we approached small crossroad towns, the waterways were lined with tall beech trees still full of golden leaves made more intense by the filtering of autumn sunlight through the branches.  We spent most of the day chasing distant mountain ranges that never seemed to get closer, their tall peaks capped with snow that looked like a dusting of powdered sugar.

Just outside of the township of Fairlie, we stopped at the Church of the Good Shepherd, one of the most photographed buildings in the world on the shore of Lake Tekapo, and took our own pictures while resting from the road.  The drive into Fairlie took us back into rolling green hills and large tracts of farmland, and we found our cottage for the night at the end of a long gravel road deep in the countryside next to a farmhouse by a swiftly running stream.  As the sun went down, we settled in and cooked a pasta supper and took advantage of the large DVD collection in the living room where we watched Pride and Prejudice and our all-time family favorite, Napoleon Dynamite.  The temperatures dropped a good bit that night, but were were warm in our beds piled high with thick quilts, and we woke to the warm sun rising slowly over the hills and the musical, whirring calls of the black-and-white jacketed magpies in the meadow behind the cottage.  We cooked a breakfast of sausage and roti bread and spent some time talking with our host, Sonia, as we slowly loaded the car in preparation for the drive to Christchurch several hours away.  Joseph and Deveny walked down to the barnyard below the farmhouse and fed our food scraps to the happily squealing hogs before we took to the road again leaving the peaceful countryside of Fairlie behind.

Three hours later, we crossed the city limits of Christchurch, the largest city on the southern island located about halfway up the east coast.  Between 2010 and 2012, the citizens of Christchurch endured several strong earthquakes which led to the destruction of 1500 buildings and the permanent displacement of 10,000 people.  Through a worldwide hospitality service, we had arranged to stay with a retired couple in the New Brighton suburb of the city. We arrived at their house late afternoon just in time for hot tea and ginger biscuits.  Elizabeth and Derry and their dog, Minnie, made us feel welcome and gave us the best rooms in the house for two nights.  They cooked huge meals for us including meatloaf with greens and roasted potatoes and spice cake with freshly whipped cream for dessert. The only cost being several hours of intense conversation about our travels and their life in New Zealand.  

After a night spent under down comforters on soft beds, Elizabeth and Derry put on a breakfast spread of homemade muesli and multigrain toast with raspberry jam.  We had a lively time around the table with the sun’s rays streaming through the rear windows and a bright fire popping in the pellet stove.  After Elizabeth and Derry gave us some tips on exploring Christchurch, we headed downtown to the Canterbury Museum, which boasted an impressive collection of ancient Maori artifacts, complete dinosaur skeletons, and rare gems and minerals among many other well-curated displays.  We loved it there and spent several hours wandering the halls and eventually ended up in the rooftop cafe for lunch overlooking the green lawns of the botanical gardens behind the museum.  We spent some time driving around the city center, which is in the midst of rebuilding from the earthquakes, and there’s still much work to be done.  Elizabeth and Derry told us of the thousands of people who had their property deemed unstable after the earthquakes and were forced to move after the local government purchased the land and bulldozed the houses.  Whole neighborhoods were affected and we saw many of these “red zones,” which now resemble parks with lots of green grass, but the trees and bushes leftover from landscaping around houses were a creepy reminder of the lives forever changed by the quakes.

Elizabeth and Derry were wonderful hosts, and we enjoyed getting to know them and listening to stories about their four children and many grandchildren.  On our last afternoon in Christchurch, Derry and Minnie took us walking down to the community garden where volunteers from the neighborhood keep beautiful rows of flowers, vegetables, and fruit  growing all year long for residents to enjoy.  He told us that the garden had helped neighbors get to know each other better and offer support to one another during the aftermath of the earthquakes, and it’s still going strong five years later.  We had one more delicious dinner and another evening of conversation before bringing our time in Christchurch to a close as we prepare to head farther north to the small town of Maruia in the center of the southern island.  We were thankful to Elizabeth and Derry opening their home to us, and I already dread the sting of forever leaving our new friends tomorrow morning.