http://RealAdventures.com/vacations/185049_canterbury-new-zealand-articles.htm Check out some of the recently updated travel & vacation listings on RealAdventures. Be inspired, go explore! en-us Sat, 28 Nov 2009 00:47:05 GMT Sat, 28 Nov 2009 00:47:05 GMT http://RealAdventures.com http://RealAdventures.com/vacations/185049_canterbury-new-zealand-articles.htm 100 100 http://RealAdventures.com/listings/1024426_Prisoners-Of-Our-Minds http://RealAdventures.com/listings/1024426_Prisoners-Of-Our-Minds Articles New Zealand Thu, 08 Jan 2004 00:01:00 An inspirational story about the lifechanging possibilities of nature travel. -
An inspirational story about the lifechanging possibilities of nature travel.


by Ron Marriott

I hate to admit it, but after a lifetime of hating people, I am starting to like them. They are touching me and it feels good, most of the time. I think now that most people want to be honest and decent, if their bloody lives will let them. It seems to me that, for a lot of people, a city life is a pressurefilled life. A sort of exciting merrygoround, fun if you don&8217t fall off. And I think a lot of the people we get here are those who have fallen off, or at least want to get off.

Someone said to me that this place is a &8220turnaround&8221 place. Right at the end of the Sound, it&8217s the place where you stop for a while when you find you can&8217t go any further. And then you turn around. Some go back to where they come from, at least knowing that they want to. And some go off to a new destination, having found that it wasn&8217t as hard to get off the merrygoround as they had thought. I think that I came here like that. Only I haven&8217t left yet.

Heike was like that. I first met her when she came for a few days as a guest. At that early stage of her travels she was bright, bubbly and full of excitement at the prospect of travelling through the wonders of South Island nature. Later, nearly at the end of her travels, she wrote and asked if she could come again, but this time for a longer period and as a &8220woofer.&8221 A woofer is a kind of modern tramp. They work a few hours a day for their keep. I said OK.

Heike this time was a little different &8211 happy enough and full of praise for New Zealand and New Zealanders, but a little wistful at the thought of her imminent return to Germany. Over the next couple of weeks, bit by bit, it all came out. Her travel in NZ had opened her eyes to a different kind of life and environment. To her, NZ was a land of blue seas, green bush and crashing waterfalls, inhabited by people who put play before work and family life before money. In NZ, people had time to sit round and talk about things and did not live for work, she thought. While as a New Zealander I was more than a little chuffed at her feelings about my land, I privately thought that this didn&8217t quite sound like the country I knew. I said very little, hoping that in the end she would work it all through.

But she didn&8217t. A couple of days before she was due to leave, we were mustering the sheep. During a break, when we were gathering a few mushrooms for dinner and talking about how they were going to be cooked, she burst out with, &8220How can I go back to Germany after this? Look at me. I am here on this beautiful day in this beautiful land, and the thing which is most important is how we are going to cook these mushrooms tonight. This could never happen in Germany. I can&8217t go back.&8221

Her despair wrenched at my gut like a knife and we sat down, forgetting the sheep for a while. We talked, something like this

&8220Why can&8217t this happen in Germany. Do you not have sunny days?&8221 I asked.

&8220Yes, of course,&8221 Heike said.

&8220Do you not have green grass and sheep and nice scenery?&8221

&8220Yes.&8221

&8220Well, why can&8217t this happen in Germany?&8221

&8220People there don&8217t have time.&8221

&8220Look, Heike, I don&8217t really want to tell you this, but I think you&8217ve got the wrong idea about New Zealanders. Most ordinary people in our cities are so busy competing with each other they don&8217t have time, either. In your travel here you have been meeting people like me whose job it is to have time to talk. I think that really we are not so different to Germans.&8220

&8220I hate my job,&8221 she said.

&8220Well, what you rather do?&8221 I asked.

&8220I want to work with children.&8221

&8220Why don&8217t you?&8221

&8220In Germany, this job is not considered high. It is poorly paid. In Germany you are only respected when you work to the maximum of your capability, and your capability is judged by the quality of job you have.&8221

&8220But the people who matter, your boyfriend, your parents, your friends, they would still love you, wouldn&8217t they?&8221

&8220Yes. I don&8217t know.&8221

I was stumped, she unconvinced, and so we went on. I don&8217t know who was the more depressed. I couldn&8217t begin to understand a culture apparently so rigid, and I didn&8217t really believe it, but I didn&8217t know. My rosy glow of selfsatisfaction was gone. Her experience in my country, as good as it was, had made her miserable.

I was still sad when it became time for her to go, a sadness that even the warmth of her parting hug could not dispel. I felt such a bloody failure. I said that I would think of her and I meant it, but I knew that the thought would not bring me joy.

About six months later, a card came. It was from Heike. She said that she had chucked her old job in, was working with intellectually handicapped children, and that she was very happy and settled back in her country. It seemed that her fears had been unfounded. It was her mind that had been keeping her prisoner, not her country. Her travel experience had shown her a different way, which in the end she followed, and all was well.

I hope all is still well, Heike, and that one day you might come back and read this story and know how much happiness your card gave me that day. You touched me, and I liked it. I said I would think of you and I often do, particularly when I&8217m collecting mushrooms.
Details & Reservations: Prisoners Of Our Minds
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]]> http://RealAdventures.com/listings/1024427_The-Fall-And-Rise-Of-A-Walk-Guide http://RealAdventures.com/listings/1024427_The-Fall-And-Rise-Of-A-Walk-Guide Articles New Zealand Thu, 08 Jan 2004 00:01:00 Join Kiwi guide Ron Marriott as he experiences bad weather and good people at his South Island wilderness park. -
Join Kiwi guide Ron Marriott as he experiences bad weather and good people at his South Island wilderness park.


by Ron Marriott

I feel quite inspired today. I&8217ve been walking in the rain, with a mad woman from America. Normally walking in the rain with mad women from America makes me feel terrible. Something to do with wet socks, I think. Makes me feel I&8217m wasting my time. Do you ever feel like you&8217re wasting your time? I bet you do, sometimes. I hope you do, because I wouldn&8217t like to think that I was the only one who felt they were wasting their time by walking about in the rain with wet socks.

Last week I felt like I was wasting my time, and it wasn&8217t even raining. I was walking with this guy through the Ship Cove trail. He was seventyodd years old, had some heart trouble. I was there in case he pegged out on the way. But it was me who nearly pegged out. And I&8217m twenty &8211 well, nearly twenty &8230 never you mind, I was younger than him and I couldn&8217t keep up. That was enough to make me feel like I was wasting my time on its own. What was worse, he didn&8217t seem to like the track. I like the track. I have to because I made it and if I didn&8217t, I would feel that I had wasted my time, wouldn&8217t I. And you know what that does to me, don&8217t you? Makes me feel like I&8217m walking about in the rain, with wet socks.

I don&8217t really know if he didn&8217t like the track. He didn&8217t actually say he didn&8217t like the track. In fact, he didn&8217t really say anything at all. He didn&8217t look at anything, either, at least not as far as I could see. He couldn&8217t with his head down looking at his boots, could he? I tested it out.

&8220That&8217s a beautiful tree, eh?&8221

&8220Humpf,&8221 he said.

&8220Port Gore looks great today, eh?&8221

&8220Humpf,&8221 he said.

Do you think that was a yes or a no? Anyway, I shut up after that, cleared a few ferns off the track to make me feel I wasn&8217t wasting my time and plodded on.

Later in the day he got quite talkative. &8220Why on earth do you live out here,&8221 he asked.

That really cheered me up.

&8220Well, I&8217m letting the farm go back to it&8217s natural state and creating a wilderness park,&8221 I said.

&8220What for?&8221 he said.

&8220Well, so we can make a living by making the whole place a sanctuary so that people like you will want to come,&8221 I said, a bit viciously.

&8220Humpf,&8221 he said. &8220You&8217ll never make any money out of that.&8221

&8220Well, money isn&8217t everything, is it? As long as we make enough, we&8217ll still be living in a beautiful place where my family can bring up their children and live in peace,&8220 I protested.

&8220They&8217ll all leave,&8221 he said.

&8220Well, if they do and if my wife and I don&8217t want to stay, it still won&8217t have been a waste of time. We had a very good offer for this place just recently. There are some people in the world who appreciate the natural values of this place,&8221 I snarled.

&8220If I was you, I&8217d have taken that offer. It won&8217t always be there,&8221 he said.

I shut up after that. The only good thing about that day was that I was so keen to get home and shoot myself, I beat him back to the home gate, by a yard, but then I suppose he did have a crook ticker.

But that was last week. Today I&8217ve been walking in the rain with this mad woman from America, and despite the wet socks, I feel good. It didn&8217t look that good at the start. When I met the boat at Ship Cove it was pissing down, if you&8217ll excuse me English. Pissing down like only Ship Cove can, and I already had wet socks, with six hours of walking to go.

&8220Lovely day,&8221 I said. &8220Welcome to the land of eternal sunshine.&8221

Nobody laughed, including me &8211 and I usually laugh at my own jokes. Except this American woman. That&8217s when I knew she was a bit strange. And I started to get this funny feeling. You know the one. It starts as a little tingle somewhere in your gut and then it sort of bubbles right up through your chest, till it gets to your heart. And then it disappears for a while, out through your shoulder I think. You must know the one. The one that you felt as a kid on Christmas Eve and the one you still do, on your birthday, if you haven&8217t turned fifty yet, like I have. That&8217s the one. Of course in this case it was probably just wind. But I&8217m pretty sure my socks were starting to dry out a little.

As well as Carol (the name of the American woman), there was also a family group of Kiwis who were going to take the walk, and they weren&8217t looking all that impressed with the weather. They looked at me expectantly, as though I was about to tell them that the rain would stop soon. I find a lot of people look at me like that. I don&8217t know why. I don&8217t even look like a weather forecaster, do I? I don&8217t wear natty clothes and drive classic cars. I do talk nonstop, I must admit, and tell stupid jokes, but not on TV. Anyway, like a real forecaster, I decided to tell them what the weather was going to be, even if I didn&8217t have a clue.

&8220I think there&8217s a likelihood of showers today,&8220 I spat through the torrent of water pouring off my hat. &8220If the sun comes out, the rain will probably stop&8221 I added, wisely.

I tried again. &8220The weather is so bad that I wouldn&8217t blame anyone for not wanting to walk for hours through a lot of wet trees to see damn all, so, if you want, the boat can take you all direct to the lodge and a hot fire,&8221 I said.

I had to hang on during this last bit because the boat was starting to rock, with all the heads nodding, including mine.

Except for this American woman. &8220I would really like to walk if I could, please, if you really don&8217t mind,&8221 said Carol, in a small voice.

I told you she was strange. I felt another attack of wind coming on. &8220Of course I don&8217t mind, I&8217m a Kiwi. I never mind walking in the rain with wet socks,&8221 I thundered.

Well, the upshot of it all was that soon Carol and I were sloshing through the calfhigh lake that had developed on the Ship Cove lawn &8230 with the parents of the Kiwi family. The kids took the easy way out and went by boat to the fire, but you can&8217t blame them. They&8217ve got more life in front of them so they really don&8217t have to walk about in the rain with wet socks. Not yet.

Actually, it wasn&8217t too bad in the bush under the trees, and Carol seemed to like it, and I started to like her. After all, it&8217s not every broad that laughs when she gets slapped in the face with a wet punga. There&8217s hardly any in New Zealand. I know that because I spent most of my teenage years looking for a woman like that. I don&8217t suppose there&8217s many in America, either. Anyway, things only started to get tough when we got to the waterfall. The gentle stream that we normally hop across was now a raging torrent, and we couldn&8217t get across. This is where my years of bush experience came into play.

&8220We&8217ll go downstream until we meet the sea, and then we&8217ll swim across&8221 I said.

Carol seemed most impressed. Actually, we didn&8217t have to, because a few paces down river we found a tree trunk that had conveniently fallen between the banks.

Greasy little number that was. I showed Carol how a real bushman gets across rivers on trees. It&8217s easy. You give your pack to your partner, take two steps forward standing up, and then leap on to your stomach and wriggle the rest of the way with your arms wrapped round the trunk. After that Carol followed. I was a bit annoyed, actually, because she can&8217t have been watching properly. She just walked across. On the other hand, she had both packs to balance her.

From there, to link back up to the track was easy. Just 15 minutes through a waistdeep swamp, and a short 50metre climb up a vertical and muddy cliff, and we were there. After I had got my pack back off Carol, I said, &8220That was a bit rough,&8221 and she replied, &8220That was great.&8221

Things went even more strange after that. I&8217m sure Carol had never been there before, but she seemed to know almost every tree. Every now and then I&8217d hear this exclamation of, &8220Man oh man,&8221 and she&8217d sort of skip ahead and give this tree a little hug. I understand a lot of that goes on in California. D&8217you remember Neil Diamond? He talks about tree people on one of his tapes. She seemed to be very interested in leaves too, and flowers and twigs. She would touch them gently and hold them up close to her face and give out a little squeak.

Of course, with all this going on, I quite forgot about the rain, and it seemed no time at all before we broke out onto the clear ridge above Port Gore. I do remember briefly thinking about the warning my mother gave me a long time ago never walk in the woods with strange women. But it was quite nice, really, and I must admit, by the time we got there, I was feeling quite chipper.

All the time we were climbing, the rain had come down in buckets, but do you know, the moment we stepped out onto the ridge, the clouds parted, the sun came out and there was Port Gore below us, as blue as ever with its deserted green hills in the background.

&8220Thank Christ for that,&8221 I said, and Carol started to pray. At least, I think that&8217s what she was doing. She was going, &8220Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,&8221 and that has to be praying, doesn&8217t it?.

It seemed a good time for a bite, so after Carol had sorted out God, that&8217s what we did. And now that it was safe to open your mouth without getting half drowned, we had a bit of a chat.

&8220It must be great to get to live in a place like this,&8221 Carol said.

&8220Well, I&8217ve always wanted to take a bit of land and create a wilderness park,&8221 was my reply.

&8220I can easily understand that. What a wonderful way of making a living,&8221 she said.

&8220Well, it&8217s not much of a living, at least not yet,&8221 I complained.

&8220Money&8217s not everything,&8221 she said. &8220As long as you can make enough you&8217ve got a beautiful place where your family can bring up their children in peace.&8221

&8220Yeah, I suppose so,&8221 I said. &8220But they might want to leave one day.&8221

&8220I can&8217t see that happening, and even if they did, and you and your wife wanted to go, there would be plenty of people who would pay big money to have this. You&8217re very lucky to live here,&8221 was Carol&8217s reply.

And that&8217s more or less how the whole day went. The weather stayed fine, Carol prayed a lot and hugged a few more trees and I tingled along behind. Like with the guy last week I beat her to the home gate by a yard, but only because I wanted to tell someone at home how lucky I was.

I quite like mad women from America. She&8217s coming back, you know. She wants to do the same walk again. I&8217m going to go along with her for a second time, and you never know &8212 I might get to hug a few trees myself.
Details & Reservations: The Fall And Rise Of A Walk Guide
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