Kia ora to New Zealand’s South Island

“Just wait ‘til you get to the South Island.” - everyone, everywhere on the North Island. 

Nearly everyone we spoke with on the North Island hyped us up for the beauty we would soon encounter on New Zealand’s less-inhabited neighbor island. 

My husband, three of our friends, and I flew from Auckland to Christchurch, rented motorhomes, and took off for the second half of our two-week-long adventure in New Zealand. 

There’s a lot worth sharing from the trip (and I will eventually), but as I recounted all the experiences, I found myself coming back to one particular moment. Initially I had wanted to write about the whole trip sequentially. Since then, I realized that the self-imposed pressure to write about all the experiences chronologically had become a hindrance to me writing at all. 

So finally, two full weeks after returning from New Zealand, I’m writing about the most potent and moving moment that has buried itself in my head and heart as a core memory. 

The Moment

Rain was falling relentlessly. The pavement was slick and dotted with puddles of varying depths. The road seemed small, cutting and winding through the wall of mountains on either side. When we parked and got out of our vehicles, we suddenly seemed small too. It was too cold and too rainy to see anything clearly as I ran across the road to the viewing area in front of Christie Falls.

I admired Christie Falls - which was roaring due to the heavy rainfall - for about five seconds. As I got ready to run back to the warm vehicle, I turned around and was stunned. There were dozens and dozens of waterfalls. All across the face of the mountains. I felt my chest open and tighten at the same time. There were waterfalls in all directions. Involuntarily, tears welled up in my eyes and I cried. 

Nature has never moved me like this. (I know I sound like a monster). 

It was something out of a movie. It was otherworldly. It was vast. It was abundant. It was untarnished. 

We had stopped because we saw an opportunity to park and take in some pre-Milford Sound views. With one car passing about every five minutes, it felt like we had this abbreviated stretch of road to ourselves for a brief moment in time. 

The cold and wet and grey filter on the scene didn’t even register for a moment. I was in total awe. 

Cityscapes have awed me. City views often bring a sense of sonder - every building window and train car represent a scene full of whole, complete, complex, and valuable lives that I will likely never know.

This was just as resonant but totally different. I felt small. I became immediately aware of how my existence is relevant for just a blip in time, and in the same breath, felt like that’s totally okay. I’m in vogue today and gone tomorrow. The natural world was here before me and will still be here after me, and I feel fortunate to have seen it in such a beautiful state.