Not All Wanderers are Lost?

I haven’t written. I didn’t forget or get lazy. I listened to the doubts and I couldn’t push myself through.

Who cares about the story?

So I stopped.

I stopped writing the story at a point in my journey when I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be: I was in Kaikoura, New Zealand and it was perfect.

I made friends. I hiked. I painted.

After Kaikoura, Emma and I got a ride from a musician who let me choose the music in the car. Not only did he bring us all the way to Christchurch (our next destination), he let us stay at his house that night. His flat mate was a poet and we cooked dinner and drank and played music and read poetry.

In the morning, he brought us to the train station and we parted ways. We took the train across the mountains to the West Coast.

On the other side, we got a ride with a woman from Ireland who happened to be staying at the same hostel as us. 

You’ll always meet someone on a shorter and safer trip than you. You’ll always meet someone on a longer and more exciting adventure than you.

But rides started getting harder to catch.

Please pick us up. Please pick us up.

But things work out and we made it to Franz Josef where I hiked to the glacier.

And we made it to Wanaka with a great group of strangers.

Looking at Wanaka before leaving again.

We made it to Queenstown where we ate a burger at Fergburger. We got a ride from a pro-hockey player from France. We got stuck in Alexandria and stayed in a really cold hostel.

Emma waiting in Queenstown

We went to Dunedin to climb the steepest street in the world just in time for sunset.

Top of Baldwin Street

We took a bus back to Nelson where we would part ways.

Emma stayed behind with a plan to get back on the Stray Bus to explore the South Island again and I took the ferry back to Wellington to catch my flight the next day.

I was alone again. I flew to San Francisco.

A seagull enjoys the view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I used Craigslist to make my way north with someone who begins as a stranger and ends a new friend. In Santa Rosa, I tried In-and-Out Burger for the first time.

Utilizing Craigslist again, I found a 63-year-old Vietnam Vet looking for someone to go cross-country and I was looking to get to Colorado. We spent 4 days on the roads less traveled, camping our way east.

I spent three more weeks in Colorado debating if I should just stay.

Full moon over the mountains in Nederland, Colorado.

At the top of Loveland Pass with Ollie.

On Craigslist again, I found a nice guy from Atlanta looking to drive to DC. He was taking a break from hiking the Appalachian Trail. He had already completed the southern portion and went to Colorado for a friend’s wedding.

I spent a couple more days in Annapolis riding bikes and boats until I finally took a bus back to Philly and then a train to Atlantic City where I called my brother to see if he happened to be nearby and could give me a ride home – I didn’t tell anyone I would be arriving.

He picked me up from the train station and we drove home.

I spent about six weeks at the beach and riding my bike and picking up odd-jobs before flying to Vegas for a wedding.

I flew to Guatemala where I decided I would study Spanish for a few weeks. 

Then back to Colorado for another wedding.

As serendipity would have it, I was asked to drive a car from Colorado to Massachusetts under the condition I could take as long as I needed. I drove alone across the country, visiting states.

I drove into Arkansas, which was the 50^th state that I needed to visit – I have now been to all 50 states. The lady at the Visitor’s Center gave me a book and took my picture.

My experience in Fayetteville, Arkansas was one of the nicest I’ve had and will be another story of its own – oh, the people I met were so wonderful.

One night at a time going through Missouri, Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New York, and eventually to New Jersey.

A few weeks later: Iceland with my mom!

But, what next? I would wait and see.

A friend proposed I move to Telluride, Colorado... so I end up spending three months there.

Sure.

And then back to New Jersey because maybe working at a bike shop and hanging out at the beach would be a really fun time but things can never just be that easy for my restless soul.

Just over two months later I feel again like I’m suffocating and I wake up in the middle of the night with no sense of home; it feels like panic. My heart pounds and I still need to figure out where I’m supposed to go from here.

Should I just pack my bag and head out on a one-way ticket again? I really want to learn Spanish.

Should I pack my car with my cat and dog and see what it’s like to live on the Oregon Coast?

Should I unpack my boxes and just stay put?

Philadelphia? New York City? Utah? Alaska?

There are so many places to see and people to meet.

I don't know where to begin. It's overwhelming.

We only get one chance.

There was always a constant tug at my heart telling me to live as full a life as I could - whatever that means. It's a push that makes me say "yes" and keep going.

And the opportunity arose last year so I left on a train in hopes that I would figure something out along the way.

But I’m sitting here trying to explain this while my hands shake and my throat feels tight because I am. so. utterly. lost.

Who cares about the story? A story needs an ending. A story needs some lesson learned. An epiphany. Love. Enlightenment.

Or maybe just take some beautiful picture while you look out into the beautiful world from a cliff while the whales swim through the water in the distance and attach some quote that makes everything look like it is perfect, because it is.

Tinder, Hunting, and the Police Down Under

While watching music in a basement pub, I get the brilliant idea to use Tinder in an attempt to find a local that might be willing to show us around the next day!

Once cozy in my bed with a nice wine buzz, I begin swiping right with vigor, hoping for a quick response. Lucky for me, a very attractive lad named Tom catches the bait and agrees to pick us up from the hostel in the morning.

Bright and early, just as planned, Emma and I find Tom waiting in the parking lot. We greet each other; everyone seems a little unsure. We voluntarily get into his car.

Tom is tall and handsome with bright blue eyes and a beard – my kind of guy. He is born and raised in this little town - not my kind of guy. 

He is a carpenter.

This whole situation is awkward, but because I put all three of us here, I feel an obligation to ease any tension. I’m talking a lot, desperately trying to find something any of us have in common – normally, I can achieve this quickly. Not with Tom.

I ask him lots of questions about what it is like living in Nelson. He says he doesn’t really like it.

I ask why he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t know.

I ask what he likes about it. He says, “Nothing really. I don’t know.”

I ask what we should see. He says, “There isn’t really anything to see. I don’t know.”

He hasn’t traveled, but that is okay. He says he is interested in traveling and his father is from Boston.

I’m pretty sure he thinks I am strange and he is probably regretting his decision to do this. Or maybe he’s just awkward with women. Or maybe he is just always awkward.

I try asking him about the things he builds.

He brings us to a couple of beaches and overlooks. I take some pictures.

Tom says now, "This is really awkward."

After a few hours, Tom drives us to the edge of town where we should be able to get a ride to our next destination. We bid farewell.

“Thanks for showing us around! I really appreciate it! You should travel! I think you are extremely attractive and we’d make beautiful babies, but you have no fire!” I say as he pulls away. (Half of that actually happened in a slightly alcohol-induced, follow-up text from me to him. I might be the worst. Another one gets away!)

Emma and I put our bags on the ground and hold our thumbs up high.

After some time, a guy named Steve pulls over to give us a ride. He is leaving town to go camping by himself for the night and can drive us halfway to Havelock where he needs to stop at a grocery store – this is all very suspicious and sounds like the perfect setup for a murder! But, we are now experienced hitchhikers with one successful experience the day before, so we’re good, right?

Steve is originally from England. When he was two, his family moved to New Zealand. (That’s all I remember about him.)

The ride is uneventful and Steve drops us off in Havelock and wishes us luck. We thank him.

Emma and I walk to the edge of town and stick our thumbs out.

It starts raining.

A few minutes pass and a car pulls over to save us! An Asian man in his fifties jumps out of the passenger side (on the left) with a huge smile. He greets us warmly and opens the trunk for our bags.

“You don’t want to be stuck out here in the rain! Where are you heading?” he asks.

Rodney and his wife, Angie, are from Auckland but are on the South Island for a conference. He works at the university. They are staying in Blenheim – the town we are trying to get to! Rodney is very excited that we are hitchhiking and tells us about how he used to hitchhike too.

They want to stop in a little town called Renwick for a hunting competition and ask if that is okay.

Of course! This is exactly the kind of thing we want to experience!

We arrive at the hunting competition. It is hosted in the parking lot of a country-type bar.

Throughout the parking lot, goats, pigs, and deer are gutted and hanging to be judged for the competition; sausages are cooking on grills; and country music is playing. People are wearing camouflage and drinking beer. Children are running around. I feel like I could easily be anywhere in the United States – I’ve seen this before. They tell us, "This is real New Zealand."

Angie and Rodney wanted me to get my picture with these guys.

The cute animals, like rabbits and possums, are hanging in the “kiddie area”. Next to the cart of dangling carcasses are crates containing live piglets, possums, and rabbits for the kids to touch and hold. I find the irony hilarious.

Emma is excited to hold a possum!

After eating some local sausage and taking pictures, we continue on our way. Dusk is coming fast, and even though we were planning to stay in Blenheim, Rodney and Angie think we should go farther to Kaikoura.

They feel confident that we will find a ride the rest of the way before dark, so they drop us off at the edge of town, but close enough to where we can walk to a hostel if we aren’t picked up in time.

This is one of the main rules of hitching: DO NOT HITCHHIKE IN THE DARK!

No, don’t.

We’re gambling now. The sun is still shining but it’s winter and it will get dark fast.

How long we should wait? How far away is Kaikoura? Less than two hours. If we find a ride now, will it be dark before we arrive?

Car after car passes and we’re watching the sun. We are definitely getting closer to walking back to find a place to stay but the encouragement from Angie and Rodney keeps us going. They were so optimistic!

Everyone is driving past.  Why isn’t anyone stopping? We look so clean! And sane!

Just as we’re about to give up hope, an SUV pulls over. A man gets out and opens the back of the car for our bags.

Now that split second of judging his character kicks in, especially because we are chancing the dark.

Everything about him seems all right and we really want to get to our destination.

We have had so much luck. So… we get in.

His name is Tony and he has spent a long weekend in Picton with his kids. He is driving home to Christchurch but he can drop us off at our hostel in Kaikoura.

He studied geology and geography in college and he teaches us about the landscapes in depth as we drive through the hills. The area is more barren than I had pictured for New Zealand. I thought that the whole country consisted of bright green, rolling hills speckled with sheep and hobbits.

Not here - it is brown and dry.

I kind of notice that Tony is driving fast, but I think it is associated the winding road that I’m not used to. After not too long, the sun sets and we are driving through the dark. We can’t see the landscape anymore.

By this point, I’m feeling comfortable enough with Tony. He seems intelligent and kind and I’m not worried about the darkness. Besides, there is nothing we can do about it now.

While in the middle of an interesting conversation about earthquakes, flashing lights come on behind us. Tony suddenly seems very stressed out. I feel tense.

He pulls the car over and the cop pulls up behind us.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and runs out of the car.

What is happening?

I look out the window and see Tony run up to the cop car.

He pulls the door open.

And.

He gets in. He gets into the cop car.

And we’re sitting in this car alone. In the middle of nowhere.

In the dark.

Tony, our driver, has just gotten into the cop car.

This does not happen in the United States. In the United States, you NEVER get out of your car! You NEVER approach the officer’s car! And you definitely NEVER GET INTO THE OFFICER’S CAR IN A PANIC!

OH MY GOD! WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Emma and I are sitting in this man’s car. She says she noticed that he was driving really fast and had been watching his speedometer.

I say that you can't get into an officer's car in the United States. This alone scares me.

There is nothing we can do, so we just have to wait there.

After some time, Tony comes back and gets into the car with us. He is kind of frantic. This is a holiday weekend and Tony tells us that they lower the speed limit for that but he forgot.

Eventually, the officer comes up to the car. He seems gentle; he is smiling.

His personality is light and he is trying to make Tony feel better. There is no hostility between the men. Tony is definitely stressed as we find out that he got a speeding ticket a couple days earlier and now he will most certainly lose his license.

The officer seems most concerned about the fact that speeding can get someone killed.

Tony says he didn’t mean to, but he wasn’t paying attention because we were talking.

He gives him a ticket (this seems to be nonnegotiable). The officer looks in at me and says with a smile, “Make sure he doesn’t speed anymore!” and then tells us to be careful and have a good night.

The entire mood of the car has changed. Tony is so stressed and I am tense because, I feel like it’s my fault – it’s not my fault!

I’m not sure what to do now. Should we talk like nothing happened? Should we talk about what happened? Should I be quiet? Should I apologize?

I tell him that in the United States, you are not allowed to leave your car when you get pulled over. You can barely reach into your glove box to get your insurance and registration.

Tony tells me that cops don’t carry guns in New Zealand. He says that guns, besides hunting rifles, are not legal there, so it isn't an issue. (This is just what he told me and I have not fact-checked it.)

Tony is a good host and holds it together. He drives us all the way to our hostel.

We thank him profusely. I hold myself back from apologizing for the speeding ticket. I know it’s not my fault, even though I feel like it is.

We walk into the Albatross Backpacker and the receptionist says we have arrived just in time for dinner.

It feels like home and I am encouraged by the painting I see on the wall:

For another day, we can still believe in humanity. And we can go to sleep knowing that we are on the adventure of our lives. 

**I just want to mention that the animals hunted have all been introduced to New Zealand and are invasive. This means that the animals are not from there and the presence causes significant damage to the ecosystem. The hunting of these species supports the effort to eradicate these invasive pests from New Zealand in an attempt to restore the health of the environment.

A Pair of Hitchhikers

Before leaving the hostel that morning, I take a piece of cardboard from the recycling that we can use to make a sign with our destination.

We ask a lady in a stationary store where we should stand to get a ride to Nelson. She indicates that it is not a very popular time of year to find people going that way but she points in a direction and wishes us luck.

We get to where we think we are supposed to wait, set our backpacks down, hold up the little cardboard sign, and stick out our thumbs.

The only other experience I have with hitchhiking was when I lived in the mountains about 30 minutes outside of Boulder, Colorado. On most days, I would take the bus, but every so often, it wouldn't come so I would hitchhike to get to work. I never had to wait very long and I would usually make a new friend. 

At first we feel a little awkward. A car is coming up the road. And then drives past us. 

Another car is coming so we hold our thumbs up higher. That car keeps driving too.

Car after car passes. I read online that a pair of females is considered the safest way to hitchhike and most likely to be picked up. We fit the stereotype. Why isn't anyone stopping?

Finally, a car pulls up and the adrenaline begins to pump through my body. Is this it? I have a split second to get a feeling for the driver and decide if we want to get in or not. We have already been waiting much longer than we originally anticipated, so there is a little desperation - it's winter and we are cold.

The driver rolls his window down and informs us that we’re not standing in the right place. If we want, he can drive us up the road a bit to where we will have a better chance of finding a ride to our destination. We accept.

After a few minutes, he drops us off at a more direct intersection and wishes us luck. 

That was easy.

Just like before, we put our backpacks on the ground, hold up our little cardboard sign, and stick our thumbs out.

It seems to be taking forever. 

A car pulls over and a bright-eyed, red-haired man tells us that he can’t take us all the way, but he will bring us to an even more direct intersection about 45 minutes up the road, if we would like.

We accept and get into his car. I sit in the front passenger seat (on the left side of the car – we are in New Zealand) and my friend sits in the back.

After a few minutes of small talk, our driver, Simon, says that he doesn’t have anything planned for the day so he will drive us the 2+ hours all the way - as long as we don’t mind stopping at his house so he can drink a cup of coffee.

That seems too nice. Who does that? Is he going to murder us?

“Are you sure you don't mind?” I ask.

“It’s no problem at all. I like driving and we can take the scenic route,” Simon says.

After a little while, he turns left onto a dirt road. We're driving through vineyards. It's beautiful, but where is he taking us? This doesn't seem right.

We pull up to a house with a small barn surrounded by vineyards as far as you can see.

I look at the barn and immediately imagine the various tools stored behind those doors that could be used to torture us.

He invites us in for coffee. I politely decline because I figure I'm safer staying in the car (he has left the keys and I can make an escape if I need to) but my friend says she would like to use the bathroom.

I can’t let her go in the house alone as I sit in the car wondering if we're actually going to make it to Nelson.

I get out of the car to follow my friend into his house and I am greeted by two barking dogs - clean and friendly. Then I see two pigs, cats, and other domestic animals, including ducks. They are all very excited, and very friendly.

I tell myself that a psychopath would probably not have such clean and friendly animals. Right?

When I walk into his house, I only notice how beautifully crafted and put together it is. Simon mentioned in the car that he was a carpenter. He built his house and just about everything in it - the cabinets, tables, doors. Everything. It is stunning.  

The barn is used as his workshop.

He gives us a tour of the yard to see more of his art and to meet the animals. He tells us how he acquired them – most had just shown up on their own over the years, including one of the pigs.

We sit on the patio, surrounded by vineyards, mountains, and stunning views while he finishes his coffee and smokes a cigarette.

When he's ready, we all get back into the car and continue on our journey.

We drive through the Marlborough Wine Region as he teaches us about the local climate, grapes, and geology. We talk about traveling. He tells us his stories and we share ours.

He drives the entire way and drops us off at the door of our hostel. We thank him profusely, which still does not seem like enough. He wishes us safe travels and then drives away. Just like that.

For another day, I can still believe in humanity.

Celebrating our first successful day of hitchhiking! 

A motivational sign we found in Nelson.