A child helps you remember the beauty of the beach. For hours in St. Lucia last month, Austin was indefatigable as he explored shells and waves and sand. This morning in Picton, New Zealand I discovered with glee a sandy beach with loads of clam, mussel and snail shells. I scooped up a few, delighted that these would be the legitimate New Zealand treasure that would accompany the innocuous store bought knickknacks from anywhere I had already purchased for Austin.
I had wondered how to spend my morning before ferrying back to Wellington. There were several boat tours on offer, but my ferry ride seemed to scratch that itch. By chance, the table I sat at for dinner at Oxley's had a map on it that included several walking trails or "tracks" as they're called here.
Perfect.
I set out to walk in the winding, lush hills and dip my toes in the brisk, crystal clear water. I walked in solitude among the fragrant cedar trees and occasional glimpses of the turquoise blue bay below. I hummed Dvorak's 9th Symphony out loud and thought about Lord of the Rings, because everywhere in New Zealand looks like LOTR.
I thought about my beautiful day of wine tasting yesterday. We had a lovely guide, David, who was the friendliest guy in the world and took us to nice places. On the way back, he gave an earnest and passionate lecture on ceding vegetation, endangered indigenous species, and the shifting realities of life on this island. He spoke without drama or politics, but instead he presented climate change as reality upon us, undeniable and worrisome for all.
I cleared the steep slope and came upon Bob's Bay. I had the stunning views to myself. An occasional boat passed. Two ducks floated by. I felt deep peace in New Zealand before the long journey home.
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