One week and the freedom of four wheels and 1,500 kilometers of narrow, winding roads. A tent stashed in the back, a nose for the nearest ice cream stop, and a playlist of sing-your-heart-out tunes to keep me company. No set plans, just a makeshift map of recommended and repeat places I was itching to visit.
My solo North Island roadie was richly varied. There were moments of bold empowerment, total contentment, sheer exhaustion, speechless gratitude, and several doses of uncertainty along the way. The highlights outweighed the low points but the greatest challenge of the trip came as something of a surprise.
Was it the night I never slept because the wind was raging incessantly and I felt as though it might uproot my tiny tent and rip it to shreds at any second? Or the time I nearly burned down the picnic table while attempting to make dinner on my new camp stove?
Views from the Coastal Walkway on the northern tip of the Coromandel Peninsula
Neither of these instances came even close. Rather, it was the staggering masses of people making their pilgrimages to the same iconic NZ wonders as me. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was the peak of peak season. I could tell by the incredulity of anyone who answered the phone when I sheepishly called to ask if they had an available campsite for the next night when they had been fully booked for months. The single greatest challenge for me was reckoning with the fact that this gem of an island nation at the bottom of the Pacific has been widely discovered and overrun by tourists. And I was one of them.
On one hand, it made perfect sense. I’ve raved about NZ since the day we moved away and of course everyone is attracted to the astounding beauty of this special place. But another? part of me couldn’t stop the questioning. How did it grow so much, so fast? How will it cope with exceeding its carrying capacity? Am I contributing to the problem? What is my responsibility in all of this?
I can’t pretend to have the solutions, but I can share a step in the right direction. Tourism New Zealand, the very organization that has compelled millions to visit in recent years, recently launched a campaign called the Tiaki Promise. “Tiaki means to care for place and people,” the website explains, and the full statement reads, “While travelling in New Zealand I will care for land, sea and nature, treading lightly and leaving no trace; travel safely, showing care and consideration for all; respect culture, travelling with an open heart and mind.” Three simple steps to ensure that NZ remains beautiful for all who inhabit the land.
My hope is that people make this promise and take it seriously. Far beyond NZ, the impact of increased tourism is being felt by residents and travellers around the world. A little more care for the natural environment and local community has the potential to go a long way.
Final sunset looking across Lake Taupo to Mt. Ruapehu
My trip over the holidays was an immense joy and privilege, and I’d like to share a few snapshots where I felt the essence of tiaki in action.
It was NYE and I was in Raglan, a small surf town on the west coast. I desperately wanted to surf but I didn’t feel quite confident enough in my abilities to do it alone. I arrived at the beach for a stroll at golden hour as most surfers were bringing their boards in for the day. But the rental shop was still open for business. Within minutes, I was out there feeling the power of the waves swelling up behind me, gleefully popping up on the whitewash as it rolled into shore. My awe for the ocean that day reminded me to protect our blue planet for all its might and majesty.
I encountered the most harrowing roads of my journey on the Coromandel Peninsula, which required me to crawl along with painstaking focus to avoid going over the edge whenever a car came whipping around a tight corner from the opposite direction. Safety was of the utmost importance, along with a decent amount of trust in myself and the other drivers. The reward? A gorgeous 20km roundtrip walk along the coast. Its remoteness meant that it was only moderately busy and the views simply spoke for themselves.
On my final night on the road, I basked in the glow of a warm summer’s eve overlooking Lake Taupo. As I was sitting there, reflecting on the past year and writing down my goals for 2019, someone came along and said, “here, I just took this photo of you,” and handed me a Polaroid. Capturing this blissful moment was a gift I treasure—a tangible way to remember the peace I felt so keenly. My 2019 intention: open. Open heart and mind.
-Emily
