New Zealand wants you to come. First, it woos you with promises of spectacular scenery – snow-capped peaks, lush forests, rugged coastlines, bubbling cauldrons. When you consent to visit, it begins an elaborate courtship of tourist-friendly logistical supports – busses that pick you up at your hostel and deliver you to the doorstep of the next one; visitor information centers overflowing with brochures and courteous staff that advise, direct, and make bookings for whatever accommodation, transport, or activity you desire; maps that are abundant; signs that clearly demark roads, attractions, and accommodations; and guides that are – by law I suspect – blonde, buff, beautiful, and breaking my heart.
If this is not enough to win you over, New Zealand entices you further with fantastic parks brimming with well-groomed and well-marked trails to match all abilities, stunning vistas, and unique landscapes. And if you waiver in your commitment, New Zealand whispers in your ear, “bungee jumping,” “jet boating,” “glacier walks,” “abseiling,” “canyoning.” Add to this a people who are friendly, engaging, warm, and completely at ease with themselves and the seduction is complete.
New Zealand wants me and I yield willingly and totally to its charms. New Zealand can do anything it wants with me; I am its mistress.
New Zealand must have many under its spell, for it doesn’t care who you are – it wants you – the elderly couple off a cruise ship or the scrappy backpacker wearing the same shirt for the 15th day in a row. It doesn’t matter; New Zealand is ready for you and it will have you. Resistance is futile.
I am not so certain that this is not some clever immigration scheme. Already I am mentally building a house by the water, joining in the ease of the living, “tramping,” as the locals call hiking, in every nook and cranny of the country. I am mentally on every seashore, on every mountain, and in every forest. And you can well imagine what I have done mentally with the aforementioned guides!
I have wanted to come to this country for almost 30 years. My first memory of a New Zealand consciousness took place in a youth hostel in Heidelberg, Germany, 1972. As I was descending a stairwell, I looked up and my eyes locked into those of a young man ascending the stairs. We paused – too long for ordinary acknowledgement of another – and stared into each other, delighting in that inexplicable energy exchange most commonly called chemistry. His name was Nev and he said he was from New Zealand. I remember little else of that moment, but still can summon up the delicious electricity. And that the seeds of New Zealand awareness were planted. From there I began to collect pictures of places that stirred me as much as Nev’s eyes. I clipped articles about this far-off country and it never left my top ten must-visit list.
And here I am – finally! – only 18 days into a proposed 7 week stay and already calculating how to make it last longer. New Zealand’s seduction is a complete success.