New Zealand: Stories from the Road

Part 2

Tethered goats and stray thoughts

In general, most tourists, if pressed for time, will only visit the South Island of New Zealand. The South Island is famed for its dramatic landscape with mountains, glaciers, and fjords all jostling for attention. The North Island is where the majority of locals live, strategically positioned far away from the tourist hotspots of Queenstown and Milford Sound. Luckily, we weren’t pressed for time and we spent just under half our time in New Zealand exploring the North Island, even making it all the way to Cape Reinga at the very top. Exploring the less touristy places during the off season gave me the chance to really catch a glimpse of Kiwi life. Some aspects turned out to be a little stranger than others. During one memorable toilet stop in a small town I encountered a man walking what, at first glance, appeared to be two large dogs on leads. Upon closer inspection it turned out that he was walking one large dog and one medium sized goat. My head was certainly turned by this sight, but the locals didn’t seem to be batting an eyelid. What an odd sight to see, I thought to myself, but wrote it off as an isolated incident and happily moved on. Until, a few weeks later, the exact same thing happened again. Does it need to happen three times to count as a pattern or will two do?

The road to Cape Reinga was refreshingly straight and flat, honestly a real delight to drive. It brought us past stunning beaches with bright white sand and the most enticingly blue water I’ve ever seen. When we reached Cape Reinga it was a little windy and much warmer than expected. We walked hand-in-hand along the gentle path from the car park to the lighthouse at the most northern tip. It was a pretty magical moment, we had the whole place to ourselves almost the entire time and briefly relished in the knowledge that we were, for a short time, the most northern people in New Zealand (not a word I ever expected myself to use to refer to Cam, a lifelong southerner). Predictably, I was brought back down to earth by two screaming kids who charged up and claimed the top spot for themselves.

Later that night, whilst watching the sunset, a glass (or travel mug) of wine in hand, I had another run-in with an unusual local. The man in the caravan parked next to us returned from wherever he had been spending his day, with him he carried a couple of buckets containing substances unknown. Another camper wandered over and they began chatting about something or other and, as I watched out of the corner of my eye, the first man disappeared shoulder-deep into his bucket, emerging a moment later proudly carrying a rather large and very dead fish. Well that was it for me, as a vegetarian for my whole life I found myself with very little remaining interest in their conversation. The man with the fish, however, had other ideas and decided I must have looked away so as not to seem too keen, assuming that I clearly wanted to see his fish a little closer up. He was, evidently, a generous man and immediately approached me, thrusting the fish towards me as if to invite me to stroke it. I politely but firmly informed him I was, unfortunately, not very interested in his offering and tended to prefer my fish alive and happily swimming away. “A vegetarian?” He replied, “So was the fish.” I didn’t quite know the appropriate response to this but luckily he didn’t hang around for it to matter much. As he walked away I thought to myself, these Kiwi’s do seem to have unusual pets don’t they?

Privacy is overrated

After the wide-eyed wonder of those early days began to wear off, slowly but surely, the rose-tinted glasses came off and the reality of #vanlife started to set in. Although bigger than some, the van we were living in was significantly smaller than anywhere we have lived so far. We were lucky enough to have enough space to be able to unpack our bags and avoid the daily task of moving everything from one place to another in order to switch from van-mode to house-mode and vice versa. This, however, is small compensation for the fact that we were living in an actual van. Getting dressed without standing up, cooking on a hob that didn’t always feel like working, and occasionally going to the toilet at the end of the bed. Luckily going to the toilet in front of each other was a milestone we had reached much, much earlier on in our relationship (day one to be exact…)

As I reflect on this now I’m realising how lucky I am to have a partner like Cam. I genuinely enjoy his company and he assures me he enjoys mine too. I wouldn’t say it was an easy experience, living in such a confined space for such a long time is certainly make or break. The romance of synchronised, outdoor urination, I can admit, may be entirely lost on some. Personally, I found it to be a surprising and unique bonding experience that certainly brought us closer together and added an unexpected level of intimacy to our relationship.

The biggest challenge for us was learning to work around each other’s needs and routines. As some may know, I am often described as the planner of a group (unless my mother is also in that group in which case I am mostly just there for entertainment purposes). For New Zealand, however, I had to learn how to take a step back and allow Cam to steer the ship, or, if you will, to steer the van. His way of feeling calm and in control was by being the one who did all the planning and organising. Whilst I did try to help him in whatever way I could it very quickly became clear that our ability to work together, in this instance, left a lot to be desired. It wasn’t easy for me to take a step back like that and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t struggle to deal with Cam’s way of doing things (and the level of detail he was willing to give me about daily activities). Ultimately, of course, I had no need to be concerned. Like most things he does Cam took to planning like a duck to water and I’d be hard-pressed to come up with any examples of major fails. He is very clever and absolutely perfect and is watching me type over my shoulder.

Don’t blink, you might miss it

Perhaps a little-known custom among New Zealand’s campervanners, that may or may not extend to the rest of the world, is the unspoken rule that you must acknowledge the inhabitants of every other campervan rented through the same company. At any time, in any situation, if you spot another van bearing the same logo, you are expected, nay, obliged, to wave with enthusiasm at whatever level you deem appropriate.

Naturally I was all for this. I was determined to seize the opportunity for any form of social interaction that came my way, no matter how brief or superficial. Cam, on the other hand, was a little more reluctant. You will be pleased to hear that, following a brief but stern talking to, he evolved from the most reluctant participant in this tradition to perhaps the most enthusiastic. His trademark move was the two-handed-wave-while-driving technique. While I cannot in good conscience recommend you try this at home, I am happy to report that it was incredibly well received by the Jucy community. Nothing quite compares to seeing the joy in a grown man’s eyes when he sees another grown man take both his hands off the steering wheel whilst driving simply to wave at him. Simultaneously acknowledging him and challenging him to think of something even better. Perhaps something involving feet as well?

We were truly settling into life on the road: waving at strangers, swapping nods of mutual understanding, and pretending that living in a glorified metal box was the most natural thing in the world. Of course, there were a few practical realities to adjust to. Chief among them was hygiene, or more accurately, the lack of it. Although it was initially a shock, I was fully aware that #vanlife in New Zealand meant infrequent showers. In reality I, perhaps, wasn’t fully prepared for this in practice. I found myself thinking about showers almost constantly. Thinking about when my last shower was, when my next shower would be, how nice it would be to have a shower in that moment. When a shower was finally procured it was almost always in a leisure centre, accompanied by a surprisingly enjoyable dip in a spa pool and the unnerving screaming of children and parents that was scarily reminiscent of childhood pool parties.

Fortunately, my preoccupation with showers didn’t blind me to the many small oddities that make life on the road so strangely charming. Small-town New Zealand has a real knack for the peculiar, like the village that used old microwaves instead of post-boxes (I still can’t decide if it was down to cost-efficiency, a waste management crisis, or just for fun) and the graffiti that respectfully avoided the text on the road signs which were, themselves, equally courteous. It was becoming clear that this trip wasn’t just about ticking everything off the checklist, it was about learning to notice the little things. That’s what made it feel that much more special.

Lib Howden