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Since childhood I have been told by dozens of people that my writing profoundly moved them, that it illuminated something for them that was hidden, that it wrapped them in a visceral experience they were not expecting. Two unrelated Masters degrees later (Music, and Disability Studies), I still write primarily for my own enjoyment, as well as for the handful of friends and family that read my travel blog.
Winning would be a validation of my
skill as a writer. If my words truly have the ability to transport
people, I would like to turn that skill into more than just a hobby.
I believe I should be chosen because I
am the kind of person that will sit for two hours in a wooden shack to
wait for the rarest penguin in the world to emerge from the sea. I think
voices like mine don't often
make it into the mainstream. I am quiet, hesitant, and cautious, which
are traits that many individuals who don't travel can relate to. And
yet, I seem to possess an insatiable desire to immerse myself in the
unknown, discover, jump into situations despite
fear, and experience even the simplest things as profound.
I can step off a boat in rural Fiji,
bewildered and scared, which all my readers can naturally relate to...
and then have them travel with me through words as I slowly emerge out
of my shell into a fascinating
and delicate exploration of an unknown culture. Suddenly, travel
becomes accessible because readers think, if SHE can do it, maybe I can,
too.
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New Zealand: Remote, wild, & stunningly beautiful
Winding roads that twist through hills
upon hills tinted with hues of green I've never seen, scattered with
sheep that would rival any postcard. Leaping lambs. Grazing lambs.
Sleeping lambs. I’ve given up on
the camera – every sprawling hill, every curious stare of a cow, every
baby lamb's baa, is forever ingrained in my mind.
And then suddenly – the ocean.
Appearing out of nowhere after a wrong turn, I saw it from high up, and
held my breath at the sight of the crisp endless blue. Down the windy
roads I went, tightly holding on to
the wheel of my trusty old 1997 sleepervan. The way down was a blur of
trees in bloom with delicate pink blossoms, an endless amount of tiny
lambs running after their mothers, and the spectacular blueness getting
ever closer. Finally I was there. A secret
beach, ocean waves crashing against rocks, against the shores, against
my heart. This is what I came for – these wrong turns. I walked along
the shore in the lapping waves, savouring the solitude of a beach all to
myself.
I even made coffee with my coffee
plunger, and took my mug with me as I walked in the waves. This is the
way to do New Zealand. Don't just rent a car and stay in hotels or join a
tour. When you carry your kitchen
and bed with you, you're free for things like spontaneous lunches by
secret remote beaches. The winding roads decide where you end up.
After a day's worth of driving through
the beautiful North Island, I finally reached New Zealand's northern tip
- Cape Reinga, a sacred place for the Maori people. It is from this
tip and through the roots
of an ancient tree that they believe their ancestors return to their
ancient homeland when they die. A year ago, I spent a winter morning
searching the internet and happened upon photos of this incredible
location, never imagining I'd one day soon experience
it for myself.
I reached Cape Reinga just as the sun
was setting. I can't possibly describe the emotion. As the red, purple,
and gold danced across the sky over the green rugged tip and the
impossibly huge mountains all around
me, I just stood there, a few tears escaping my eyes as I
contemplated the incredible journey that took me here. New Zealand to
me was like a fairy tale, an impossible-to-reach place like the fabled
Avalon. And now suddenly here I was.
Why did I travel here? Perhaps it was
for this one moment. For the stunning moment of breathing in this
remote, ancient landscape, and feeling as if I was home.
