Never Finding The Last Surprise

Friday 9th April 2010, 1.10pm, Pipi Patch Dorms - Paihia

I've found that when we are nearing the end of our stay in any particular country, we have a tendency to wind down, to halt the daily need for excursions and activities and sight-seeing, and instead just sit somewhere and soak up our last days breathing that country's air. This is why we have spent the past 2 nights in Paihia, New Zealand's seaside and perfect vantage spot for reclining on the beach, basking in the last blessings of waning Summer sun, a time to be with the friends we've made who we will soon bid our farewells to, a time to reflect on this too quickly departed month. I have never expected much from these last days, and that is why I am so gratefully elated and surprised to have had one of my best Kiwi experiences this morning, when I thought I was too busy winding down for anything to wind me into action again.

Leaving Ella and the other girls to their hangovers and the beach, I went on a kayaking trip. Or more specifically, the Te Waka tour. 'Waka' is the Maori word for kayak, a 6-7 person wooden canoe boat that myself, my shipmates, and our Maori guide, Nick, pushed out into the water this morning and set to rowing out to sea in. We rowed to a small island called Tere Tere where we went on a walk through the forest up to a viewpoint from where you can look out across the Bay of Islands, 144 uninhabited pieces of land clustered sporadically off the coastline. We rowed again to a clump of sharp rocks in the middle of deep water between two islands, jumped over the side of the Waka, and went hunting for mussels, pulling those pesky morsels of seafood from the rocks they stubbornly cling to and throwing them into our collection bucket, holding on to each other for steadiness against the waves which crashed us in to the rocks and washed over our tired heads, Nick willing us on from the boat with cries of, 'just a few more guys, I'm mighty hungry today!'.

With mussel bucket in tow we rowed to a deserted beach where Nick boiled our catch up in a makeshift stove and poured us all a glass of wine from the stash he'd brought over in a cool box. Just as we were sitting down on the sand to our self-provided meal of freshly cooked mussels as big as your palm, and crisp, dry Chardonnay, the sun grew tenfold in strength, glistening on the peacock blue waves we had just supported each other in rowing across. It was perfect, just absolutely, in every sense, a perfect morning. The stuff that travelling and holiday makers dreams are made of. Invigorating exercise which made us a team and united us in camaraderie, spectacular scenery, delicious food that we'd worked for, wonderful company, a refreshing dip in the sea, a lunchtime tipple, and sunshine sat on the top of it all. I'm so thankful that in these winding down days, I found another reason to love this country, a morning I never could have predicted or expected.

Some people who have had varied and adventurous lives claim that because they have "seen it all", nothing can surprise them anymore. Think about it, you must yourself have heard someone of age and experience and supposed wisdom utter those very words; that they have been witness to so much, that nothing will ever have the power to catch them off guard again. I can't agree with the conditions of this statement, in fact I am beginning to believe that quite the opposite is true.

The more you see, the more you do, the greater the headcount of extraordinary life experiences that you can claim as yours, then surely the more you should realise how little you know, how we could live for eternity and still be blessed with mornings we never expected. All I know, is that the more I travel, the more I understand how little I have seen and done before. It is when you think that you can no longer be surprised that life will jump up and bite you in your blase behind. New experiences do not make me feel any more worldly wise, they only give me faith in what an endless multitude of surprises are still to come.