NEW ZEALAND - Out of money and out of ideas, there I was sitting eating my food but not actually tasting it, too concerned with what would happen next. I had traveled around the southern side of the island and longed to get up to the northern side before I was scheduled to fly home. My plans of staying and working on the different farms had all petered out prematurely, leaving me with more time to keep myself afloat on the little amount of money I had budgeted for the 3 month trip. I think I had a couple hundred dollars left with more than a month of my trip still ahead of me.
Tears in my eyes and halfway through a big bite of my tasteless lunch, this friendly faced New Zealander approached my table. He asked to join me and I nodded and he sat down. Richard was his name, but his friends called him Fatboy. Ironic for such a thin and wiry human. He told me he recognized me from a different hostel about a month ago and asked why I was crying. When I explained my dire situation, his eyes sparkled and he smiled. Fatboy proceeded to tell me about his sweet friend, Spong, and how they were headed up north in an empty tourist van after completing their tour of the southern part of the island. They were leaving right after lunch to return to their home exactly in the area I was hoping to see, approximately 8 hours away. He offered me a free ride and I immediately accepted.
Our road trip was delightful. I laid in the back row reading The Da Vinci Code and eating tasty snacks in the van. We stopped to visit a glacier and they nicknamed me "Franz" after the Franz-Josef and Fox glaciers. I remember feeling a huge sense of relief and synchronicity for things falling into place in what seemed to be an effortless way.
Fatboy, Spong and I ended up on an incredible adventure together when they asked to join me on a weeklong trek in the Abel Tasman. If you've never been there before or seen pictures, the Abel Tasman is what I would imagine heaven to be like. Ferns the size of trees, golden beaches sprinkled with cat eyes shells, circular in shape with swirls of white and tan in the middle. Soft ocean breezes, warm sunshine, camping in the fern forests and along the sparkling beaches. Campfire coffee, tidal river crossings, red wine and brilliant sunsets. Each day ended with delicious stir-fried vegetarian dinners. We laughed into the wee hours of the night, eating licorice all-sorts and feeling hilarious, present and free.
I could not have planned it better.
LONDON- Me and Fatboy, or "Fatz," as I came to call him, became faithful friends and penpals, exchanging emails to one another that frequently left me in hysterics. We met up in London a year or so later to spend a month together traveling throughout Morocco and the Czech Republic.
MOROCCO- We signed up for a 4-day adventure to see the countryside guided by a local van company. The driver didn't speak English and neither did any of the other 10 passengers who squeezed into the 8-passenger van with us. The van didn't have air conditioning or take enough pit stops and our tour of the Sahara desert looked more like the familiar Wyoming badlands to me than the actual badlands did! This made me question why on earth I quite literally flew all the way to Timbuktu to see them.
But then there was the camel ride out to spend a night in the desert. Camels, as it turns out, are extremely uncomfortable to ride. After taking the quintessential touristy photo and a few minutes into the ride, we realized their gait is nothing like that of a horse and leaves you feeling a little seasick and rubbed raw with the circular motion they make. We held on long after the thrill had worn off and arrived in the dark at our campsite a few hours later. There were large wall tents set up in a half-moon shape with a fire pit in the center. Each tent had a pile of woven Moroccan rugs and wool blankets. We picked a tent, set up our sleeping spots alongside our fellow travelers and happily stretched out after the long, arduous ride.
No one had communicated the itinerary or any details of the evening and I remember wondering if we were going to get dinner or not that night. It ended up being served close to midnight and it was well worth the wait: couscous, grilled meat, seasoned vegetables and homemade bread similar to naan. Full of relief, delicious food and a mad case of the giggles, Fatz and I stayed by the fire until dawn. The stars were something to behold and I am pretty sure I am a better human for having witnessed the Milky Way from the warm nighttime sands of the Sahara. It was spectacular. This sounds romantic, doesn't it? But my heart already belonged to someone back home. To the one whose eyes crinkled in just the right way when he smiled. Who wore a black cowboy hat that curled up at the edges and who humbly promised a beautiful life together. A future that carried fine ties to the Old West and pulled at my pioneer longings.
The adventures of Fatz & Franz continued and the rest of our journey together included a few highlight moments.
Me succumbing to the pressure of a poor olive farmer's skillfully employed sales tactics. This resulted with me purchasing a very stinky, scratchy and over-priced rug that I hauled around for the rest of my trip, cringing at the smell and at the awareness I had been swindled.
I learned a little about what life was like in different parts of the world. From that hot and overpacked Moroccan tourist van, I observed parents working to support their families. People selling Medjool dates and handmade items alongside the dusty highway. Parents walking hand in hand with their children. Men drinking mint tea and talking in the shade of a cafe umbrella.
I came away with a profound understanding of just how connected we all really are.
That the majority of humans are good to the core.
And that accidentally drinking tap water from Morocco had very serious consequences.
Fatz and I visited a few castles in the Czech Republic and concluded our adventures by attending a fancy wedding in downtown London. I got to know my Swedish side of the family who owned and operated a high end fashion design company. And quickly took note that what I considered fashionable after living in the high mountains of Colorado was clearly not up to my sophisticated relatives standards. Upon my arrival, they immediately and generously offered me a few new items to wear, presumably so I would not stick out so obviously with my lack of style. "Manda, my little mountain girl. Why don't you stop by the store tomorrow and try on a few things?" So hilarious. While I preferred my rugged Chacos, comfy capris and long sleeved hiking shirts, I felt a bit like Cinderella zipping up a classy dress in just my size. Reminiscent of a child playing dress-up, there was a certain exhilaration I found waltzing around the city in my new sleek attire.
My last week abroad I was staying with my Swedish relatives in their lovely townhouse in Chelsea, London. The phone rang and it was for me. A slightly sleepy, familiar and loving voice was calling from Montana, where it was the middle of the night with the time difference. I could feel my heartbeat take over my whole body and a deep sense of home tugged at my core.
The voice I have since come to know so well. And just like that, I was ready to return.
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