Touching on themes of magic freedom unexpected last minute

The traveler who ticks off destinations with the finality of a grocery list, I’ll never understand. Even when we’ve been there before, we never arrive at the same place twice. Nope never, inevitably you’ve changed, the earth you once stood on has shifted. Never mind that some or even many features appear unchanged, this moment is wholly different. There will always be more to uncover. A place, no matter how far is always worth returning to.

I’d flown into Christchurch some years ago, younger, greener, and more eager than I am today, for the novelty of New Zealand’s storied landscape. As far as I’m concerned, the less time spent prepping the better. I’m a few years older, yes, questionably wiser, but still have the same penchant for dropping everything for the promise of adventure. Our goal was to explore New Zealand’s textured landscape, from mountain to ocean, to surf and camp and wake up early to spill coffee on our new sweaters.
In Wyoming, what was Fall became Spring in NZ after 3 layovers and 18 hours on planes. I had returned to the upside-down land. In my view, it’s not a proper adventure without some periods of aimless waiting. So aimlessly, in the corner of the airport’s outdoor patio, I sat waiting all while taking in the signals of the reemergent life all around: the lime greens, cherry blossoms, birds flitting about. The first of the party to arrive was Brinkley Davies, surfer, marine biologist, and wildlife conservationist, labels that barely come close to fully articulating the breadth and range of this woman’s work. I dare you to meet this woman and not walk away feeling as though you’ve just found your new hot comedic best friend. Then came Serena Lutton photographer, a fierce creative, founder and owner of her own collective and agency in Costa Mesa. With a massive messy bun and even larger camera always with a sweater off one shoulder, Serena is emblematic of that iconic French mixture of passion and nonchalance.
In New Zealand, wheels are a must and our local friends Finlay Woods and Chris Maunsell provided. Yoko our chariot: a warm white 1990s Toyota Townace 4wd Camper. “Yea, we got her on loan from one of our mates, she can sleep 4,” touted Finlay. We’d have to wait till later in the evening for the arrival of Emi Erickson a powerhouse big wave surfer from the North Shore for our camper family to be complete.
There are few moments that are a textured as the beginnings of group formation: everyone comes forward with their unique perspectives and, gently or forcibly, melds into one unit. We’re forced out of our comfort zones; at home cycling through our established community and routines [not a diss to routines—love me some healthy routines] we forget the infinite spectrum of human self-expression, the possibility in others and in ourselves. In establishing new connections, we are reminded of the best parts of ourselves, the stories we tell, the richness of who we are today and hope to be into the future. And while we may meet people all the time, there is nothing like the bond formation that takes place in the container of adventure. For the duration we are a unit brushing teeth, laughing, cooking, sleeping, navigating, shitting, cycling through all of this at all times in some proximity to one another.