As a youngster, I was an avid stamp collector. Like most philatelists, I had my favorite countries. Ireland was tops, but the stamps of the British Empire with their array of colonies, territories and dominions overruled my modest collection.
One of my prized Crown sets were from New Zealand. These handsome stamps depicted young Queen Elizabeth, the proud indigenous Maori people, geological wonders and exotic birds such as the kiwi, the country’s national symbol and nickname for the white folk who settled there.
My favorite commemorative stamp highlighted Captain James Cook’s 1769 voyage to New Zealand on the HMS Endeavour. Captivated, I eagerly read about his expedition to explore the South Pacific. Aboard his vessel was 12-year-old Nicholas Young, the surgeon’s cabin boy, who was the first to spot land from the ship’s starboard bow. As a reward, Captain Cook named a headland after him — Young Nick’s Head — and gave him a gallon of rum to boot. I’m sure young Nick was a popular kid with his crewmates that evening.
A long-awaited trip
In February 1970, I took a seven-day R&R from Vietnam to Australia. My sole mission was to hop over to New Zealand upon landing in Sydney, as I had longed to visit there. Shockingly, a roundtrip ticket cost $300, well above my pay grade as a mere buck sergeant. When I questioned the hefty price, the agent told me the distance between Sydney to Christchurch was 1,300 miles over the Tasman Sea. Oops — I always thought it was the width of the English Channel. Over the years, my hopes of visiting Aotearoa — “the land of the long White Cloud,” as the Maori called their enchanted domain — slowly evaporated.
So, imagine my delight this past December when my wife Belita announced that her younger brother Bob and his wife Dyels, living in the Philippines, were granted permanent residency in New Zealand. This was fabulous news since two of their three daughters had settled and married there. Furthermore, Belita and I were invited to visit.
In mid-February, following a pleasant month with Belita’s two sisters and nephews in San Diego, Belita and I boarded an Air New Zealand flight from Los Angeles to Auckland. I felt like a rookie astronaut as we boarded the Boeing Dreamliner for our 6,500-mile flight across the dark Pacific. Noting my anxiety, the Kiwi sitting beside me said, “Relax, mate. It took Captain Cook nearly a year to reach Kiwiland and it’ll take us just 12 hours.”
Arrival, finally
When we arrived in Christchurch on the South Island, Captain Bob, as I nicknamed my brother-in-law, had mapped out an ambitious itinerary for us.
First, we jumped on a vintage tram to discover Christchurch. This city of 400,000 is still rebuilding following the devastating earthquake in 2011, including its cherished Anglican cathedral. I assumed this distant outpost would be inhabited solely by Maori and Kiwis. Not so. The “Garden City,” is also home to Chinese, Indians, Filipinos and Pacific Islanders. I even met a librarian from Cambodia.
Captain Bob next took us “punting” down The Avon River on a flat-bottomed boat that meandered alongside the botanical gardens. We then visited the solemn World War I memorial, “The Bridge of Remembrance,” followed by a welcomed pint at an Irish pub called “The Bog.” Whoever said Guinness doesn’t travel well?
Our first road trip took us through the Canterbury Plains to Castle Hill, an otherworldly outcrop of massive limestone boulders. This physical wonder was used as a backdrop for the movie, “The Chronicles of Narnia.” Next up, Akaroa, an old French settlement on the shores of mountainous Banks Peninsula. Once a whaling station, this charming village is now known for its blue pearls and rare Hector’s dolphins.
After our first week in country, I jotted down a few notes: The stars above are all a jumble. The sun seems to set in the east. South winds carry a noticeable Antarctic chill. Migrating birds fly in from God knows where. The famous meat pies are to die for. Lakes are turquoise in color. Sheep and cattle dot golden grasslands. Some Kiwis walk barefoot. Other Kiwis are very fond of tattoos. Kiwis like to vacation in Brisbane, Fiji and the Cook Islands.
Our grand finale was a three-night family reunion in Queenstown — the jewel of South Island — nestled beside Lake Wakatipu and jagged mountains fittingly called “The Remarkables.” All told, Belita was able to see 20 of her 29 relations during our travels.
As expected, a teary farewell followed our three-week stay. However, Captain Bob insisted we revisit, as he still wants to show us snowcapped Mount Cook, Lake Wanaka and Milford Sound.
So, if Belita and I keep our health, we’ll certainly give it another try. After all, now that her wonderful family resides there, the long flight across the vast Pacific is simply a stone’s throw away.
Kevin O’Hara, a longtime Eagle contributor, is the author of “Ins and Outs of a Locked Ward: My 30 Years as a Psychiatric Nurse.”
