Stepping off the bus (1).

This week was shaping up to be rather uneventful. Keyword: was.

Up until tonight, a great part of my time thus far had been spent in Paihia, New Zealand. While there, I did little other than read on the beach, shoot some pool, and spend time with new friends from all corners of the globe. It was last night that I made the decision to move on, and so this morning at 8:00 a.m. I checked out of my hostel, and boarded a bus bound for Auckland.

The bus mood seemed rather somber as a number of twenty-somethings on holiday lethargically awaited the scheduled Auckland stop. Many hunkered down in their seats with hope of a nap and the possibility of hurrying time along on the stops in between. Slowly, the allure of sleep had also crept into my mind and I drifted off without much thought, not waking until a scheduled stop was made in a small town of about 500 people, called Rawene. The scenery of what seemed to be a cozy New Zealand fishing village now surrounded our bus.

Making the scheduled stop, our driver let us know that we had just under an hour before we would continue on the road to Auckland. As he made this statement, I suddenly felt a great frustrated breath of air travel throughout our bus. I looked around trying not to pass judgment, and was greatly challenged in doing so, for the town of Rawene, while small, was obviously full of character. A few tiny shops dotted the land on which we now stood, and with the overcast skies of Hokianga Harbour providing a backdrop, a few fisherman went to work while others waited for a ferry. Strolling away from the oversized white tour bus, I walked over to a peaceful and yet brawny looking man with tattooes from head-to-toe, who sat outside on the curb with a cigarette in his mouth and a dog at his feet. His name was Dallon, and he owned the artist shop whose front stoop he now sat upon. Small talk was effortlessly played through and as we transitioned into the subjects of travel and diversity, I knew that one hour was not nearly enough time for my curiousity.

With five minutes left before our scheduled departure from Rawene, I walked straight up to our driver and asked him if another bus would be stopping through in the next few days. I told him that I wanted to stay and with raised eyebrows he said, "of course...."

As we unloaded my bags the other bus passengers slowly shuffled back to their seats through the now open door and many of them gave me a look that said, "uh... what in the world are you thinking?", but already I was too excited to give much of any thought to their condescending glances. I felt that I needed to get off the bus, and knew that this luxury of defining my life on a daily basis was just what I had traveled for. And as that white caravan pulled away and the faces of its passengers stared at me through the windows from their high perch, I smiled back at them with my pack against the curb and knew that this was where I needed to be.

Immediately, my sporadic decision turned into a wonderful adventure. Unable to withdraw any cash in town, I called a hostel across the bay and made reservations for the night. With the ferry consistently shuttling back and forth, in less than an hour I was aboard and on my way to the backpacker lodge across in Hokuhoku. Once I arrived, I was greeted with a lovely, small organic farm, hidden in the midst of a sub-tropical rainforest. The owners, with great respect for the land, had built this particular hostel with colors that naturally blended into the rest of the scenery, giving the building a camoflauged and treehouse-like appearance that really was charming to say the least. After orienting myself with the grounds, I took a tour of the building, booked two nights, and then dropped off the majority of my belongings except for a shoulder bag that I had earlier fashioned from a compression sack. This small satchel carried my camera, a rain jacket, and my journal, and would ride with me on the ferry back to Rawene.

An area of extreme historical significance for the Maori people, Rawene is one of the oldest settlements in New Zealand. The surrounding area, known as Hokianga, is according to tradition, the landing place of Kupe -- the great Polynesian explorer. This is the heartland of the Maori people. According to my research, one of the meanings of Hokianga, still used by the Maori, is Te Kohanga o Te Tai Tokerau, which translates to, "The nest of the northern people."

As I am continually learning, while traveling alone, one must always be open to potential held in the hands of the unknown. Another rabbit trail that weaved its way through open-ended opportunities would once again cross my path, and once again I took a leap into the unknown. Over the next ten minutes on the ferry, I talked with Kura, a Maori woman who also happened to be the gold medalist waka champion of New Zealand. She was on her way to Opononi and with a beautiful smile she invited me to join her and her daughter as they went to visit family.

Now, in this moment, I am writing these words from the house that belongs to this admirable family and in this moment, I am overwhelmed. Today, I have met Pat and Graham, a couple who have a mind for change and a heart for their people and culture. Pat and I shared in conversation about standardized education, the beauty of the land, and the idea of change that begins with one; and together with Graham I learned much about business and leadership over dinner in their home. I have also had a chance to spend time with Kura's lovely twin grandchildren Madison and Tammin, and as the four of us took a walk through town while a delicate rain fell from the sky, a smile was on my face.

What an honor it is to be in this place. What an honor it is to have stumbled upon Hokianga.

(I will write again soon, with ideas from my conversation with Pat, Kura, and Graham. There is much more to tell.)