Waking up, I quietly slip out from under the covers and go into the bathroom to get ready for the day. As I undo the braid in my hair that I slept in, I notice with sleepy eyes a black and round thick spot crawling up the blond strands. It's a spider, with long delicate and creepy crawly legs and who knows for how many hours it made a temporary resting place in my hair. I'm sure, shocking it more than myself, it gets rude jolt as I squeal and it is tossed to the floor while I jumping around on my tip toes. Jason runs in, hair a mess, and laughs at my shocked look as I cling to him as if my life was in jeopardy. I don't mind spiders as long as they are not in my hair when I wake up on a bright sunny morning.
This is how we begin the day that is our sixth month of marriage. Too late for cuddles and kisses now; just spiders in my hair, Jason laughing, and myself thinking "where's the coffee?" Again, thank goodness that New Zealand is void of all creatures that can harm waking women.
We're in Stewart Island in a bizarre rental house in Evening Cove. The curtains may be dusty, the carpet old, and the couches a bit uncertain to sit on; but the view is great and we here to walk around and explore. Stewart Island is officially the furthest south in the world that either of us may ever go. Next stop Antarctica; maybe another day.
The water is green, a vibrant green that competes with the moss covered trees. We find a swing hanging from a tree over rocks and the water. We wait until the tide rolls out and we swing, free like kids again, just as one should be on holiday. The island is enchanted with birds. Everywhere in the bush they are singing for you, as if welcoming you into their home, they entertain with songs that both amuse us and reveal beauty to us. We spend two days walking as much as we like, realizing that this virtually untouched island is an oasis of color, sound, breath, and light for those who take the journey to explore it.
Stewart Island provided our favorite hike so far in New Zealand. The trail took us up and down hills, through mud, over roots and rocks, revealing beautiful vistas at it's peaks and stunning beaches at it's edges. We maneuvered around mud patches by swinging on trees and strolled across beaches finding a perfect spot for lunch.
The journey to Stewart Island is short across the Foveaux Strait, but notoriously rough and most often draws the seasickness out of it's travelers. As for my boat captain of a husband, he sat there with ease as I lay across his lap eyes shut tight, imagining lying in warm sand on a beach, but hearing little white vomit bags being opened, used, and abused by those around us. I successfully made it and was happy to see the "Welcome to Stewart Island" sign that greeted pale faced ferry passengers as we climbed off and on to this tiny and cold paradise.
All the best everybody!
Lots of love,
Leah and Jason
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