If there was ever a daycare for first-time solo travelers, it would be New Zealand. The people are helpful and easy-going. The traffic is nonexistent, which is more than beneficial when you’re learning how to drive on the wrong side of the road. The roads are sprinkled with directional signs; I’m convinced you could circumnavigate the entire country without a map or GPS. Nevertheless, diving solo into a new country, especially for the first time, is intimidating.
Solo: A Travel Story Beginning
I had been gallivanting through Japan and Taiwan with my sister for several months before I set off on my first solo, international journey – besides the one night I spent alone in a sketchy hostel in Taipei because my sister ditched me for a work meeting she had back in Japan (made me swear to never tell our parents). If I could survive the night markets and alleyways of Taipei, I could survive anything. Right?
I started off my solo trip with small, baby steps. When I landed in Gisborne – a surf city of 36,000 people – I was greeted by two distant family members. They immediately took me on the tour of the city, showing me the best surf spots, and proudly proclaiming that the movie Whale Rider had been filmed on their beaches. Have you ever been talking about a movie you’ve seen a hundred times with someone just to remember that you’ve never actually seen it, but you’ve been told about it by all 36,000 locals in Gisborne, New Zealand? I have. They’re proud, to say the least.
I spent a few days surfing and making friends with the Maori neighbors next door before setting off to the South Island…by myself. I started my ten hour bus journey, which wouldn’t be the last bus trip I took in New Zealand. We passed small farming communities, rolling green hills, still active one-room school houses and sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. We made multiple stops at small, ma and pop cafes. They seemed to get smaller as we went along. I was met by a warm and welcoming smile at each cafe. Each shop owner was eager to ask where I came from, where I had been and where I was going. I felt as if any one of them you genuinely take me in if I was stranded for any reason. The true nature of New Zealand was becoming more evident as I continued to the capital city.
The Capital City
The bus eventually arrived in Wellington, the capital city, where I would take a ferry to the South Island the following day. My relatives had arranged for their daughter, who lives in Wellington, to pick me up from the bus station. This sounded great…until I got there. When I got off the bus and grabbed my backpack, I was overtaken by the reality of finding someone in a crowd who you’ve neither met nor seen a photo of. I tried to casually walk around, attempting to conceal the overwhelming sense of awkwardness engulfing my body.
Why didn’t you just call her, you ask? Good question. A normal, sane person would have asked for her phone number, but the New Zealand attitude is don’t worry about it and I was comforted by their assurance…until now. I made desperate eye contact with every person standing alone at the bus station hoping they were there to pick up a, slightly homeless looking, backpacker. After what seemed to be an eternity, but truly was only a minute, my cousin called out my name and collected me. See, things always work out, I thought to myself.
Wellington was a beautiful city. The harbor was surprising small for a city of it’s size; the largest population at the harbor was seagulls. The amount of vegan food was a site for sore eyes – I was certain the rural communities I had passed on the bus had never heard of the term vegan before.
I ended up at a classic Wellington party as the sun was going down. Everyone was chill, educated and lovely. Everyone treated me as their long lost relative and welcomed me into their homes. I was starting to develop true sense of belonging in New Zealand.
That night during dinner, my cousin and her partner were discussing my solo trip with me. I explained that my plan was to rent a car and sleep in it along the way. Her partner reassured me that New Zealand was totally safe, and I wouldn’t have any issues. I know, I thought. No one in this country is mean or evil. I felt confidant and worry-free. “Yeah, except for those backpackers last year that got totally murdered,” my cousin interjected.
Happy feelings were gone.
Here Goes Nothing
The next morning I set off on the ferry from Wellington to Picton with bitter sweet feelings.
This is it. I’m alone now. All alone.
The entire way was stunning. The water was a murky, teal color that looked as if we were sailing on an ocean of rippling, acrylic paint. There was a group of backpackers on the top deck who traded tips and travel stories with me. Everyone was excited to meet new people learn from each other. We chatted the entire way until the ferry unloaded us all in Picton on the South Island.
I knew I had to catch a train, and I knew my time window was small. After I gathered my backpack, I anxiously asked a ferry terminal worker where the bus station was. I informed him that I didn’t have much time. He kindly point me in the right direction and told me to not worry. “You’ll be fine!” he assured me as I sprinted down the road.
I was immediately reminded of the fact that flipflops are awful athletic attire. Too late now, I had to make it work. I arrived at the train station, huffing and puffing, with seconds to spare. I hurdled onto the train with my life, and looked for a spot to sit. The train started moving as soon as I hit the seat. I let out a sigh of relief, just as the train attendant – while watching the bead of sweat dripping down my forehead – laughed and said, “Don’t worry miss, we wouldn’t have left without you.”
As the train headed south, snow capped mountains started to creep up on the horizon. If I looked out my left window I could see foaming waves lapping up onto white sandy shores, and out of the window to my right I was seeing snowy, jagged mountains. How could one place be so perfect? When I arrived in Christchurch, I had been given cryptic instructions over the phone from a man that I had never met. I was to find a white car, with a dent on the hood, parked somewhere in Christchurch. I set off on my Charlie’s Angels mission, and found the unlocked car with the key “hidden” in the sun visor. My new-house-on-wheels started up like a champ, and set off on the best road trip of my life.
Camping Alone: Do I Dare?
The South Island of New Zealand is full of mountains, remote lakes, amazing people and even more amazing camping spots. Everything seemed a bit back in time, like how I imagined the USA was back in the sixties. My first night sleeping in my car, I still had my cousin’s comment about the murdered backpackers in the back of my head.
I had pulled off the side of the road, en route to Lake Tekapo, in a quiet, nearly barren town. I parked under the only street light that illuminated the single street in town, which had only six houses on either side of it. The center console was equipped with spray deodorant (to act as pepper spray) and a old, dull kitchen knife I found at my relatives house amongst their camping gear. I curled up in my sleeping bag in the front seat with my feet on the gas pedal. The keys were in the ignition, ready for a speedy get away. Anyone who tried to break into Wilbur (clearly the only name for my rental car) was going to be sorry.
My anxious guard fell just enough for me to actually fall asleep. I woke in an absolute startle. I gasped for air, my heart was pounding, something was terribly wrong. The sun was out? The birds were chirping? I was…still alive? How could that be? I was meant to be chased or murdered in my sleep, wasn’t I?
Bye, Bye Fear and Anxiety
My fear of sleeping in a car was gone. Over the next two weeks, every local – and traveler – I met along my drive was so supportive, accommodating and truly genuine. Every town was so peaceful and welcoming. Although common sense and safety was always in the front of my mind, New Zealand was a place that I could let go and venture, worry free. I set up camp next to raging rivers, under mountains, on the shores of peaceful lakes and in the thick of forests. Being able to overcome my fear of traveling alone – and camping alone – allowed me to see amazing places and meet people that I wouldn’t have if I had let my fear control me. I realized that jumping out of my comfort zone was the only way I was going to discover knew places, experience new things and meet new people.
New Zealand is the perfect country for solo traveling newbies (and solo traveling in general).
I Made It
I went a fortnight without a proper shower; jumping in a lake was the only bath I had. My diet consisted solely of tortillas, peanut butter, carrots and hummus. My feet were riddled with blisters from hiking entirely too many mountains (although, I don’t think that’s possible). When my road trip came to and end, I pulled off the ferry and meandered up with hill to my cousin’s house. I was dreaming of having a hot shower and a meal that wasn’t peanut butter. I crawled up the never ending walkway of steps, with no help from my blisters. When I finally reached the summit of the never-ending steps, I slumped down in front of the door.
Before I could knock, my cousin and her partner opened the front door. In front of me, with golden rays of light shining down from a higher place, was a towel and a crystal glass of whiskey.
“See, I told you you wouldn’t die,” they smiled.
A shower whiskey has never tasted so good.
Share this with someone who needs an extra push to travel solo! It’s okay to be nervous. It’s not okay to let fear keep you from pursuing bigger and better things.
