Well I wanted to tell a tale about generosity. Specifically the abundant generosity of people I met whilst hitchhiking recently, mostly in New Zealand.
To begin with, I work at a dive pizza shop in Australia to pay the rent, mostly hitting the streets and driving pizzas out to folks. Though the tip culture in Australia scarcely exists, you do find yourself with the occasional penny or two coming your way from a happy customer. Deciding to make something of these tiny tokens of kindness, I collected, over three months, $300 in coins. Foolishly feeling that this was an adequate adventure fund, I booked a flight to New Zealand, packed my bag and took my three hundred dollars with me and set out to explore for one month.
There is something extremely exciting about taking a collection of small, almost nonchalant offerings of left-over change and converting them into something entirely crucial and dependable. As much as I’d like to be able to disappear into the woods and hunt for my food, I knew nearly all of my adventure fund would be swallowed by my insatiable desire for tinned tuna and oats. It’s all just fuel, fuel, fuel. I also knew that payed accommodation would be out the window, committing myself to putting a tent up wherever I could, be this a mountain top or someone’s back garden on the outskirts of a town. Mobility was the biggest obstacle to overcome. A rental car would blow my budget in a matter of days and buses aren’t much cheaper. Hitchhiking, of course, was the saving grace. In many places – most of the US, parts of Australia – hitchhiking is illegal. In many more places, it’s just difficult and impractical. Fortunately, hitchhiking is fairly common in New Zealand and mostly you’ll get picked up by some of the wildest, most brilliant folks out on the roads, who ultimately gain very little out of the exchange themselves but can get you hundreds of kilometres around an island, one after the other.
There is something extremely exciting about taking a collection of small, almost nonchalant offerings of left-over change and converting them into something entirely crucial and dependable.
Trying to travel on such minimal means makes you to truly appreciate anything that comes your way, basic stuff heightens to the point of exceptional. This came in many forms for me while I was travelling around. I had a British construction worker who picked me up and took me three hours further along my course than he needed to go, happy to chat about this and that and get a speeding ticket in the process. A couple cooked me up a batch of pancakes after I had dragged myself along a mountain ridge for several hours, painfully cold in the -7°C degree wind and rain. An old eccentric gold-miner invited me to go panning, a mountaineer who picked me up hitchhiking ended up letting me stay at his house, fed me well and told me of the secret adventure spots. Asking to camp on someone’s farm property or garden and being offered up beer, tea and cosy Campervans. An elderly French couple bought me steak at a restaurant in return for helping them plan a hike I had just finished- the list of exceptional things which occur during these basic quests of adventure always amazes me, and it is purely through the generosity of those around me. Through the sheer goodwill of others, I was able to begin my ventures from Queenstown, near the bottom of the South Island, catch rides to and from hikes in the Fiordlands, right at the bottom, zigzag back up and then slowly but surely make ground across the west coast, past Glaciers, past dense jungles, past forgotten old towns, navigating myself from the end of one hiking track to the start of another. The photographs I was collecting along the way were a result of the hiking, the stories I collected were from hitchhiking. Eventually I had hitched my way right up the west coast into the tropical beaches sitting at the top of the South Island, down the east and eventually into Christchurch, accumulating almost two thousand kilometres of riding in near-strangers’ cars.
I have to come to terms with the frustrating sense of uselessness you can feel when all these incredible acts of kindness come your way and you have so little, at that point, to offer in return. The most you can usually do in these instances is try and be the best hitchhiker you can, tell them stories, listen to their stories in return and more often than not, inspire one another to typically make the most out of everything you can. This seems to, bizarrely, happen a lot when catching rides. Where simple introductions swiftly escalate into inspired and well-meaning words being shared, brief best friends being made before they’re heading one way and you’re heading the other and you say your farewells. Truthfully, I believe this benevolence exists in almost everyone.
I have to come to terms with the frustrating sense of uselessness you can feel when all these incredible acts of kindness come your way and you have so little, at that point, to offer in return. The most you can usually do in these instances is try and be the best hitchhiker you can, tell them stories, listen to their stories in return and more often than not, inspire one another to typically make the most out of everything you can. This seems to, bizarrely, happen a lot when catching rides. Where simple introductions swiftly escalate into inspired and well-meaning words being shared, brief best friends being made before they’re heading one way and you’re heading the other and you say your farewells. Truthfully, I believe this benevolence exists in almost everyone.
I’ve put together a little playlist, some off kilter tunes, but all ones that I thoroughly enjoy listening to when on those late night drives in the country!
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