The road to heaven, as a rule, is one-way: No one returns to tell the tale. But I have. And that’s because I travelled with a confirmed round ticket besides a limited period visa. The heaven under reference, very much an earthy location, is New Zealand. Now, let me get off the heavely hype and get down to earth.
The choice of a holiday spot, to me, has always been a secondary issue. The journey, and of course, the company has counted more than the destination itself. The itch to pack and push off to whereever had been an incurable ailment owing to my childhood obsession with geography and history, and the attendant atlases, maps and chronology. On the contrary, to this day I have not been able to figure out how an Ameo …, pardon, Amoeba splits — I guess it still does .. at least, it used to when I was in school– and I cannot tell one acid from another, except that all of them stank and scorched. And again, I have always hated Newton from the core of my soul: When his laws took their own course, often during sultry afternoons, I was invariably caught yawning or napping and next instant, found myself stranded on the corridor outside the classroom, banished by a beleaugured science teacher. But the big, beautiful world beyond and all those characters that straddled it since the dawn of time were great objects of fascination that no Newton, or for that matter, even Einstein, another sleep-inducing spoil-sport, can rob me of. But thanks to a rigorous professional routine … of spinning endless yarns … the travel itch had subsided a bit, if not wholly eradicated. It surfaced with a vengeance as NZ beckoned from a brochure that a slick travel agent had slipped under my eye in a careless moment on April-Fools day. And let me confess, this time the destination too counted a lot, for it itself was a series of joyous journeys with nature as constant company to self, spouse and our sole gen-next.
It was obvious from the moment I touched base that Mother Nature has been quite partial to NZ. It is not that the sights I beheld do not exist elsewhere. Only that all the varied manifestations of nature are set out in a great sumptuous spread on a single platter called New Zealand and that too, accessible in one sweep of the eye. And the bounty of beauty comes without a break: Miles and minutes lose all meaning as meadows and mountains stretch ceaselessly even on a 100km/hr drive on those silken roads. You feel stuck in one place even as you move. The terrain is almost equally divided between land and lakes; and if the land floors you with its unspoiled virgin charms, the lakes are sure to drown you, metaphorically and if you do not watch out, even literally, in their seemingly boundless and bottomless blue-green waters. NZ has some of the largest lakes in the world and along with the hundreds of narrow rivers within and the Pacific beyond, the watermarks can give the landmarks an inferiority complex. In this miniscule strip of an Island, two actually, floating in the largest ocean on the globe, nature comes in a nutshell, but is surely at its infinite best!
NZ is cattle country. Four-legged herbivores outnumber the carnivores, four-legged as well as the ‘two-legged’ ones, by a huge margin. They would win any election …legs down … if only there was animal franchise instead of adult! Pigs, cows and deer flourish on the countless pastures and farms, but it is the sheep that take the cake. Gazing at those millions of white fluffy dots grazing on the green expanses is an experience so enchanting that you, if vegetarian, will even develop a taste for grass yourself. And N.Vegetarians might even decide to spare the sheep! It is indeed a wonder that with so much sheep around, and with we humans on the verge of succumbing to the aforesaid temptation, there will still be grass around. But NZ is extremely fertile with so high a water table that, as a coach driver boasted,’ you can actually drink straight from the ground with a straw’. Grass grows under your feet and can feed all the sheep and more. And for the ignoramuses, me included, who believed all sheep belonged to one flock or two, here is news: There are so many castes, clans and creeds that no Manu or Mandal could have conceived of. From Merino to Suffolk to Drysdale to a range of Dorsets, every breed has a distinct feature and a value attached. The discerning New Zealander is a master discriminator and it is impossible to pull an inferior wool over his eyes. Incidentally, wool along with dairy products are the highest revenue earners for NZ. Indeed, the country’s economy rides piggy back on its cattle.
Tourism is the next big grosser. It received a boost after the Hollywood block-buster Lord of the Rings was shot there in ‘03. The NZ authorities are also grateful to Bollywood and sundry other Indian ‘woods’ for showcasing their country’s exotic locales and thus increasing the tourists influx. The nation is also highly visitor-friendly. You bump into any local, and besides a courteous ‘sorry’ even when not at fault, he would unfailingly enquire about your stay and even offer tips if you wish. While visual treats entice most, NZ is the world capital for adventure tourism of all kinds and for all climes. From skiing to rafting to jet boating to paragliding to heli rides there is a scratch for every crazy itch. But the nuttiest of them all is Bungee, NZ’s very own patent. Jumping off great heights seems to be a passion with NZers. Legs tied, people nonchalantly plunge headlong from cliff edges and high rise buildings, giving the jitters to the watchers instead. I could just mange to skip two steps on the down in the hotel lobby and went out of breath! But mind you, Bungee is catching up, ..er, down!
In Europe and India, you can walk through time. In NZ, while the geography stands out, there is very little visible history. Colonial Christianity has all but wiped out the ageold, indigenous Maori culture which now survives in heritage centres in the form of relics and artefacts, with lip service to the past just as a courtesy to the 25% Maoris who in any case do not seem to be complaining. So the NZ as we see it today is just about 150 years old. The architecture too is wholly British with nostalgic and homesick English settlers creating mirror images of their country here. But may be, NZ does not need ancient structures. It is endowed with God’s own architecture, and that’s as ancient and eternal as one can get. For their part, the NZers have left nature alone and allowed it to do the trick. The ticketing, of course, is done by the New Zealanders. Here nature comes at a steep price. But it’s worth it. More so if you manage to squeeze those costs into the round trip package to Heaven! Unless you want to look … sheepish!
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