In Paradise

Glenorchy, NZ. This country is beautiful beyond belief. We are staying at a B&B in Glenorchy, “just down the lane from Paradise.”

I swear to all things holy, this is really Paradise. The sun shines just enough to keep us warm, the clouds provide just enough cover to give an amazing contrast of shadow and light on snow-capped mountain ranges, there are no biting insects, and the temperature is perfect to sit on the porch with a glass of Central Otago Pinot Noir. Won thinks it’s got to be the world’s most gorgeous spot to grill. For heaven’s sake, don’t make me leave.

We went on a tramp (American: hike) on a little known trail recommended by our B&B host. In the perfect solitude, Won and I were the only living creatures on the entire 10 mile tramp, except for a couple of goats. The switchbacks were intense, but the views. My word, the views!

I have come to an understanding that with any “fun” with Won that involves physical activity, I typically enjoy myself for about the first hour. Then my thighs begin to burn, and my calves cramp, and my heart rate (as measured by the Apple Watch) hits 160. At this point, Won is having a blast while I am sure I am dying. We have loads of photos of Won waiting impatiently at the next switchback:

While I whine myself up the hill:

Always though, when we finally arrive, I am so glad we did it. All the incentives (burgers and wine), threats (if you don’t move faster, I will just sing louder), pleading and crying… were worth it. Indeed the other day, after 50 miles of cycling and 2900 ft elevation gain, pedaling along by myself, I found myself lost in the rhythm of the bike and the cadence of Eminem (I was too nervous to take my hands off the handlebars to change the song, so ended up inadvertently listening to his entire album…). For the first time ever, I got why you crazy exercise junkies do this voluntarily. It felt like I could go on forever.

We finished our 10 days of cycling with Backroads yesterday. At the farewell dinner in Queenstown, I marveled at how quickly a community with strangers can form. I’m convinced that a major problem with modern life is that it doesn’t give us the time and space to establish common ground with those around us, to build relationships, and to discover that I actually get along splendidly with the 60 year old lady with whom I thought I had nothing in common.

One unexpected benefit about traveling with people who are mostly decades older than we are is that I had a chance to observe mature marriages. One couple had been together for 40 years, had traveled with Backroads many times, and was enjoying a get-away after downsizing to a smaller “empty nest” home. Another couple in their 70s was celebrating his retirement; they were each other’s second marriage, and had been together for 20+ years. A child-free couple in their 50s was just checking NZ off their bucket list. Two gentlemen in their 70s were friends since they were in the 2nd grade, and were traveling without their wives of 40+ years. All taught me something about love, companionship, and how to enjoy the good life.

I learned that the good life means being purposeful about spending time with your loved ones. It means getting on a bicycle because he loves cycling, even if you don’t. It also means going off on your own, to pursue a hobby you love, so that you have an adventure to tell her about when you return. It looks like an old man cycling patiently behind his wife as she struggles up the hills. It looks like a wife ordering a flat white, extra foam, for him so he has his favorite drink when he finishes the ride over the pass. It has nothing to do with what you do for a living, how many children you have (or don’t have), or what you have achieved in your career. Fulfillment and happiness are both simple and devilishly difficult.

Tonight, as I wait for the sun to set and the stars to come out, I am grateful for the chance to figure it all out in a place called Paradise.

March 24, 2018