Some final reflections on our incredible journey

So why do we travel?  I started this trip thinking that I would discover insights into the answer to this question.  I thought that through pushing myself to do things that frightened me, challenging myself physically and mentally, and seeing the spectacular scenery and incredible wildlife and plant life, I would discover a few gold nuggets of truth that would maybe shed a small bit of light on the answer.

Today is Thanksgiving in Canada, and we are very far from home. I'm writing this as we sit under dim lights on an outdoor patio, waiting for our dinner on one of our last nights in Fiji, as the wind blows the palm trees and rustles the beautiful greenery all around us.  I'm writing this in advance, but will only post it once we are back home, safe and sound.

We've encountered several challenges on this trip - the wrong turns in the dark while traveling through New Zealand, watching mysterious cars appear and disappear outside our small campervan window in a secluded camping spot, not being able to find camping spots at all, hiking unexpectedly in the dark through the hills of a Fijian island, being thrust into a village culture with customs we couldn't guess or understand.  We've weathered it all with grace, allowed ourselves to relax and laugh about them, even while they were happening.

We've been exposed to so much that we had never seen or felt.  We've encountered emotions, strengths, and weaknesses in ourselves and in each other, and learned how to balance our skills in order to counterbalance the others' weak spots.

We've seen how other people live in a manner that is very different than our North American experience.  We've seen how fragile the environment can be.  We've seen how resources like power, water, and heat can be very limited and precious, especially in undeveloped countries like Fiji but even in relatively developed places like New Zealand.  We've seen how people can live with so little, or with different 'basics' than what we're used to, and still live full (if different on the surface) lives.
The world has seemed simultaneously strong and fragile to us as we've journeyed through remote places like Milford Sound or small traditional Fijian villages.

We are thankful for what we've seen.  We are thankful for the chance we took to scrimp and save in order to come on this adventure.  In my case, I am thankful for the wild chance I took on such a long leave of absence and the possibility of not having an income right away when I returned.  We are thankful for each other, on those long hiking trails when we couldn't go another step until the other reached out a hand; for the dark nights when all we had was each other's company and the stars; for the immeasurable kindness, friendliness, and genuine helpfulness of almost everyone that came across our paths, whether in New Zealand or in Fiji.

From the convenience store owner who explained to us how to maximize our gas points in New Zealand in order to save as much as possible; to the grocery store clerks or tour ticket sellers that would give us discounts "just because", to the anxious kindness of everyone in the village we stayed in to make sure we were comfortable, to the helpful hands held out in Fiji to guide us across tricky river or boulder crossings.  We were floored by the kindness offered to us as strangers, and the constant welcoming of us as "family", especially in Fiji.

Sometimes things happen, whether while traveling or at home, that can pull the rug out from under you.  As I write this, a fellow traveler at our resort is sobbing in her boyfriend's arms after just hearing on the phone that her grandfather has passed away, thousands of miles away.  J herself had to miss her grandfather's celebration of life ceremony.  I remained mostly unscathed from heartache back home, except for a highly distressed cat which broke my heart every day to hear how unhappy he was without me.

Last night, J and I were fast asleep in our treehouse, when some rustling woke us at around midnight.  The noises moved out of our room and into the adjoining room, and I saw a shadow.  After some whispering back and forth with guesses of what animal it could have been that had gotten in, we realized a couple of items had been moved and some money that had been in plain sight was missing.
We quickly realized that the individual must have left through the front door (not visible to us from the bedroom) once we woke up and started whispering, but it was quite a frightening experience, knowing someone had been in our room while we slept.  Thankfully, they only wanted cash, and left everything else intact.  The resort provided security to our treehouse for that evening and the next one (our final), and kindly offered us dinner and drinks on the house that night.

It wasn't a lot - just under $200, at most.  Apparently other resorts in the area were also targeted that same evening.  The manager reported it all to the police, but, as he put it - "It's the Fiji police, I highly doubt anything will be done".

It doesn't matter.  What matters, of course, is that we're safe.  Our passports were untouched, as were our cameras and my laptop with the photos and memories of our trip.

The next day, we went on our planned waterslide trip anyway.  You can let life throw you down, or you can continue on and grab hold of whatever joy you can, and that's what we did.

Later, back in our treehouse, we opened up all the curtains, let the light in, sat in bed playing a card game, and ate pieces of Smarties chocolate bar - the treat that has been with us through the entire trip since Day 1 in Auckland.  We looked at photos of our trip and reminisced.  We made the place ours again.

Who knows who or why it happened.  This is a country where access to basic necessities can be difficult.  People see wealthy tourists come and go every single day, while they work at minimal and unstable wages, often far away from their home villages and people they love.  Or maybe it was a kid just for fun or the thrill.  We don't know.  It doesn't really matter.  It's just money, and we're safe and unharmed, and we're heading home to friends and family that we miss and love dearly.

So we are thankful.  For a home to go back to, for jobs and income, for friends and family.  We are also thankful to have access to hot water, fresh vegetables, consistent garbage pick up, 24-hour power, and relatively inexpensive and freely available internet access.  We are thankful to be returning home with hearts full of memories.

I think I've realized that there is no answer to my initial question, and that framing it as a question is a falsehood.  There is no meaning in the question 'why do we travel', because there is no answer, no final end on the journey.  The desire or compulsion seems to be deeply embedded, but there does not appear to be a satiation of that desire.  This will be J's 33nd country, and my 10th.  Every footstep we take in a new place or culture is a brand new adventure; a brand new experience; a brand new challenge; a brand new joy or sadness.

We're not seeking any end goal at all.  We're simply doing what everyone else does - live.  Take in every moment, every inch of the globe, savour it.  We're giving ourselves over to insecurities, to dreams, to the unknown.  For somehow, we know that these experiences will shape us, change us, fulfill us, in ways we cannot possibly fathom.

We have sun-drenched hearts full of stories.  Some we will tell and re-tell; others we will keep to ourselves.

A friend of mine once said that all the experiences had while traveling are like currency - jewels to hold and examine over and over in the dark winter nights, in the periods in between travel, in the moments we lose ourselves to sadness or the grind of the everyday.

I shared my experiences through this blog as a sort of gift to those that could not be with us.  I wanted to take you, dear reader, with us along for the ride.  Give you a taste of somewhere you may never go; a glimpse of a journey you may never take.

If I could, I would siphon off a piece of the midnight sky studded with stars over the still of the mountains and put it in a bottle and give it to one of you.

To another, I would take "the bluest blue of the blues" in Lake Pukaki and paint everything blue in your life with it, that you would know this shade that exists nowhere else.

To yet another, I would weave all the tired exhilaration and incredible views of all the hikes we did into a soft scarf, so that when you wore it around you, you would have that majesty forever present. 
And for the rest of you, I would take a single drop of the delight at seeing the rarest penguin of the world come out of the sea, and infuse every image of every creature every one of you ever saw with that delight, so that you would always feel that wonder.

But I can't do that, so my words and stories; my and J's photos and videos, must suffice.  Maybe we will inspire someone, somewhere, to take the incredible journey we did, or their own.  Maybe we will just inspire people to dream bigger, to challenge themselves, to take that final leap into something they've always wanted.

We are safe, we are happy, we are home.  Happy belated Thanksgiving, Canada.  We've missed you.