Living Our Fantasy Stories

by Amanda Justice (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown New Zealand

When I first told my coworkers in L.A. that I was going to New Zealand, one of them joked that the only people who go to New Zealand are Lord of the Rings fans and Satanists. I don't know what that second part is about but yes, I'm a typical LOTR geek that wants to see Hobbiton. I also travelled here as my choice of abroad internship because, well honestly, it was the least expensive and my job was weighing down on my mental health. I needed to travel period. It didn't have to be New Zealand, it just had to be away from low wages, uncaring management, and L.A. traffic. I don't doubt New Zealand has those issues, but my internship gave me a way to be here without moving here permanently and having to find my own job as I finished my Master's in Journalism. I wanted an escape, and so, I didn't expect anything. I didn't know anything about this country except that it's summer and flip-flops are called jandals and they have cool accents. I booked multiple trips throughout the islands, the most recent one being the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. I didn't know that the trek was a pathway cutting between Mount Tongariro and Mount Doom. Sorry, Mount Ngauruhoe. I did know that it was eleven bleeping miles, or nineteen kilometers, hiked over the course of eight hours. We started at around 6:30 AM and finished about 2 PM, which was equivalent to a work shift at my job and I found some kind of irony in that. I also didn't know it was dangerous. Okay, I was told but I didn't allow myself to really think about the high ledges and loose rocks and steep hills even though my roommate made sure to drill the dangers in my head so I would dread the journey as much as I could. She also simultaneously cheered me on the whole time just to keep my psychologically off-balance I guess. I brought decent clothes, a hoodie with a fleece lining that I didn't think I'd need but WOW did I need it when stepping outside because it turns out mountains are cold in the morning even in the summer. I was happily distracted by the introduction of a sea of lavender that was occasionally interrupted by babbling creeks. The scenery eventually melted into desert-like landscapes akin to Arizona or New Mexico before again shifting to rocky, gravelly hillsides overlooking vast panoramas that reminded me just how far we could get from civilization. That was inspiring and concurrently terrifying. The whole hike was. It was a test of my own endurance as someone raised in a city, restricted from many physical activities because of a potentially lethal medical condition. It also tested the limits of my anxiety because while my able-bodied hiking group was jetting down the poorly constructed stairs, I was prancing down them like the priss I am. Getting to the halfway point that the signs of the mountain itself tell you is THE WORST by way of climbing up unstable rocks before practically sliding down more wobbly pebbles reminded me that no, my life is not mapped out by the universe and yes, I can die at any moment. For comfort, I reminded myself of the books I've read including the LOTR trilogy, Vampire the Masquerade: Dark Ages, the Witcher Saga, and the video games I'd played including Dragon Age, and Witcher (again) and for one of the few times in my life, I felt what it was to have an adventure traversing through the more distant and dangerous parts of nature. Though I wasn't as robust as the heroes of those. I also remembered my late father, who introduced me to these types of stories as a kid and encouraged me to become a fantasy writer. He told me if I didn't understand the world enough to write about it that I should create my own. I am, but through journeys like these, I'm able to build that world with pieces of ones I'm now discovering. By the end of the hike, I was sore, exhausted and grumpy. But that's how good stories should end.