Wandering an Incredible Life

New Zealand.

This is the last destination of my world trip. In ten days I will be home, if the Icelandic volcanoes let me, but I haven’t stopped being amazed yet. I was almost convinced I had lost the ability to enjoy, to be moved, and to be thrilled. Very few times in my life I’ve been so happy to be wrong.

I’ve been travelling for some days with my friend Mike, a kiwi guy whom I literally ran across in Chile, and with him as a perfect guide I’ve been conquering and exploring the road that leads south.

We wander through forests of giant ferns, that from far away look a lot like the Italian Alps to me, but on a closer look they remind me that I’m on the opposite side of the planet.

We conquer with determination the vertiginous tops of mountains and volcanoes, and then we end up playing with stones for hours on crystal lakes.

Like kids we climb on the rocks drawn by the strength of the wind and the sea, to silently admire the majestic oceanic waves around us, and the sunset that shatters itself upon them.

And now I am in a place that is astounding, for someone that was born and lived for all his life in Italy. I paint on my face a smile that will last for hours, and a feeling that will last for days.

I’m at the Arthur’s Pass, altitude of 737 meters, in the “Sanctuary”. With Mike and me there are also Fong and Lily, Malaysian, Mel, British, Max, Canadian from Quebec, Ashley and Matt, American from Missouri.

The Sanctuary is a small house, supplied with eight beds, simple but functional bathroom and shower, a kitchen completed with all household appliances, a wood stove, electricity, running water, a guitar, a couple of board games, a few books. On the outside there is also a small room with five computers connected to Internet (technology reaches everywhere).

And a Honesty Box, that basically is the moral of the story.

It is the box where we will leave a small payment to the owner, which left this place only to the travelers’ respect and good will. There is nobody here to make sure that we pay, that we clean, that we don’t steal, but there is no need of it, because thanks to this disarming example of trust the Sanctuary is still here, intact, clean, welcoming.

In that Honesty Box i will leave on of my most beautiful memory, besides the money.

For two days this place has been my tree house, my castle made of sofa cushions, my Indian tent, everything too good and too innocent to be even tempted to ruin its purity.

In New Zealand travelling returned to be a child’s game.