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At times I feel like I am back in my beloved homeland Canada, with its burbling brooks, splashing waterfalls and snowy mountains. At other times I am reminded of walking through the rain forest in Borneo, with its abundance of botanical wonders. And sometimes I think of England – or New England, for that matter, because of the quaint gardens, pots of tea and names like Wellington, Nelson and New Plymouth. New Zealand has an amazing variety of landscapes and flora. It is as though the whole world is packed into a tiny area.
The landscapes remind me of so many places that I have been to before, but somehow I keep feeling that something is off with regard to what I am actually seeing and what I am used to seeing. My perceptions are perplexed. When I see snowy mountains I think of the Rocky Mountains in Banff or the Alps in Switzerland. I think of skiing and hot chocolate. I expect pine trees or edelweiss.
Instead, here in New Zealand, I stand amid fern trees, eucalyptus and palm trees while viewing the snowy mountains. I see ski lifts on slopes where the virginal snow risks a sudden melt from a volcanic burst of lava. I see handsome Maoris and expect them to speak with some kind of Polynesian accent. Instead, I hear the charming dialect of New Zealand.
In the lush, jungle-like forests I expect to hear the screech of monkeys and the strumming of cicadas. I expect to be drenched in muggy sweat and attacked by swarms of mosquitoes. There is nothing big, dangerous or annoying! All we have seen and heard so far is a wide variety of birds, some of them unrecognizable to my ear.
