Postage Stamp: Haast, New Zealand
I imagine giants above us, and stare up the narrow cliff sides as if up their bare legs; for the mountains of rock debris could be some fantastical gate destroyed by enormous hands.
I imagine giants above us, and stare up the narrow cliff sides as if up their bare legs; for the mountains of rock debris could be some fantastical gate destroyed by enormous hands.
Queenstown’s aluminum roofs shrink to bread boxes, then postcards, as we gain height; at 4,500 feet, it’s a crumb-sized civilization clinging to Lake Wakatipu’s eastern shore…
Lost means little when you’re halfway up a rock face, wedged furtively between towers of stone. Every surface looks the same from this angle; no map promises us stable footing.
My partner and I are chasing cairns to the top of Mount Parsons.
But my boyfriend, Hadyn, feels about fishing as I feel about traveling: that it is an act of passion, of reverence, which must be practiced as often as possible in order to feel a legendary moment of aliveness. Both activities share a pull that only the dedicated will ever understand.
Places have a way of changing history.
200 years ago, the chalice-shaped inlet of Wineglass Bay oozed with the blood of butchered whales, turning the peaceful waters into a glass of Merlot and invoking its descriptive name.
Salt, decomposing meat and uprooted seaweed – that distinctive odor of the ocean – floods my nostrils as I climb out of the truck. The others don’t find it appealing. “It smells like […]
Australia’s architecture is determined by the tyranny of its distances. 4,100 km (2,547 m) between coasts create a country of stylistic opposites. From the colonial domes of Melbourne’s Flinders Street Station… […]