by New Zealand is the reason I love to travel. Well, New Zealand and my mother. She had visited in the 1970s, and when she heard my school was planning a rugby trip there, she took a second job as a cleaner so she could pay for my ticket.
“It’s a magical place,” she said. “I think you’ll love it.”
Although New Zealand felt British in many ways, I was immediately struck by its stunning landscape, which ranges from volcanoes to glaciers, and the prominence of its indigenous Māori culture. I liked it so much that I moved there for a year after university.
Mum and I always talked about visiting New Zealand together, but cancer had other ideas. When she died, I couldn’t see beyond the grief and sadness, and the thought that we would never do anything together again. I needed something to change my mind and cope with how I was feeling. I turned to travel.
My wife Dre listened to Mum and I have been excited about New Zealand since she first met me and, when the country reopened its borders after the pandemic, we immediately booked a trip. There was also someone else with us: our four-month-old daughter, Lyra, whose middle name is Dianne, after my mom.
It was at the Bonz N Stonz workshop in the west coast town of Hokitika that we met Nathaniel Scott from Ngai Tahu, a Māori iwi (tribe) whose ancestral lands stretch across the South Island of New Zealand. Ngai Tahu retained extraction rights for precious stones formed in the Southern Alps, which were washed down to the coast in rivers. The best known of these is a type of jade nephrite which the Māori call pounamu.
“Our people used pounamu to make tools and weapons,” said Nathaniel, “because it’s so hard. But it also has esoteric properties. There is a motto – spirit and power.”
I wanted to carve a piece of pounamu to give to Lyra when she was older, but Dre kept drawing it to a bright blue stone, mottled with white. It matches Lyra’s eyes (which are the same color as Mom’s) and Dre and I carved a piece under Nathaniel’s guidance.
“This is Aotea,” he said. “This is the greatest treasure of my people, and it can only be found on one river, in our lands in the south. It is a great privilege to be able to protect and carve it.”
When we finished our pieces, the shop owner, Steve Gwaliasi, tied them together with waxed cord to make necklaces. I went to pay him for the stone and his time, but he refused.
“It’s a gift,” he said. “The stone spoke to you. Or Lyra. Besides, this felt like a special encounter. Thank you for coming here, and for sharing your story with me.”
When Mum was in New Zealand, she flew to Milford Sound and said it was the best thing she ever did. So, later, we drove towards that area, over the mountains to Wānaka, then piled into a Southern Alpine Air propeller plane, and took to the skies. We looked down at the same forests, valleys and mountains that Mom did, thinking of her all the time.
One of those areas was Treble Cone, where I trained as a ski instructor after university. After we landed back in Wānaka, we drove up the long trail, winding towards the dirt, baby Lyra strapped in front of me, and headed up to the ridge. Below us was the chalky-blue, braided Matukituki River, with the glistening, glacier-covered Aspiring in the distance.
“Hello, Mom,” I said. “You always said Wānaka was the most beautiful place you ever visited, and this view was my favorite place to relax when I skied here. I wish we could come here together, but I sure feel like you’re here with me. Thank you for everything, Mom. This is all about you. I love you.” I threw Mom’s ashes into the air and they floated away on the wind, towards Wānaka.
That evening, I met Hemi Vincent, a Māori friend who had hired me as a doorman when I lived in Wānaka. He asked about my aotea necklace, and I told him the story about its connection to Mom and Lyra through its color.
“Can I name it for you?” Hemi asked.
“I would be honored,” I replied.
“We must. You are happy,” he said. “It’s a Māori proverb, which translates as ‘I walk back to the future, with my eyes fixed on the past.’
“In the Māori world, past, present and future are intertwined. The ancestors are always present, in both the spiritual and physical realms. Your daughter will always have her grandmother watching her, through the same eyes. And your store reminds you of that, always.”
I traveled to New Zealand to try to make sense of my grief. And, yes, I remembered Mom while I was there. I was often sad. But most of the time, I felt a joyous love of life. Her memory – and her story – connected me to a place that meant so much to both of us. And, for the first time in a long time, I felt that life could be good again.
Mom was right. New Zealand is a magical place. He turned my sadness into hope.
Ash Bhardwaj’s book Why We Travel: A Journey to Human Inspiration explores 12 reasons to travel, including hope. It has been published on 11 April 2024 at Bedford Square (hardcover; £20).
