Torch or bust.

Torch or bust. Something to tell the grandchildren about. Courage: a necessity for the descent.

It'll be a long story so you'd best buckle up. The escapade starts with my return from the Big Smoke to Christchurch when I finally realized that I love this city so much that I'll be leaving it with tears in my years. New Zealand has the best of two very small worlds, civilized part lies in Northern Island while rustic charm can be found in the South. Somehow I like the South more, every town here has a small character, which is difficult to recognize at first sight, but the reward after you finally do it is breathtaking.

Writing demands for a continuous push and shove, especially when the sun is knocking in the window and you want to run away from the library and have a picnic in Hagley Park, but I understand that eloquence and sophisticated writing can be reached only ‘at the cost of great pain, or so says the legend’ (just joking). I have received some rants and vents on my messenger from my readers with demands for a new post and a new adventure, I really apologize, this time my writing took longer than expected. I am still a slow writer unless there is pressure on and somebody is striking a whip. I am glad that I am pushing myself because I really enjoy the process of a full immersion and solitude when I write.

The next day we decided to go for a road trip to Hanmer Springs. Quickly grabbing our togs and some snacks we hit the road. Road trips are wonderful, I have never done them in Russia, but I think it’s high time for me to take my driving license from the Treasure Island’s chest and start practicing my pathetic driving skills. I hope I am not biting more than I can chew in trying to fit into this article everything that comes into my mind right now but I ask myself who will cast the light and put in order my thoughts, if I don’t except the challenge?

The allure of the foothills can be compared to nothing. When we arrived it was already evening hence we somehow managed to skip the one and only turn and went down through a longer but more scenic alpine track. Before jumping into the springs we decided to make the most of the light that was left; lack of light which will become a focal point of this tale. We went up the Cornical Hill stopping for some time to catch breath and to admire the lights that were gradually appearing in the town at the foot of the hills. On our way up we met a guy who resembled Gandalf. Appearing from the shadows to deliver a bad omen: “You’ll need a torch when you descend”, he then disappeared. As smoothly as he appeared, he vanished down the now ominous track. Silly us, the punishment awaits those who don’t listen to Gandalf-like people. We haven’t realized that at that time. When we reached the top of the hill it was already pretty dark but still enjoyable to sit in an arbor, eating snacks from the car and reflecting about things. Here the real adventure begins. Being very chatty and lively, and which is more important, having these two characteristics all together on the hill at night can make one work him woe. When I was walking down the stairs of the arbor and apparently not looking where I was going I fell and stretched my ankle. So here we are, in an omnipresent darkness, with an ankle that hurts as if someone is putting a nail from inside and with a spiraling road ahead of us that lies through thick trees. The darkness was all in between. No time to despond or lose heart, so I pulled myself together and we dived into a completely new experience. Off we go, off the beaten track and avoiding tourist traps (don’t pay attention to this sentence, it’s simply filled with the vocabulary from savvy English text-books on the topic of traveling/tourism). As we start the spiraling downwards with the aid of the light of a dying phone we understood that forgetting a torch was a rookie mistake. When the phone died we found ourselves in a complete, unforgiving darkness of the hill’s trees.
By the way I need to email Apple and tell them that their device saved our lives. Do you know what happens when the battery dies? You still can turn it on and see the sign of a “red battery” and it was enough to somehow see the turn of the road and not fall of a cliff when the road was changing its direction. Enveloped by an unforgiving shroud, a potentially perilous descent was warded off by their banterous glow of the dying phone. When we at last

found ourselves in boiling waters of the springs I grasped what the idiom “to be on cloud nine” actually meant. Forget redbull, a well-deserved rest after a dangerous descent – that what really gives you wings.
That was a long read, so I applaud to those who actually made it till the end. Thank you for staying with me, question for you to ponder about and to answer it in comments below. “Do you think of yourselves as writers?” Isn’t it always pleasurable to think of yourself as one?^^