We landed on the emerald-green South Island of New Zealand into sheets of rain. After three flights and twenty plus hours of flying, we had finally made to Christchurch, New Zealand. Middle Earth as it is known in the fictitious, yet sensational Lord of the Rings.
The initial relief and excitement of finally arriving in New Zealand after months and months of planning and anticipation, was instantly flattened like a popped balloon as the all too familiar disappointment and letdown set in. I honestly have no idea why I experience this kind of traveler’s schizophrenia. But it always happens and always on the first day of arrival. Perhaps it is the fact that I typically spend months planning a trip, dreaming about it and getting my emotions all worked up. Then when I finally get to that place I’d been dreaming about forever (in this case, over a year of planning was involved), my emotions collapse. Or else it could be the complete exhaustion and jet lag of traveling across 19 time zones. Seeing the sun set, and set, and rise once more.
It didn’t help that the weather was dreadful. Here we were in the midst of springtime in New Zealand and the weather was equally as bad if not worse than the gray, cold November days we were trying desperately to escape in Minnesota. It was a meager forty degrees farenheit and the rain was unending, bitter and cold. I felt my spirits dwindling down like the pouring rain. But I knew only too well that I couldn’t let poor weather spoil my fun. My husband and I had waited over a year for this trip and we intended to have an unforgettable time.
