Addiction can occur.

A growing obsession with endless skies, lofty trees, lush ferns, and fermented grape juice brews the potion that keeps us tramping all over the place. Now, the ocean’s pull has added an extra kick to nature’s intoxicating concoction . After all, New Zealand is two islands – and for one last season, we are still boat people. After bidding our friends farewell, we’ve been tracing the eastern shores from the Kaikoura Coast to Queen Charlotte Sound in search of crayfish to savor, fur seals to observe, wines to sample, and art (Nelson!) to keep us from becoming full-fledged bush men.

One of the unexpected highlights of this coastal trip was connecting with the Nomadland-like fringes of the NZ society. A 40-year-old Colombian woman was teaching a 30-year-old Filipina how to sing and dance to the Colombian music she was streaming throughout the free campervan parking lot, where we had also stationed ourselves for the night. They both had the day off, and that’s how they met—having a ball in the parking lot as if they had been friends since childhood. Each slept in a regular car, not a van. As I returned from the public toilets, they waved me over for a chat, and I curiously obliged. The Colombiana proudly explained that her five children were safe in Hamilton on the North Island—the eldest 23, the youngest 10—while she was earning money picking tomatoes on the South Island. She casually accompanied the announcement of her husband’s passing away with a matter-of-fact cutthroat hand gesture. When I repeated the gesture with a baffled, “Oh, I see,” she burst into hearty laughter and high-fived me—the first of many—before adding reassuringly that it had already been 10 years since he died. So, it was all good. The Filipina was a caregiver for the elderly and wanted to know what I did for a job. When I told them I was retired, both of them high-fived me this time with extra vigor . When I remarked that it was a relief to know I would be looked after by such friendly girls once my body finally gave out, they roared with laughter and, yes, up went their palms for another high-five. They kept their private karaoke going until late in the night and I enjoyed every bit of it, cocooned in our van. Luc innocently snored through all of it.

Since all satisfaction comes from transition, we transitioned the next morning from the Nomadland parking lot to Gravity Cellars’ tasting room and restaurant for a dreamy Sunday afternoon. The day after on to Neudorf’s Vineyard for a dreamy Monday afternoon. Until we finally arrived at The Barn, a huge camping site near Marahau and Abel Tasman National Park where they served an excellent Czech goulash. Surprisingly enough.

The next day, a water taxi dropped us off at Torrent Bay in Abel Tasman National Park where we proceeded to wade through the Tasman Sea to start our 12,5 km hike back to home base and the above pictured goulash. All the while accompanied once again by exuberant birdsong. New Zealand’s efforts to eradicate pests like possums, rats, and stoats are really paying off. The programs carry lyrical names such as Island Song, Dawn Chorus, Battle for our Birds, etc, and the birds are thriving. However, there must still be possums galore – judging by the squashed carcasses that lie scattered along the highways.

At Lewis Pass, we have crossed the Southern Alps for the third and final time, returning to Christchurch—a delightful town. We happened to be present during the annual Flare Ōtautahi Street Art Festival. Eight large-scale murals by renowned Kiwi artists are being added to the existing ones. We found it very exciting to behold, especially since the artists themselves loved to explain their work in progress. Christchurch is also our jumping-off point for one last road trip on the South Island before flying back to O2, who is patiently waiting in her dock on the North Island for cyclone season to pass and for us to come home.

But first, let’s go see some penguins!