It took exactly two weeks. I knew from the beginning that it was coming, but when it would strike was a mystery to me considering the euphoric state I had been in since my arrival in New Zealand.
And last Sunday evening, I finally felt it coming on: homesickness.
To be fair, I had made several poor decisions that day that had left me vulnerable to such nostalgia for the familiar.
Mistake number one occurred at the Avondale Sunday Market. I had decided to join my friend, who had to go to a market in one of Auckland’s numerous suburbs for her hospitality class in gastrointestinal tourism, on a brief Sunday morning venture.
The market itself was delightful. Hundreds of vendors were arranged in lines across an expansive grassy area, offering everything from fresh strawberries to used power tools for sale at low prices. The cheap produce immediately caught my eye — a bag of tomatoes for a dollar, strawberries for two, green beans for three — particularly because the island country’s isolation creates a need for importing most foods that jacks up the prices in grocery stores.
I chose a bag of berries, a few bell peppers (or “capsicum,” as they are commonly called here) and some homemade egg noodles. Lastly, I decided I would try something ambitious that evening for dinner and try to make myself some Malaysian-style noodle soup. Another vendor recommended a bag of red paste labeled prawn sauce to use with the noodles. Despite the fact that I was absolutely clueless as to what prawn sauce was or the severity of its spiciness, I thoughtlessly took the bait and purchased the packet. So goes the first poor decision.
Mistake number two came about later that day with a visit to Mission Bay, a popular east coast beach in Auckland. I knew from visiting a few other area beaches the previous weekend that the New Zealand sun is ten times stronger than what I had encountered in the States, primarily because of the massive hole in the ozone layer that hangs over the South Pacific.
But my desire to be tan overrode my sensibility to heed the warnings of my program managers to avoid sunbathing. I lathered up with some SPF 30 and laid out for hours in the beach’s soft sands, ignoring the intensity of the burning rays cast upon me by the fierce sunshine. Thus, I sealed my fate with mistake number two.
When I arrived back at our long stay hotel, I could feel myself reddening. I prepared my egg noodles along with some vegetables and added a significant amount — too much, I later learned the hard way — of the red paste to some boiled water to create a broth base.
After eating as much of my shoddy attempt at a Malaysian dish as I could stomach, I assessed the sun damage. My shoulders, back and stomach were scarlet. I laid in bed that night as I felt my body burning inside and out, the fluffy white sheets beneath my comforter feeling like sand paper on my irritated skin.
“So this is how I’m going to die,” I melodramatically told myself as I stared at the ceiling. ‘Little House on the Prairie,’ dehydration-then-dysentery style.”
I wanted to go home.
I knew it was the first time I had felt this way, but there was no way it would be the last. Truthfully, I have done quite a bit in different places around New Zealand over the past three weeks, but very seldom felt in my comfort zone.
For example, take a few instances from my weekend trip to the Coromandel Peninsula located on the eastern side of New Zealand’s North Island.
The three-and-a-half-inch grasshopper keeping me company while bathing in the outdoor shower of a hostel I stayed at wasn’t something I would see in my comfort zone.
Nor was the 30-foot drop into deep, translucent blue seas I saw as I peered over the edge of the rocks of Crayfish Bay, an ideal spot for cliff-jumping, one of our program guides had recommended.
But I knew nonetheless that I did not study abroad to be in my comfort zone. I came here to challenge myself, explore my boundaries and push myself past timid ’fraidy-cat status into the great unknown of adrenaline and adventure.
So I took a few steps back from the ledge at Crayfish Bay, took one last gulp of crisp air and tried my best not to look down. Then, I went for it. I leapt, felt myself suspended in mid air for a moment and plunged into the cool, salty waters.
I buoyed back to the surface, smiling at the sun above me that had caused me such agony a weekend past.
It was a natural ecstasy, a triumph of will I would have never encountered in my comfort zone.
