We drove through
Arthur’s Pass
on our way toward
Greymouth.
It wasn’t my first time on this road.
I had passed through here during my working holiday years.
Later, once more, before I was married, with Imo.
Both memories belong to more than twenty years ago now.
This time, there were four of us.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No clear moment that stood out.
Still, I felt quietly reflective.
I couldn’t recall the details of the scenery.
Not precisely.
But something returned anyway —
the shape of the mountains,
the way the road curved,
the openness of the sky.
Just enough to think,
Yes, this was the place.
I have travelled this road more than once,
but everything else had changed.
Who I was.
Who I was travelling with.
What I was responsible for.
This time, it wasn’t a journey to push through.
It was a journey to pass through slowly,
allowing the landscape to come to me.
That felt right.
We continued on and drove as far as
Wānaka
that day, stopping there for the night.
When evening came, the cold settled in quickly.
It wasn’t sharp or dramatic —
just the kind of cold that seeps in and stays.
I felt it in my body.
This road held both past and present at once.
And this time,
we crossed it quietly,
as a family of four.
#NewZealandJourney #ArthursPass #Wanaka #TwentyYearsOn #RecoveryJourney #FamilyTravel
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