Wanderings and Wonderings

“I was here when the top fell off.”
“The top of what?”
“Of the mountain. Pure ice and rock plummeted down the mountain side.”
The speaker is a man of Maori descent, fifty odd, with facial hair greyer than that on his head, and eyes a brilliant brown, reflecting the warmth of the dying embers behind me. We are alone in the bar, partial pools of light and that from the aforementioned fireplace all that illuminate the room. Everything about where we are (that is, not the bar, per say, but where the bar is) is spectacularly atmospheric.
I turn my stool towards his, our pints of New Zealand Steinlager all but depleted. He shuffles his barstool noisily closer; enraptured it seems, by the chance to tell somebody his story:
“You know son, what a lot of people don’t know about the Kiwi’s is that we are remarkably laid back. We live an existence of pre-requisite bliss – it’s in our nature to be relaxed, welcoming and carefree. This is not about being Maori or not being Maori, but rather, that the majority of New Zealander’s enjoy their lives all the more because they are so chilled out.”
I nod towards the pints of Steinlager,
“Maybe there’s something in the water.”
A hearty bellow escapes my new friend, who reaches out a hand to pat me on the back.
“You’re a good man,” he says, and just like that two entirely different people from entirely different generations, places, and of different heritages and hemispheres, have a struck a rapport, the likes of which add a whole new aura to the wonder of travel; we can meet people who impact us more than we know.

“So what was it like when the top fell off?” I motion behind us, though the window, pointing past the all-encompassing darkness outside; to where unseen until morning, Mount Cook - the largest mountain in New Zealand - overlooks everything. Majestic and monolithic, a summoning point in the snowy mists of the South Island:
“The peak, great chunks of ice and rock fell off about twenty years ago, just as I planned to climb it the next day. That’s why I’m here again, the first time since.”
So here we are, two strangers, alone in a snow shrouded hotel bar, at the foot of Mount Cook:
“Aren’t you nervous?”
He smiles, teeth the same colour as the snow outside, his expression far warmer:
“Never.” He replies.
With a final pat on the back, he departs, borne out to taste the embittering air from Aoraki, before he ascends tomorrow.
As for me, I plot my next route, enriched by the knowledge that life is better lived laid back.