beleaguering ennui

With Justin having just returned from a place I’ve been wanting to travel for a long time, I’ve been thinking about the way I can imagine places foreign to be so spectacular. I imagine the beauty of the environment, the amazing possibilities, and the cool things I will do. The approach of foreign places evokes the same feeelings—Cleveland, Saint Louis, or the Rockies from the high plains—this sense that the world is complex, but simple to understand and there is nothing that is not going to be good. I’m on a roll.

New Zealand has always been one of those places.

The summer I turned twelve, the USA was having it’s first go of hosting the World Cup. I remember pouring over maps. I was captivated, infatuated even obsessed with environmental greatests—tallest mountains, longest rivers, lowest valleys, deepest trenches. I ranked places on their possession of such treasures. I was infuriated that Colorado’s tallest mountain was not as tall as California’s, because our cabin was in Colorado and I liked Colorado. I had Colorado pride. California? Everybody was like oohh… California, but really, what’s so special about it anyway?

That same summer, after leaving the cabin—as I poured over the info in the atlas—we drove to Telluride. My uncle managed a bar there, and I got to watch the World Cup finals. Italy lost to Brazil in a shootout. I loved the sport, and I loved how the Brazilian team played so beautifully, thus I was turned on to Brazil. I remember thinking that there were many things there I like—It has the jungles, the longest river, mountains for hiking and the ocean for SCUBA as I was going to get my c-card that year.

But as the summer waned, so did my love for the land of Ipanema. Afterall, the mountains aren’t very tall, and the Ocean it’s on is the Atlantic, the one that is not the biggest, deepest or according to Ferdinand Magellan most peaceful. So I turned my sights on that ocean to the west of me. The Pacific ocean.

New Zealand had the mountains, it had the ocean and they spoke the same language, and it wasn’t California. Hence, at the ripe age of twelve or thirteen, began my obsession with someday landing myself in Kiwi land.

Now, as I find myself appreciating the views in Port Townsend Washington my roomate returns from a place I’ve pined to visit, talking of Kiwis who laud Portland as a relocation destination and I’m thinking, maybe it’s me, maybe I need to let go—to appreciate the place I’m in… Or maybe it’s just that they really filmed Lord of the Rings in the Pacific North-West.