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We’re digging down into the final few weeks of school at Victoria, so some mental R&R is necessary.  Holly, Myles, Kaitlin, and me round up into the raper van (it looks like it belongs on an episode of CSI, cmon!) and truck on through the Rimutakas to Wairarapa.  A childhood of carsickness has followed me here to New Zealand, but I keep it on lock for the sake of my comrades.  The road through this range is treacherous on a windy day, but we trust Myles and his driving skills, even on the parts where nothing but a barbed wire fence keeps us from a nice long plummet down the side.  We’ve come up with this game called “horse” for these mini road trips.  It goes like this.  We all look around wide-eyed in hopes of spotting a horse.  Upon spotting said horse, the person who sees it has to scream Horse!! As loud as possible.  I’m not sure what the current score is, but Myles is definitely winning.  My eardrums are not.  Horses count in any capacity whether it’s on a sign or a bumper sticker.  All fair game.  But Myles always wins…damnit.

It’s around 3 p.m. now and we are outside of the city, heading down through Western Lakes.  Eventually, the road disappears completely and we are scraping and crashing through rocks and small rivers hoping the van doesn’t give us the finger and refuse to keep moving through this 4X4 world.  We drive along the coast for a few minutes until we reach a patch of beach that feels habitable.  The wind kicks up soon, so we go in search of a protected place.  We come upon a grove of Manuka trees bordered by a forest of reeds and ocean.  Yes it is the backyard of someone’s bach – but we are unaffected.  This is the spot!

I see a sign down the way that says “Corner Creek.”  If I were to dream up a spot that deserved the name Corner Creek, I’d think of a swimming hole in Y-City, Arkansas.  This place is wild and windswept, gorgeous with its teal water and feral waves.  If by creek you mean the South Pacific and corner you mean corner of the world, I’ll take it.  Either way, this is the most understated sign I have ever seen.  It’s funny that way in New Zealand.  You’ll have a conversation with someone about a particular place and they’ll say “Oh yea, that place is nice as eh?” and then sort of shrug it off - kind of like I’d describe somewhere like Lake Catherine State Park.  Yea, it’s pretty cool, whatever (no disrespect Arkansas, much love).  Then you go to these places that elicit no more than a shrug of ordinary, and you are absolutely floored.  Jaw dropping and gorgeous is New Zealand, so multi-dimensional that it’s hard to understand how it has remained so effortlessly striking.