It’s been over two and a half months now since I finished my walk trough the south island of New Zealand, and I start realizing more and more how amazing it was. I still think about it every day, and sometimes I look at the pictures I took and I just want to go back.
At the same time, I slowly start to understand what made my journey. Of course the amazing landscapes, the lonliness, but a big part of it were all the huts I passed on my trip. I didn’t sleep in all of them, sometimes I passed two huts to spend the night in the third, other days I walked from the first one to the second. Some huts were not longer maintained, but were still good enough as a shelter to cook and to put my tent next to. In the huts are ‘hutbooks’. People writing their entries in them with their plans, comments about their day etc. It’s a beautiful thing to see the same names sometimes, and to read about their journey.
Poeple wrote poems om walls of huts, left books, carved their entry in the wooden walls. Some huts were more than 50 years old and others were not older than a year.
O, how I miss these places…