Submitted by Kylie Boggs on the 2019 World Scholars fall semester program in New Zealand…
When I booked a tour for the black sands of Piha Beach in the beginning of the New Zealand spring, I was hoping for stereotypically perfect beach weather. I wanted bright sunlight, a slight breeze, and moderate temperatures – the same weather that we’d seen every day for at least a week! Once I got onto that shuttle bus, though, I knew that none of my hopes would come to fruition. I climbed out of that van frozen solid, soaked to the bone by the rain, and motion sick from the ceaselessly winding roads of rural New Zealand. We managed to get some lovely pictures during two grueling hikes, one of which spurred me into an asthma attack, but by the time we started toward the beach, I was more than ready to return home.
Then, we arrived and I was awestruck. The black sand was littered with small white nautilus and clam shells. The ocean was pure green and pulsating. The dark sky accentuated the obsidian sand in a way that I may never see again. The contrast of my porcelain skin against the gloomy backdrop was breathtaking. This picturesque vista was the result of the most dangerous beach waters in New Zealand, with riptides that could take you out to sea in less than a second. And among this overpowering danger and grand beauty, was a small white shell precariously balancing atop a small peak of black sand, creating a fragile side to the frightening waves. These contrasts, of dark and light, of beauty and power, and of strength and fragility, reminded me that my misery from that day was part of what made the end so rewarding. Those beautiful pictures I took only existed because of the pain in my lungs. The triumph I felt after finishing the coastal hike was only what it was because I struggled to get there. And in my life as a traveler, the belonging I feel in a new place is only possible because of the initial discomfort of difference. Adjusting to independent life in New Zealand was difficult, but since I’ve embraced that difference, I have come to love the combination more than any one way of life. Seeing two starkly different things for exactly what they are while side-by-side is an important part of progress. We can be different, and that contrast can be incredible if we let it exist.
