It is 7:00 a.m; my bladder awakens me, you’ll have guessed.
Three days ago, we were living on the plains, stretching like a royal carpet in front of Aoraki, beyond question, the master of heights crowned with eternal snow. The King of the Southern Alps. Just like humble servants waiting for a mission from His Majesty, we wandered on the rock faces of His High Knights, discovering Alpine flora sheltering keas, the only parrots living in altitude, and most of all, fearing at the sound of avalanches roaring in the valley. Each day, we discovered the impenetrable magnanimity of the mountains, but clouds were always covering the one from whom we wanted a hearing. He is called Aoraki “The one piercing the clouds”. But, as the Maori stories go, He chooses who He reveals His charms to.
I open one eye and already, the window is calling me. Today is our last day surrounded by the Alps …will the hearing be granted? To my surprise, over the valley and its impassable glacier circle adorn with pillars grinding their teeth, the sky reveals itself under a shy morning Sun. Tongues of clouds shred at the bottom of rock walls and summits point their nose one by one. I run to the washroom, hard-fisted to jump into my hiking boots as soon as I get out, returning climbing on Mt Sebastopol, hopefully waiting for me with a fabulous view of the famous monarch.
After swallowing two slices of dry bread (thanks to a generous Brazilian who took pity on me, I was able to spread them with Nutella) I run to the never ending staircase climbing towards the Alpine lakes at the summit of Sebastopol. After 1:45 h of climbing, I am in the clouds. They are tough. The valley seems to attract them like chocolate eclairs seem to attract Mr. Lepage. So I come down again towards the Sun and half-way down, I have to sit on the ground. Here he is. Playing hide-and-seek through clouds, the glittering whiteness impresses me. The proud triangle, which seems to have been cut with a sword forged in Mt Olympus, invites to meditation. I just can’t move. Aoraki comes and goes through the white veils, and each time, He comes back even more majestic. And all around, the circle of gigantic mountains seems to answer His call and it seems to me they stand taller, whiter and more carved over the orange plain. I am under the impression that I’m earring thousands of kilometres of glaciers cracking in lieu of applause. The cry of a kea brings my body back to the cool rock and watching it fly, my eyes face thousands of dew drops adorning the robust plants and elegant heights of New Zealand. They form a silver coat on the carpet woven with all sorts of reds, ochers and greens. The moss is shining. Lichens are glittering. Here I am, filled with light, in the middle of the infinitely small and infinitely large.
I remember my friends who must be waiting for me in the valley. I run down the last stairs with a blissful smile on my face.
On the road, maybe 50 km after the valley, we stopped at the end of Lake Pukaki, huge oblong range at the foot of Aoraki. Finally, far from the clouds of the valley, the non interrupted hearing was granted. At the end of the turquoise lake, we were able to see a huge summit with refined lines, standing tall as if to bless the adjacent valleys. A simple smile was enough for our goodbye.
One week ago, we took a plane from Christchurch to Sydney, leaving behind a magic country, but in front of us so many friends to meet again. The flight was done on a splendid day. And just below us. In the middle of millennial mountains, Aoraki was standing tall, as to say Thank you and Goodbye.
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