Five sunsets, and the stories that accompany them
“The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire.’ – Pamela Hansford Johnson.
Five of the most memorable sunsets imaginable…
As a night owl, I’m far more likely to see a sunset than a sunrise. I’ve been lucky enough to see some amazing sunsets over the years, from around the world. For a while, I’ve thought about writing a post about some of the more memorable sunsets I’ve experienced. Finally, here it is! These are five of the best sunsets I’ve seen in my life so far, and the stories behind them.
Sundown at Hokitika, New Zealand.
The early autumn air carried a slight evening chill. The sand trickled into my hiking boots and the sea-battered log I had found to sit on protruded uncomfortably into me as time wore on. It was my final evening on the West Coast. My time in New Zealand was drawing to an inevitable close. While I still had eight more nights in the country, this would be my last New Zealand sunset that I spent the time to truly appreciate before leaving for my Long Journey Home.
I stayed until the sun had gone completely and the evening chill had turned to cold. Huddling into my jacket, I walked back to my campsite and prepared for my final evening of camping. As I zipped myself into my tent for the night, I felt a mixture of emotions. Happiness that my trip had been so wonderful. Sadness that it would soon be over, and I would be leaving New Zealand to travel onto lands unknown. And contentment that within my canvas walls waited cheese and crackers, a glass of wine and Modern Family on my laptop. Sometimes, the simplest things are the best things!
Blood red skies, Lake Baikal, Russia.
We sat, gloved hands deep in pockets and coats zipped to our chins, largely silent. There was a peace between us that comes when you have spent a lot of time with that person and can be comfortable in your silence. Our breath clouded in the icy air. We watched in awe, spell bound, as the colours shifted. The scene was made up of the most vibrant colour palette I’d ever set eyes on before in my life. Yellow, then orange, onto red, then to deep crimson and pink and finally, just before darkness, to deep purple streaks. Underneath the sky, reflecting and sharing the joy, Lake Baikal turned blood orange and glowed back at the sky.
When it was all over, when our bodies were chilled to the bone, we walked back to our guesthouse slowly, easing warmth back into our limbs. As we went, we talked about how differentRussia was to what we had expected. The people were not as cold and frigid as we’d anticipated, unlike the air around us. No, we’d been met with kindness and warmth throughout our trip so far. A far cry to what we had imagined. And that sunset… Beyond our wildest imaginings.
Storm clouds, Marloes, Pembrokeshire, Wales.
As I squelched through thick mud to reach the coastal page, the wind tugged mercilessly at my jacket. It was blowing a gale and driving needles of cold rain into my face and exposed hands. Overhead, the clouds towered high into the atmosphere, like mountains, the sun breaking through when it could. It battled against the gloom, turning the light an unusual, glowering red. At the gate, I stopped and took in the scene – unparalleled views across the Irish Sea.
Here, on the clifftops, the wind sliced through me, taking my breath away. Below, the sea was in turmoil, thrashing and heaving against the black rocks. Waves smashed into a million droplets, each a single, glittering diamond. As darkness descended, I beat a hasty retreat, striding back to the shelter of the hedge lined path. Back at our rented cottage, I would be warm and safe again. Tea, central heating, my mother waiting. This was our time, a brief interlude for us before I flew back to New Zealand. Time to go home, and then, time to go home.
A sunset from Princess Bay, Wellington, New Zealand.
We drove through Wellington, playing Hot Chip ‘Dancing in the Dark‘ with the windows fully down. The six of us embraced the soft evening breeze, the warmth of late summer still clinging to the evening. At the beach, I ran to the water and dipped my toe in. It was so cold it bit against my skin with icy teeth and I squealed with shock.
I pushed myself in deeper, slowly immersing myself, ignoring my body screaming for me to stop. Finally, I took a leap of faith and plunged underwater, head first. I came up spluttering, my skin on fire. The others followed, some more reluctant, until finally we were all in, gasping, spluttering and yelling. A quick selfie and then the boys were gone, clambering back to shore. We three remained, shrieking at the cold.
Afterwards, we wrapped towels around us, slipped our flip flops back on and pulled t-shirts over our heads. We drove a little way around the coast and, as the light changed, we pulled over to experience a breathtaking sunset. The perfect end to a perfect evening.
A sunset from the Mongolia-China border.
As we sped north, night was drawing in. It was our first evening on board the Trans-Siberian train, bound for Mongolia. We were wet behind the ears, this was all new for us. A novel experience. I pressed my nose up against the window as the world went past in a blur. The train snaked through the endless landscape, slowly bringing us closer to our destination.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, it turned the sky a fiery red. After dark, the temperature dropped and we slept under thick layers of blankets, trying to keep the chill at bay. We awoke after a broken night of sleep to find our cabin coated in a layer of sand. As we’d rattled through the Gobi desert overnight, sand had slipped through a small crack in our window. No wonder we’d been cold! We shook the sand off of us and returned to gazing out of the window. Another day rolling the tracks before we were to reach Ulaanbaatar. Another sunset to come…
