Seeking Solitude Part 2: A trip to Waikanae, Wellington.

‘In solitude the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.’ – Laurence Sterne.

Update: This post was edited in February 2021. For current fare information on Wellington train services, check out Metlink’s website.

On my way to Waikanae

I catch the train to Waikanae on a whim early one Saturday afternoon. The need to be alone is strong, I crave solitude and peace, some head space. I long for the beach. For all my love of mountains, when I need time to think, I usually head for the ocean.

However, when I left the hostel earlier, I didn’t know I was going to be on a train to Waikanae. I didn’t plan this trip. I’d left in a burst of irritation, annoyed with the same circular conversations about our plans for the day that never lead anywhere. Instead of having the conversations, why not actually just do something? So I had, and now here I am.

Deciding where to go…

During my walk from the hostel into the CBD, my mind had trawled my options. Catch the cable car up to the Botanic Garden and take a stroll, maybe grab a coffee and some cake at a café… But then, the memory of another time when I’ve craved solitude had crept into my memory. That time, I’d spent a happy afternoon in Eastbourne, by the sea. I could go there again. I had always planned to return. Well, if I was going to be catching a bus, then I needed some cash. So, I changed my course of direction to go into the train station to withdraw some money at an ATM. Above my head, the departure board winked at me – Upper Hutt, Featherston, Johnsonville, Waikanae.

The last name caught my attention. I’d spent some wonderful days in Waikanae over New Year’s with friends. I recalled the long stretch of empty beach, windswept and littered with driftwood, shells and pebbles. There was a river that carved a path through the sand at one end. Kapiti Island loomed offshore. Why not go there? I could buy a ticket right then and there! So I did, and now here I am.

The journey to Waikanae

The train is now heading north out of the city. I am overcome with excitement at this unexpected adventure. There is also relief coursing through me as we travel further and further out of Wellington. Without realising it, I’ve been feeling stifled lately in the city. It feels so wonderful to leaving, even if it’s just for a few hours.

The journey takes approximately an hour and passed along some of the Wellington region’s most stunning coastline. I plug in music and keep my eyes glued to the window, drinking in the scenes as they flash past. We stop at station after station, inching our way towards Waikanae. At Whitby and Porirua, a finger of sea slides inland, placid and calm, protected by the high hills all around. The train hugs the coastline, steaming on at pace towards Paraparaumu and Waikanae. As we pull in at m stop, I gather my belongings, disembark and stride off the platform towards the village.

My vague plan is to grab a coffee, then walk to the beach. It’s just as well I do – in the coffee shop I am told by two friendly women that the beach is a good forty-five minute walk. My heart sinks.

Hitching a lift to the beach

The walk itself is not a problem, although suburban streets and housing estates were not the scenery I had in mind for my afternoon. It’s more the fact that I don’t have Wi-Fi and I’ve run out of data, so have no clue which way to walk! At that moment, as she’s about to leave, one of the women pipes up. Would I like to ride with her to the beach? She’s going that way and can give me a lift. Problem solved!

We chat easily as she drives towards the beach. She’s only recently moved the area herself to be nearer her aging parents. I tell her about my stay in New Zealand, how I’m there on a working holiday visa, and why I’ve come to Waikanae. When she voices a desire to one day travel to the UK, I encourage her. In no time, we’re at the beach. I wave goodbye to her and walk down a short path to the beach.

Watching the kite surfers

The tide is out. I’ve timed it perfectly. Miles of damp sand stretch before me, as far as the eye can see. To my right are the sand dunes, with beachfront houses and baches behind. To my left, the ocean and Kapiti Island, which protects the beach from the worst of the swell and weather coming off the Tasman.

The wind tugs incessantly at my hair, pulling strands loose from my ponytail. I walk fast, pausing every now and then to take photos and watch the kite surfers. It’s blustery and they’re taking full advantage, bouncing along the crests of the waves at great speed. Their kites are big and colourful, dipping and bowing in the wind. Occasionally, one goes down, the surfer disappears and then magically, minutes later, they’re back, skimming effortlessly across the water. A dance, spray streaming up behind them.

On the beach itself, the main occupants are walkers and their dogs. A few couples, their mittened hands entwined. A family with small children in tow. Loners like me, striding along with their heads down against the wind. Some have cameras like me, and I watch to see what they stop to photograph. I always like to imagine the world from other people’s perspectives and try to envisage what they are seeing through the camera viewfinder. What do they see that I don’t?

My head clears

As I walk, I feel my head clearing. Weight I don’t even know I am carrying lifts. On the beach, I feel free. I am anyone, no one, anonymous. It’s a relief to be reminded that I can still go off at a moment’s notice and enjoy solitude. It’s almost novel to discover that I still appreciate my own company. I’ve been living in the hostel for so long, with the endless stream of people and a cacophony of noise cocooning me 24/7. No wonder I’ve forgotten this silence. No wonder I crave this space. I love being around my friends, but I’ve been stuck in my own head. Now, I’ve broken out. On days like today, I just need to be away from everyone and everything.

I walk for nearly an hour, then sit and watch the walkers I’ve passed catch me up and stroll by to continue on down the beach. It’s chilly and I shiver. The kite surfers are now leaping clear of the water, droplets sparkling between their boards and the sea before gravity inevitably catches them and pulls them back down. The waves are pounding the shore incessantly, leaving behind wet sand and newly washed pebbles. The constant surge and retreat is comforting and numbing.

The beach is on the move

It is time to turn back. The afternoon has worn on and it’ll be dark in a couple of hours. I am now walking into the wind and bear the brunt of it as it slaps me across the face and cuts through my fleece. I shiver and stride along quickly to keep warm. Here’s the place we swam during the summer. There’s the narrow path through the dunes that came out by the bach where we spent three blissful nights. This is close to the spot where I wrote ‘I heart NZ 2015’ on the sand with driftwood and shell. The next day, the message was already half disappeared. Everything on the beach is transient, nothing stays the same.

Momentarily, I crouch and watch the sand. Now I am nearer the top of the beach, the sand is dry. It runs through my fingers almost silently, trickling away like water. I watch my feet slowly get covered, hearing a gentle murmur as, grain by grain, the sand is blown along the coast. The beach is on the move, oh so quietly. Imperceptibly it is creeping, driven by the wind and waves. One day, the entire beach will look entirely different.

Heading back to Wellington, happy again!

I call a taxi in the car park to take me to the station, rather than wait for a bus or hitch a ride. The driver is friendly and chats amiably about Waikanae. She points out good places to visit if I ever return, then waives the charge when I use my card instead of paying with cash. It’s typically understated, in that way Kiwis have about this sort of thing. It’s no bother.

The train trundles slowly back towards Wellington, with the sun setting over the ocean to my right. Long shadows are cast across the land and a beautiful orange glow fills the air. I smile. When I arrive back in Wellington, it’s almost dark. My hair is dishevelled and I have sand clinging to my boots. I’m grinning from ear to ear.

For the first time in weeks, my head feels clear. I am refreshed for my foray out of the city. My whim has fixed something inside me that I didn’t even realise had broken. The impulse to escape, to seek out solitude, has come good. I am rejuvenated. I’m good again.

If you enjoyed this post, then why not read the first in this two part series, Seeking Solitude Part 1: A Trip to Eastbourne, Wellington. You can also read all about my time living in New Zealand – it’s all in my New Zealand Archives.