This post was originally written in Portuguese and translated by Roberto Rocha.
One does not simply walk into Mordor. One takes a bus with 50 other people, hike for about eight hours, then take a bus back.
The suggestion came from Yvi, a soft spoken German-Swiss girl, as we soaked in a river fed by hot thermal waters in Taupo.
“You never heard of the Tongariro Crossing,” she asked, incredulously. “It’s considered the best one-day walk in New Zealand.”
The lure of the superlative. Since we arrived in this country, we hadn’t embarked on any grand adventure that demands courage, stamina, or strategy. Apparently our time had arrived.
Getting from Mangatepopo to Ketetahi, the two base camps on either side on Tongariro, takes seven to eight hours on foot. An 18.5-km trail that affords the hiker splendid panoramic views of the most active volcanoes in Tongariro Park.
Yes, they filmed Lord of the Rings there. A sprawling volcanic deadland, littered with lava rocks and sulphur vents that wheeze white smoke provided the perfect backdrop for Mordor.
That’s where the bad guy lives, I was told.
To get there, as tradition dictates in New Zealand’s North Island, you have to go through a tour agency. A bus takes you in the morning to one basecamp and picks you up on the other side in the afternoon. For a total of two hours on the bus it cost us NZ$55 each, a price that seemed abusive for a simple transportation. No guides are needed and we bring our own food and water.
But the pressure to brave “the best one-day hike in New Zealand” spoke louder.
By 6 am in the bus, the sun still hadn’t risen. We were given pamphlets with detailed tips on each stage of the hike:
“Between Soda Springs and South Crater there’s a very steep section called Devil’s Staircase. You’ll see why it’s called that when you get there.”
Gulp.
At the top of Red Crater: this ridge can be scary when there are strong winds. You could be pushed off and might have to crawl on your hands and knees. Please don’t walk close to the crater because if you fall you won’t come back.”
Double gulp.
“The climb up Mount Ngauruhoe is extremely hard and should only be undertaken by those who found the Devil’s Staircase to be easy and who don’t suffer from vertigo. When going down, keep your weight on your heels and be careful. If you lose your footing, you will slip down the mountain.”
And so the text goes, spotted with boldfaces, ALL CAPS, warning boxes, points of no return, skulls, crossbones, dangers, death, don’t become a statistic yourself.
On one side: Bianca, laughing nervously, eyes agape with the words “you won’t come back” on mental repeat, looking around if anyone else would turn around ask meekly for a refund.
On the other side: tourists – or rather, the brave explorers, likely seasoned alpinists here for a little R&R after a Himalayan death climb, strolling with the serene certainty of a CEO on a city tour.
In brief: vine, vidi, vici. I climbed the fearsome Devil’s Staircase. I counter-balanced the wind. I learned that the dog’s bark is far louder: the landscapes change so dramatically and so swiftly that time operates on another speed. In this generous trail, the reward comes not at the top, but at each section.
But the best counsel of the day came from Yvi: to get the the end of the trail, one must obey her own rhythm. We’re all capable of this, but we can’t forget that we’re all different, each with their own muscle structure, weight, height, leg strength, and physical fitness. You shouldn’t go any faster or slower to keep up with someone else. Unless, that is, you fear feeling inferior. Unless you need to prove something.
In our small group of one-day travel friends, I was the slowest. The one that panted the loudest. And far too prone to comparisons, to dreading being left behind, to feeling inferior to others.
It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.
- Sir Edmund Hillary
A round-the-word trip forces you to venture beyond your comfort zone. To evolve, one must face one’s mountains. Only when free from the chains of comparison can you really know when it’s time to push harder or to listen to your limits and stop to catch your breath.
I hope I always stop along the way to admire a flower. And that I may have the humility to ask someone to give me a hand, or two, or three.
