Part 1: Aotearoa to Montserrat
I reread the carefully typed words I would use to resign. A breath in, a swivel of my chair, and a request for a private word with my manager. Five minutes later, my flight to Europe on 19 May 2024 was real. I was ready for an Instagram summer of cobbled streets and umbrella’d beaches.
Four months was an intimidating length to plan. Tourist traps laid at every click, ancient landmarks booked out with ‘skip-the-line’ tickets and promising authenticity. My notes app filled up with tips from friends – the best backpack brands and free views over Paris. Travel planning became an exercise in navigating the internet rather than a map.
Armed with a 112 day French Duolingo streak and 7kg of obsessed over luggage, my boyfriend and I left Aotearoa. The plan was simple: cleverly soak up summer and history in Spain, France and Italy, and fly back in September, refreshed for our life in Aotearoa.
Our first aeroplane exit was into the 87% humidity and 33 degree rubble and gloss of Kuala Lumpur. An attempt to walk from the train station to our hostel was met with suddenly ending footpaths, uncrossable roads and a brush with heat exhaustion. The hostel was shoddily fitted out, soaring 34 storeys high with a rooftop pool overlooking the city. Experiences were crafted for the travelling community through shared dinners, loud volunteers and free alcohol; I made friends quickly from Syria and Liechtenstein.
After Batu Caves, the national Mosque, and a 16-hour flight to London we arrived in the suburb of Islington with brick town houses like I’d only seen in movies. We cycled to London Bridge wide-eyed and impressed with the city so many of our friends now called home.
But the giddiness wasn’t quite landing.
I turned to him and said, “Do you want to stay together?”
He said, “No. Do you?”
“No.”
We cancelled bookings, untangled finances, and hugged goodbye two days before our 3-year anniversary booked in Paris the city of love.
The next day I wrote: I can get a visa and live here. I can do a ski season. I feel like I can do anything and make any decision, but I have no confidence to.
I sheltered with friends, starting the daunting process of making decisions alone. I hopped on the Eurostar to Paris struggling to find interest in anything. I stared despondently at the Eiffel Tower in the rain, not caring where I ate. Hoping it was just Paris, I trained to Barcelona, arriving at the party hostel my ex had booked. I did not want to party.
I ticked off the basic sights: Sagrada Familia, Park Güell, Barceloneta beach. In a whiffy bustling 22 bed dorm, I thankfully slept like a log.
Timidness forefront, I sidled into the hostel communal areas, forcing myself to say hi to people.
Cringing conversation by conversation, I gathered a little group of people around me from Bangladesh, Palestine, and Ireland.
I tried to open my exhausted heart to a city that was exhausted of people like me. I expected ancient and authentic; I found chain and facade.
I escaped La Rambla by train to Montserrat Monastery, taking a friend’s advice to stay overnight instead of the popular day trip. The rocky peaks suddenly soared from ground to sky, a natural fortress that had protected Catalan culture through centuries of attempted erasure.
From the moment I stepped into the cable car, I started having the friendly experiences I had romanticised about travel. Genuine laughs bubbled up for the first time as mountain air filled my lungs. Through rocky peaks, vast views revealed themselves. I walked and then ran, not knowing where I was going, the first time in nature since leaving Aotearoa.
By the time I got back down to the village, tourists had cleared on the last train. I ventured into the Monastery and grand Basilica for the evening service. The monks in residence moved in smooth procession and the famed boys choir filed out. The monumental 4,242 piped organ began.
The rousing sound echoed in the most beautiful building I’d ever been in. I wept for the listless isolation I had felt and for my limitless future. Under the eye of the Black Madonna who had drawn pilgrims to her for centuries, I rose for a cloudless sunrise expanding over old glacial plains and knew I would be okay.
Words by Ayana Piper-Healion
