After buying a bus ticket from Christchurch to Hanmer Springs, I came to the realisation that public transport would decimate my limited (student) budget. So, when some fellow backpackers described hitchhiking in New Zealand as ‘safe’ and ‘common practice’, I felt like I had discovered the solution.

The very next day, I woke up at the ass crack of dawn, dragged my weary self to the road leading out of town and played the waiting game. Within 15 minutes, I was in the passenger seat of a bloke’s hatchback heading in the direction of Picton. From what I can remember, he was in his mid-20’s and on his way to a festival. The car vibrated with electronic dance music as he gushed about his dedication to sobriety and undying love for raves.

A mere half an hour passed before I found myself in need of a new ride. Just as I was waving goodbye to my first acquaintance, a truck halted to a stop right behind me with the driver gesturing to “get in!”.  I ran over, hoisted myself up and plopped down next to a weathered man in his 40’s. His name was Len and he owned a Dairy Farm. He pointed out the many risks of my plan, to which I pointed out the irony of him picking up hitchhikers (afterall, I knew Tae Kwon Do). We quickly bonded over our love of cows and dairy, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company.

Eventually, Len too needed to ditch me, right where another hitchhiker was trying his luck. He was in his mid 20’s and had been attempting to get a ride for awhile. He seemed friendly enough, dishevelled and smelling strongly of Marijuana. I offered him a brief “hi and bye” and got well out of his way. I knew I had a better chance of catching a ride solo – he was cramping my style! He stood closer each time I tried to create distance. In hindsight, this situation makes me cringe. In the middle of nowhere, on a desolate road, surrounded by giant green trees and buzzing mosquitos. Thankfully, hitching a ride was his only prerogative.

30 minutes later, a car pulled over, a woman smiling in the drivers seat. I hurried to her window and tried to ignore the fact that my unintentional companion was shadowing me. He shot me an annoyed look when the lady asked me to join her. I gratefully accepted and hopped in, confirming the young man and myself as separate beings. However, she seemed to experience a rapid change of heart. After a brief interrogation, hosting a troubled expression, she offered him a spot as well. So there I sat, in the backseat with the bloke I had attempted to ditch, for the remaining journey.

After a few days in Picton, where I stayed with a friend from the UK. I decided why not continue to test my luck with a brief one-night trip to Nelson? Now a seasoned New Zealand hitchhiking professional (in my mind), I easily secured a lift with two Maori blokes. I soon found myself in the back of a ute, bouncing along and feeling the coolness of the wind on my face. We chatted enthusiastically through the plastic flap separating the cabin from tray, as each pothole threatened to throw me overboard.

Before long, it was the last day of my trip and the last leg of my journey. It was dawn in Nelson and I needed to get to Christchurch by evening for my flight back home. A friendly bloke in a ute stopped and graciously gave me a two hour lift. After, a car carrying two lovely older couples – in their 60’s? – pulled over, squeezing me into the middle backseat. They lectured me on my choices, celebrated my travels and indulged me in the best way possible – stopping at their favourite spots and treating me to coffee and cake breaks. After a day of being their pretend granddaughter, it was a bittersweet moment when we reached Christchurch and said our goodbyes.

Eight days in New Zealand, six hitched lifts and a variety of characters later, I can say I lived to tell the tale. Now, seven years later, I am older and wiser and much more cautious. So, would I do it again? Probably not!