My Dream Vacation in New Zealand

After flying many hours from the North American continent to New Zealand we arrive at the Wellington airport. We make our way through customs and are greeted by a group playing Mauri music and a man holding a card with our name printed on it. We are driven to our hotel, eat the meal prepared for us and fall into bed.

What seems like minutes we are awakened by the phone ringing. Our ride will be at the front in an hour.

After a gulp of coffee and toast we grab our bags and head for the lobby. A van is ready to take us on our journey.

As the guide tells us about the area we are passing through, we take notes. Lush greenery and high mountains not unlike the Rockies we have at home.

The guide announces in a restrained excited voice, we are near our destination. The rolling hills of green dotted with sheep, hide the treasures that await us. We pull into a parking lot, but are directed to a prime spot near a gate and walkway.

A gravel path is cut through the hill and we follow the sign that points to Overhill. I see the stone wall that edges the walk and stop.

"Here it is!" I point ahead. "I'm going on an adventure!" I cry. I look down but I have plain walking boots, not large hairy feet. My steps are a bit faster now.

We turn the curve and there it lies. Hobbiton. The village we all saw in the Lord of the Rings movies. Those of us who have watched the director's version and the additional cuts know the view.

The trail weaves down to a stream and a bridge that crosses it. Across and dotted along the green rolling mounds are the Hobbit homes. Round doors painted bright colors. Peeking out of the ground like small eyes are windows with curtains.

I can pick out the landscapes that are Samwize and Rosie's house after they married.

I'm heading toward one particular entrance. The fence lines the path past Samwise's house and around a slight bend. The fence is made of thin branches woven horizontal to the path and end at a gate.

I stand before the gate transfixed. It hasn't changed in all the years. The people know the connection we have to this place. Many of the other sets were CG'd onto flat plains or craggy hills. Yet this is where Peter Jackson found and envisioned Hobbiton or The Shire. Little did he know then, the cult following that would bring visitors from all over the world to see this little corner of his world.

I too am enthralled. My heart beats hard and I feel moisture build in my eyes. I half expect Frodo to step out the door and stretch. I know its not real, but I'm standing just outside his gate.

"Go on in."

I turn to the guide dumbfounded at the idea. He laughed at my expression.

"You're allowed inside."

I cautiously push the gate and climb the the stone steps. They were wider than my size nines. They would have to be to accommodate a Hobbit's foot.

The door is partially open and I step inside. Its not what I expected. Its not the set, I'd hoped.

Still I had my picture taken peeking out of the door. We continued and saw Bilbo Baggin's house and were treated to lunch at a Hobbit pub. I ran up and down the shire living the life of an imaginary Hobbit much like the other guests visiting.

At last it was time to leave. Sadly I walked backwards around the bend leaving, happy and content.

The following morning while we sipped coffee and ate breakfast a knock sounded at the door of our hotel room.

I opened the door and to my surprise Gandalf stood outside. I invite him in. He smiles and tells us to grab our gear and follow him.

Our van awaits us and our guide talkes to us about the previous day's adventure. The van stops and I turn to see the name over the door of the building WETA. My heart about beat out of my chest. I started to tear up again. How could I cry about a building. I knew what was behind those doors.

That my friend is for another time.