Slowing down in Tekapo

Otago Daily Times

5 days ago

In a slump, Dunedin writer Lisa Scott dips her toes into the wellness trend in Tekapo.
Aaaaah, you've arrived. Almost everyone exhales coming over the hill, taking that first view of Takapō/Tekapo. It's a physical and psychological surrender to the great lake and mountains. Breathe out, slow down, stop.
There's a large painting of the Church of the Good Shepherd in winter hanging at my house, Round Hill skifield in the background. I found it at Hayward's auctions a decade ago — painted in the '70s. Little has changed from the scene captured then, bar the number of tourists surrounding the church.
Visiting Tekapo is stepping into a painting. The tranquillity and quietness of this village in the Mackenzie region inspire self-reflection; even the streetlights bow their heads in respect of the night skies, dimmed to help your circadian rhythm. Look up and wish upon a star or a trundling satellite. Feel the presence of the great mothers: nature and the maunga Aoraki.
I'm here for Breathe Tekapo, a health and wellness (I accidentally said "wealth and hellness", conjuring the image of a despotic billionaire) festival in its second year. In the past, I would have laughed my head off at this stuff, but 100 rainbows later and now a recovering pessimist, I've come a long way in a year.
I've been in a slump recently. I don't feel like myself, feel discontent with everything. I could do with a bucket of wellness.
Precious time in support of self, the three-day jam-packed Breathe Tekapo programme features stress control techniques, yoga, fermenting, foraging, journaling, guided walks, Buddhist meditation and an alpine plunge.
I was particularly drawn to the talk about "kindling hope for the future" by Dr Denise Quinlan — if there has ever been a time in human history where hope needed to be found, it's now.
After the welcome and karakia at the Dark Sky Project, a crowd packed the community hall for tales of human endurance from Bob McLachlan, an adventure racing world champion who's just about to take part in the world's longest kayak race, paddling 1000 miles (the length of New Zealand), from Canada to Alaska on the Yukon, where the bears are. Adventure racing relies on being open about your abilities and Bob is the most laid-back, self-effacing world champ you'd ever meet, with a career begun as a kid when his older brother had a bike and he didn't, so he had to run everywhere. Adversity meets stubborn determination meets triumph.
Sunrise yoga with Kate Watkinson was like no yoga class I've ever experienced. Moving to music, giving your body a pat, awakening mind and body — it felt like a form of worship and self-love. I would have sore thighs for a week afterwards, a nice reminder that I do, actually, have some muscles, just unused.
There's something about the healing powers of being in a group of mostly women, some of whom had travelled from as far north as near Cape Reinga, and were there for reasons that spoke to why it's so important to step out of your life from time to time: looking for a reset towards retirement, seeking motivation and inspiration, taking a year out of their job, a sisters' trip, curiosity, a girl's weekend, to get off the farm, to make room for reflection.
The weekend was remedy for a state we all commonly find ourselves in these days: saying yes to too many things and now finding yourself past your limit and not wanting to do any more things.
Throwing yourself in a frigid 6°C lake certainly builds community: a community of mentalists. We were advised to be conscious of our breathing, to aid immersion, but I started hyperventilating the second my feet met the chill. Local cold-water dippers (a bunch of good-looking lunatics) stayed in for a ridiculous amount of time, but I was a two-second wonder. Holy Wim Hof it was cold. Like all type 2 fun, it felt amazing when it wasn't happening any more, and you could congratulate yourself for your audacity.
One of the highlights (for me) was the introduction to foraging with Jackie Philips. Foraging is nature's cognitive behavioural therapy, with the added bonus of knowing where your food comes from and experiencing a deeper sense of the environment — plus, constantly learning staves off Alzheimer's. Foraging might seem tame, a budget-friendly way to eat organic, but it's also thrillingly dangerous. For every birch bolete headed for the fry pan there's a copycat plant, a bad twin — hemlock mistaken for fennel, a death cap in your beef wellington. There's not "mushroom" for error.
Best story of mistaken identity was Jackie yelling "Stop the car!" on an expedition with partner Peter Langlands, "it's a porcini!" — only to find it was an enormous Boston bun.
You need wisdom to forage. Never forage a downward sloping road bank (road runoff), know where the historical dump sites are, where there has been spraying. On a simple walk around the block, we found quinces, autumn berries and crab apples, edible ferns, boletes and fly agaric, a poisonous psychoactive mushroom. Vikings used to feed it to reindeers to filter the poison through their kidneys and then drink the reindeer pee to get high. We didn't have time in the schedule for that.
Clinical psychologist Julie Zarifeh has turned significant personal loss and grief into a quest to squeeze the most out of life. I had a sad realisation doing one of her exercises: that the bulk of my time is spent at work, with none for community and little for family — a bit of a wonky balance. How many social networks are you involved in? Zero. And I should definitely spend more time with my mum.
Julie's message: remember the simple things that give you joy. Clear away the things that sap your energy. Choose what you focus on and savour those you most enjoy, stretching out the moment, paying attention to detail.
We finished with soak in the stars stargazing at Tekapo Springs, something I've always wanted to do. The stars were having some time to themselves. The heavens opened, and it poured down. Instead of a disappointment, it made for a completely unique experience as we soaked in the pools like Japanese macaques while a lovely astrologer in a parka sat on the side and told us stories about the earth mother and sky father, Papatūānuka and Ranginui. I went to bed feeling a deep sense of restfulness and wellbeing.
Feeling slumpy happens. You're crushing it, be nice to yourself.
— Breathe Tekapo will be back next year.