A little taste of freedom
Brannavan Gnanalingam recounts when he and seven of his mates escaped Wellington for Taupo¯ for a week without parental supervision.
It was December 29, 1999. For some, it was a couple of days before the world was going to end. Prince was getting a lot of radio play. And a bunch of 15- and 16-yearold Wellington friendswere heading up to Taupo¯ for aweek without parental supervision.
We were part of the ‘‘nerd’’ friend group at school, that amorphous description applied to those of us who studied and/or took the DARE programme seriously. We thought we were really cool heading away. We caught the bus up. The bus broke down about half an hour out of Taupo¯, which was unhelpful, as there wasn’t a toilet on board and I really should have gone at Tu¯rangi.
Most late teenagers and 20- something wellingtonians couldn’t think of anything worse than spendingnew Year’s in Wellington. Taupo¯, the Coromandel and the East Coast were the favourite spots as we got older, but essentially, it was anywhere but home.
I’m not sure our parents really knew what we were going to be up to. I don’t think we knew what we were going to be up to. It seemed to match the feeling of being a teenager: there was so much expectation, nerves, and uncertainty, and that was exciting.
A few friendsweren’t allowed to join us, but I was helped by the fact that my parents didn’t really know my friends’ parents, and it would have beenweird for a friend’s parents to call up and say, ‘‘My kid isn’t trustworthy, are you sure you want your son to go with him?’’
We met our friend’s dad at the Top 10 campground in Taupo¯. Those parents were an important alibi, as they were staying in Taupo¯. Well, not technically Taupo¯ Taupo¯. He was at Kuratau, on the other side of the lake. But when we told our parents that our friend’s parents were at Lake Taupo¯, it wasn’t technically a lie. As long aswemade a collect call once or twice to make sure we weren’t arrested or dead, our parents were relaxed.
The dad was helping to get the tent up, but since most of us had gone to Scouts, we knew what we were doing. But we were going to pretend to listen, as we didn’t want him to get suspicious about wanting him gone. In hindsight, now that I’m a parent, he was probably stoked to not have his teenage son with him for the whole summer break. Actually, all of our parents would have been.
There were seven boys spread across two tents. Lynx Africa in a spray can was used as both a deodorant and an air freshener. Our tents were at the back of the campsite by the boundary fence, where possums would usually come inside to rummage for food. Except we weren’t organised for food, so we’d just hear everyone else scream at 2am.
Our food situation wasn’t the most wholesome. No Five Plus, unless you counted KFC fries. We learned after a couple of days that if we did All You Can Eat Pizza Hut at lunch, then we wouldn’t need to eat dinner. It also meant we needed to put our shoes on only once in a day. We also made use of the campfire barbecue and fried up Sizzlers and frozen sausage rolls. The latter, obviously, weren’t pre-thawed, sowe didn’t actually end up eating them, though I’m sure some avant-garde chef somewhere ismaking good use of char and ice.
Like any good summer, we started early in prepping our bare feet. You needed them callused up by the time New Year’s rolled around, so you could walk on hot tar and loose gravel without flinching. Wellington’s December ‘‘summers’’ were helpful in easing your heels into it. I’m sure overseas tourists looked at us in bemusement as we walked everywhere in bare feet. I’m sure supermarkets were also hoping that health inspectors weren’t coming to monitor the cleanliness of their floors.
It quickly became apparent that we were the youngest people at the campsite. The drinking age had been lowered to 18 amonth before – and, unlike any other time in New Zealand history, teenagers suddenly started to drink. Except the adults at the campsite were like, ‘‘Woah, they are 15 years old, let’s get them drunk’’. Of course, given that it was illegal, those same adults didn’t also pass spliffs to a couple of our group.
As you grow older, you come to realise that New Year’s Eve itself is never as fun as you hope it to be. I think it’s mostly because everyone shows up the day or two before, and those nights end up being the funnest nights. Also, New Year’s Eve always has cover charges, and if there’s anything New Zealanders hate, it’s a cover charge.
Except this New Year’s Eve was extraordinary fun for us. It was barmy. There was expectation. And there were seven friendswandering the streets without supervision. My friend, drinking for the first time properly, was heard exclaiming on multiple occasions, ‘‘I love life!’’ He now works 20-hour days trying to cure tuberculosis, so I’m hoping life didn’t peak too early for him.
No-one knew what was going to happen at midnight. Were the nuclear bombs going to be released? Was the sky going to turn purple? Were all the computers going to shut down? I was watching the street lights to see if they’d all go. Except the Taupo¯ District Council got the timer wrong, and we realised two minutes after the fact that it was already midnight.
We spent the next few days drifting in the sun, having petty arguments, getting sunburnt, eating poorly, and thinking that things would never change.
Within a year, though, two had left our high school to go overseas or to start university early. Now, more than half of us live overseas or elsewhere. I’m still very close to many ofmy high school friends, but some of us have lost touch. Now, you only find out what the others have done if there’s awedding or funeral, or if it’s on socialmedia or in the actual media (one of my friends on the trip was in the news as a legitimate hero, after he pulled a woman out of a burning car).
I have enormous fondness for that trip. It was a glorious way to see in a new year, a new decade, a new century, a new millennium – little realising that the adolescence we thought would go on forever would also inexorably change.