Naked on a Beach in New Zealand

I consider myself a fairly sane character but some wild energy burst out of me when I found myself naked and laughing hysterically on a remote beach in Northland, New Zealand.

When I booked a one-way ticket to New Zealand, my first thought was that I was going to get naked on a beach and that will be the moment all of me heals.

Fanciful daydreams… we’re all teeming with them.

Little did I know I’d be living a fucking romance novel (trust me, no one’s rolling their eyes harder than me) which led to my naked dreams becoming reality. And I want to transport you back to that day with me.

Related: The Ultimate New Zealand Itinerary To Travel the North Island

Naked and Laughing Hysterically on a Beach in New Zealand

Why Northland?

North of Auckland, a serrated strip of land curves into the Tasman Sea and calls itself Northland.

I hesitate to promote this hidden New Zealand gem because it’s still relatively untouched by the throes of tourism. Most people land in Auckland and go south, and that’s just how I like it.

But this place is near and dear to my heart. If not for its idyllic green valleys and pristine beaches, then for its quiet beauty and humble locals.

And if there’s a place remote enough to have naked adventures… it’s Northland.

“I’m going on an adventure”

In Wellington, I met a Kiwi boy – hello meet cute. Fresh out the US corporate life and high on my newfound freedom, I asked him to take me around New Zealand. We packed his car and headed north. And north. And further north.

Apparently, we were going to his “favorite place in New Zealand” and I politely kept quiet about all the blogs I read which told me to go south. Is he not on Instagram? I knew nothing about Northland other than Cape Reinga at the tip which wasn’t high on my bucket list (I’m not a fan of lighthouses, sue me). So I was entirely at his mercy.

But I was charmed by the sleepy seaside towns that dotted the rolling hills. It felt like “real” New Zealand outside the tourism flair. 

Local produce displayed on street corners in exchange for donations. Fisherman tended on the water while the rest of the town gathered at the pub. Sheep grazed the sprawling rural pastures and the air shimmered with summer heat.

And the fish n’ chips… divine.

Still, I couldn’t understand why we were all the way out here – it’s a bloody 12-hour drive from Wellington. Charmed or not, my ass hurt.

As we moved into more remote territory, my brain keenly reminded that my companion is in fact a total stranger. I flashed back to my mom mentioning human trafficking and forced kidney removals. Bless her, she did her best to dissuade me from giving up my “thriving pharmaceutical career” for aimless hedonism. I remember telling her I’d rather lose a kidney than shrivel into an unfulfilled (but very rich) husk of myself.

Anyway.

We took a turn onto a peninsula. The rolling hills flattened, the air quieted, and my phone lost service.

My handsome kidnapper drove until we hit a dead-end… right on a long stretch of white beach.

Yay!

I scrambled out of the car, stoked there was no one around other than two fisherman and a small family. But “no, no” went my cryptic companion, heading in the other direction, “this way.”

“This is fine,” I whined, never one who liked her fun delayed. But he ignored me, stepping onto lush green grass and disappearing around a singular hilltop so I had no choice but follow.

We hiked for 15 minutes, excitement building in my belly. We skirted the edge of the hill, the endless sea twinkling below. Beds of long grass grew all around us, so thick I could’ve napped in one. I went barefoot because, as the Kiwis praise, New Zealand is not like Australia: no snakes, no predators, nothing poisonous around.

Pamela, meet Heaven.

A few minutes later, it snuck up on me. Cobalt waters paled to turquoise in an inlet of white sand… a murmuring little bay below, so perfect my soul throbbed.

We slid down in a hurry, him with catlike grace, me with a drunk penguin’s waddle. My toes finally hit warm sand and there we were, flanked by grassy hillsides with not a soul to be found.

White powdery sand. Gentle aquamarine waters. The open horizon. Nothing but the sounds of nature.

It was perfect. Perfect.

“I’m getting naked,” I announced. Slowly, I took off my top. I’d never done this before. I waited for society’s proverbial hand to smack me down for my gall. When nothing happened, I took off my bottoms and it was done.

There I was. Naked… on a beach… in New Zealand.

I’d done it.

Euphoria washed over my body.

I spun in a circle, wide-eyed and in utter disbelief. Was this real life?

A few weeks ago, I was at a desk numb on antidepressants, questioning my existence. Little had I known I was only ever 2 or 3 decisions away from this moment.

I had done this. Through fearlessness and brazen “fuck it” mentality, I made this happen.

The laughter started. To the sound of my Kiwi stranger yelling that I needed sunscreen, I whooped and hollered and danced like a maniac as sunlight drenched my nakedness. The warm breeze tickled all the forbidden parts of me and it was so damn freeing. My nipples had never seen the sun before and what a crime it was.

In perspective, I was likely in shock. Moving across the world isn’t for the faint-hearted, but I had also done it on a whim, without a plan, without even knowing anyone in New Zealand. 

I’d never even been exposed to backpacker culture or wandering nomads. All I knew about the world was that you sat and you worked and you ignored the pain of longing and festering trauma under your skin.

And how long had this utopia sat here before I found it?

It amazed me that there was so much pain and hustle and horror in the world while treasures like this waited, murmuring at the shore, drinking sunlight, with nothing to do but wax and wane in exquisite presence.

My companion, who turned out not to be a kidnapper but the man I’d fall in love with and am currently living with, watched me with curious eyes and who knows what was running through his head. He eventually stretched out on beach towels and napped from the long journey.

The rest of the day, we explored further beaches on that shore. Apart from ourselves, we encountered nothing but deep summer, open skies, and good music.

And I won’t bullshit you that all my problems were solved on that beach. I didn’t know difficult days were ahead. But my partner gifted me something precious that day: a memory of pure bliss to call on when my reckoning finally rolled in.

Today’s Tunes: Liquorlip Loaded Gun by Sticky Fingers