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I know we should be thankful for what we have, and not be upset about what we don’t, but sometimes these things arrive as gifts: wind rustling through the leaves on a hot summer day, or creeks babbling like children playing behind a thicket of bushes just off the trail. It’s things like this, for which I am grateful, and yet some are more disguised than that: presents which we can open only if we recognize them as benevolently bestowed -generous, not transactional.

In a busy world where it’s all too easy to suspect ulterior motives in smiles, or be suspicious of unwarranted kindness, it’s often tough to disengage, and accept kindness for what it may well be: thoughtfulness. Friendliness. And when you’re travelling alone, it sometimes requires an act of faith to trust a stranger.

For example, I was at the end of a long drive from Wellington to Whanganui -tired, and just a little irritable when I finally found the motel I had booked online through a booking agency which  had apparently recently revised its acceptance policy of already confirmed credit card reservations. They had notified me, of course, but I was on the road and failed to read the Email. I’d only noticed it when I stopped for gas half way along the route.. They were going to cancel the reservation because I had not replied…

When I arrived at the Whanganui motel, the No-Vacancy sign was flashing; there was some sort of event taking place that weekend. I got out of my car in the crammed parking lot and went into their reception office, fully expecting a shrug from the manager. What did he care? His, like all of the other accommodations in town- was already full.

Instead, he looked up from his computer behind the desk and smiled warmly. “Gary?” he asked. I nodded, as he proffered his hand for me to shake. “I sent you an Email about an hour ago to see if you were still coming…”

I shook my head, suspecting the worst. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t notice it,” I stammered, embarrassed at not checking my phone more frequently along the way instead of listening to the Radio New Zealand classical music station on the car’s radio.

I shrugged and was about to turn around and walk out the door when he stopped me with a delightful chuckle, a twinkle in his eye, and a grin that lit up his entire face. “Thought that might be the case… so I saved you a room -just in case.”

We became almost instant friends, and I found myself stopping by his office every time I passed it on the walk into town. We talked about everything: his life before he moved to New Zealand, how he was excited about living in Whanganui… I shared my experiences of when I worked near Wellington many years ago, and how I became so enamoured with the magic of the country, that I felt I had to keep returning to New Zealand -to Aotearoa, as the Māori named it.

Travelling requires a lot of leaving, though, and not all bookings were under scrutiny, so after exchanging Email addresses with the manager, I eventually drove from Whanganui to Napier -a traditional favourite with my visits. I had booked what I thought was the same set of rooms along Napier’s famous Marine Parade -a road that runs along the shore of the town. This place was different, though. Although the motel complex was adjacent to my usual location, I had difficulty finding a place to park while I tried to locate the reception area. Their NO VACANCY sign was flashing angrily, as were the signs on the adjacent buildings.

The woman in the office was terribly friendly and solicitous. “You look tired, sir,” she said with an expression that told me she was sincere. “She came around the desk and showed me my room, asking if it seemed alright to me.

I nodded, of course -another long drive had sapped my resistance again: I was fair game for any room. But, I was disappointed that the room was much smaller than I’d had in the adjacent buildings on previous visits. Different management, I suppose.

This room was on the ground floor, and yes, if I positioned myself just right in the room, I could stare across Marine Parade and, between the cars parked all the way along it, see the sparkle of the ocean. But, I couldn’t help thinking that I had booked at the poor-sister motel. Still, I was tired, and decided to catch up on my Emails before heading out to find some food.

You know how you can count the number of bars on the phone to tell you the reception strength for the WiFi or whatever? Well, after plugging in the password, my number varied between one and none. The count was slightly higher if I went out to the parking lot just outside of my room, but even there it was only one bar -or if I changed position slightly, maybe a shaky two.

It was my birthday, though -albeit my antipodal one (it’s a day later in Canada)- so I was expecting some Happy Birthday Emails from those sufficiently au fait to know about the day difference here. Come on, eh?

I walked back to the reception, and the same solicitous, smiling face greeted me again. I tried to explain my dilemma to her, and she seemed genuinely concerned and after confirming my assertions about the number of WiFi bars in my room, decided to phone her manager.

I realized that there wasn’t very much she could do about it, though. I had booked a bargain room for three nights -hence it’s ground floor location- and I mean you get what you pay for; the rooms on the second floor had balconies overlooking the Marine Parade, and I assumed were not only all occupied, but very much more expensive than mine. I apologized for bothering her and said I would try to make do answering my Emails in the parking lot. I told her not to bother the management; I doubted if they would be able to do anything either. My room, I assumed was in a ‘dead zone’; and it is what it is…

I walked back to my little room, understandably disappointed, sat in one of the two seats provided, and stared at the wall. A few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door, and it was the clerk from reception with another key in her hand.

“I’ve done some juggling,” she said with her persistent smile. “It’s upstairs, though…” She looked at me trying to decide if she should get someone to help me with my luggage. I followed her up the stairs and she opened the door to a magnificent room about twice the size of the one downstairs. It had a huge sofa, and a king-sized bed, and a large private balcony overlooking the ocean.

I think my mouth fell open. “Do you mind being upstairs, Gary?” she asked with her permanent motherly smile -we were on a first name basis by now.

I couldn’t believe it. “How much extra do you…”

But before I could finish my sentence, she shook her head at the thought of charging me extra, and with a delighted grin on her face, said “No way anybody should have to spend their birthday without WiFi!” She looked at me with a motherly expression on her face. “I mean, this is New Zealand, eh? This is Aotearoa…”