How, I wonder, would Sei Shōnagon have enjoyed winter if she were alive today?
In this 7th December of the Reiwa era, the snow-filled early mornings feel at once nostalgic and impossibly distant.
Happy New Year. This is Rintaro Kamoshita, a 3rd year student. I returned to Japan last month.

Just as I thought I had finally parted ways with New Zealand’s lethal ultraviolet rays, I now find myself enduring the winters of Shinshu, where body, mind, and thermometer alike freeze solid. Strangely enough, there is a sense of calm in these days.

Before returning home, my family joined me in New Zealand, and together we embarked on a two-week adventure. Leaving Dunedin behind, we set out on a bold journey that explored every corner of the South Island’s natural beauty. In this journal, I would like to share the story of our very first overseas family trip, taken by the three of us. I hope that, through this small glimpse, you can feel the grandeur and magnificence of New Zealand.

Our story begins in Dunedin, the academic city where we 3rd year students live. After arriving in New Zealand, I guided my parents—bewildered by the unfamiliar land—and proudly demonstrated that even a terrible sense of direction can be cured after eight months. At my father’s request, wanting to truly feel the city I had spent those months learning from every day, we decided to stay in Dunedin for a full five nights.

During that time, I showed my parents many places dear to me: St Clair Beach, which I had visited countless times on walks; the card shop where I deepened international friendships through frequent visits, and the Otago Polytechnic campus, which I had completely claimed as my own territory over the past eight months. I also went around Dunedin’s many coffee shops with my father, comparing cup after cup. New Zealand coffee is remarkably smooth, easy to drink, and of an exceptionally high standard. Some classmates of mine only learned to enjoy coffee after coming to New Zealand. If you ever visit, I highly recommend giving it a try.

Once our days in Dunedin came to an end, our next destination was Lake Tekapo. One of New Zealand’s largest glacial lakes, Tekapo is said—according to our driver—to derive from a Māori word containing the meaning “night,” perhaps reflecting the lake’s famously beautiful starry skies. At that point, my sole purpose for the journey was seeing the stars of Tekapo; driving was merely a means of transport. That assumption was completely overturned along the way.

Our driver, a Japanese man, was an incredible storyteller. Of course, the scenery alone was more than enough to amaze us, but his New Zealand stories held my attention from start to finish. His choice of route was also perfect—rather than the standard coastal road, he took us through the mountains. The vastness—no, the overwhelming vastness—of nature stretching endlessly before us made me think, “So the scenery in Mission: Impossible wasn’t an exaggeration after all.” The five-hour journey passed like an arrow in flight.

Upon arriving in Tekapo, the sheer scale and surreal turquoise color of the lake shattered my sense of normalcy, and the first day ended with us doing little more than staring in awe. But the main event of this trip—seeing the real Milky Way—was something I absolutely could not miss. With the weather forecast declaring that the first night would be our only chance, fatigue was dismissed without negotiation. At 2 a.m. the next morning, I forced my eyes open using the vibrations of modern technology.

Even now, I remember the sensation of stepping outside half-asleep and having countless particles of light rush into my vision. I do not think I will ever attempt to describe the beauty of that night sky in words. I want you to see it with your own eyes. I will say only this: in that moment, I thought, “Ah—this is why I was given these eyes.”

After being utterly overwhelmed by the stars, we spent our second and third days in Tekapo at an unhurried pace, savoring life there. Then, as the final great natural landmark of our journey, we visited Mt. Cook (Aoraki). Designated as a national park, it is a place where precious natural wonders gather in abundance. We walked two relatively gentle hiking trails that day.

The weather was heavily overcast, and the summit was hidden behind clouds, which initially disappointed us. However, our driver explained that “Aoraki” is a word related to clouds, and he told us Māori legends, including the story of the cloud god and the earth god being torn apart. Thanks to those stories, what could have been the worst possible weather instead felt deeply mystical.

After this, we were taken to Queenstown, then flew on to Auckland, where we did our final shopping and dining before bringing this long journey to a close.

There are three main things I wanted to convey through this journal.
First, trips like this hold deep significance: for students, they broaden one’s understanding of New Zealand beyond Dunedin; for families, they allow shared experiences and sensations through time spent together in Dunedin and amidst vast natural landscapes. For 1st and 2nd year students, as well as new arrivals planning to study abroad, I especially hope you will consider opportunities like this.
Second, Tekapo Shuttle, who took care of us from Dunedin to Queenstown, was absolutely outstanding. If you go, I strongly recommend using their service. By the way, the biggest surprise of this trip was discovering that the owner of Tekapo Shuttle is also named Rintaro—and even shares the same name origin as me, though written with different kanji. What an incredible near miss!
And finally—seriously—go see the stars at Lake Tekapo.

Before long, our 3rd year will come to an end, and our time at ICT will be more than halfway over. The speed at which life moves continues to astonish me. Living every day at a full sprint is not a bad thing—but perhaps, once in a while, it is good to stop, and lean your whole body into the vastness of nature.

I sincerely wish that this year will be a fruitful one for all of you. Until next time.
Until next time.

Rintaro Kamoshita