The Real BFG
The Big Friendly Giant is real, alive, and not living in England. He is working at the Milford Track in New Zealand, of course, under the name "Ross." I grew suspicious the moment he strolled into our first hut, bent his head down to enter and stretched back to his full height in one gliding motion. Oh, he tried to keep his true identity camouflaged, adopting some NZ flare with his gumboots, long rain coat, and Merino wool knit cap, but it was him alright. I was not fooled. Funny enough, it wasn't his enormity, big ears, or even bare needle thin legs with knobby knees exposed that gave him away. It was the pace of his walk as he whisked through the trees to talk about moss and vegetation, his rain coat floating behind him in a windy blur. Right there, I knew. Walking behind him, attempting to match his pace, I realized I had become Sophie, the only one of my group who knew ears that large hear whispers like loud drums, legs that long are created for giants, his bird whistle calls only created by breath that trumpets children's dreams. I couldn't help but smile… who wouldn't? The BFG as a nature tour guide is quite the unexpected luxury, but I contained my childish excitement as he prattled on about the varieties of beeches and lancewood. After our tour, I snuck over to his private staff hut to find out more about specific NZ bush plants (and perhaps to pry further into his history -- it's the BFG, after all. He may have stories about Bonecruncher or Gizzardgulper). Sitting amidst his piles of books, flipping through pictures on a hunt to identify the putaputaweta, I was sure he would offer me some frobscottle or snozzcumbers, but I was only offered a hot shower (a high commodity for a traveler). A kind gesture, except when I realized the request was for me to join him. Seems the BFG has a naughty side -- childhood destroyed. Perhaps there are 50 shades of the BFG that didn't make it to the children's section of the library, and thankfully, will never be in my memory banks either. Regardless, a magical being starting off your four day Milford Track adventure is a perfect precursor to a land of glowworms, countless rushing waterfalls and a scenic view that transforms into Jurassic Park proportions when you surrender to its relentless wet glory. I am still dazzled. I am still breathless. And I am still attempting to overcome my waterfall withdrawals. Perhaps I don't want to -- it was a magical experience that will always exhilarate me.
