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Thoughts, ideas, and learnings from my journey as a software engineer.
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Thoughts, ideas, and learnings from my journey as a software engineer.
After getting back from San Francisco, I had this weird window of freedom that wouldn't come again for years. Still had some savings left, still had time before the real world kicked in. The logical thing would've been to settle down and be a responsible adult. Instead, I found myself staring at departure boards thinking "where next?"
The thing is, if I didn't go somewhere while I had the chance, I knew I'd regret it forever. Once you start working, you get money but lose time. During university, you have time but no money. This narrow post-graduation gap? You have both, very briefly. I wasn't about to waste it.
So there I was, dropping my parents off at Brisbane airport early one morning after my grad, still half-asleep, when I spotted "Queenstown" on the departures board. I'd always heard New Zealand's South Island was beautiful, especially in winter. Plus, I'd never experienced proper cold before (always lived in warm climates) and not extremely cold like Canadian winter. Tasmania was the other option, but something about Queenstown just clicked. "Let's go there" I thought. Not very scientific, but sometimes that's how the best decisions happen, right?
Of course, nothing's ever simple when you're juggling multiple countries and visa apps. I was in the midst of applying for my Australian postgraduate visa, which had its own complicated timing requirements. I needed to do my medical checkup in Indonesia (cheaper, and I’ll go there anyway), but they only give you 28 days after lodging the application. Meanwhile, I also needed a New Zealand visa, which required proof of my Australian visa application.
It was like solving a puzzle where all the pieces had to fit perfectly. I wanted to apply for the Australian visa as late as possible but needed the NZ visa approved first. The timing was tight, and honestly, I wasn't taking it too seriously, just casually applied for the NZ visa without much research or proper documentation.
Big mistake.
They nearly rejected me. Got a letter questioning my ties to Indonesia (fair enough, I hadn't included family documents) and asking about my next Australian visa. I scrambled to provide everything they wanted, including my Australian visa receipt. When both the NZ visa and my Australian bridging visa got approved on the same day - it was Monday - it felt like the stars had aligned. That evening, I booked my flight. This was actually happening.
With Tuesday and Wednesday to prepare for a Thursday departure, I hit Kathmandu two days in a row. Not panic buying, exactly, but more of research. I'd never owned winter gear before, didn't even understand what "dressing in layers" meant. Does that mean ten cotton t-shirts? Five hoodies?
The staff at Kathmandu were patient with my endless questions. Thermals? Waterproof jacket? Boots? Well I already have hiking shoes, it’s not great but I guess it’ll do.
My planning strategy was equally laid-back. I booked four nights in Queenstown and... that was it. No return flight, no fixed itinerary. The plan was to talk to people at hostels, get local advice, and see where the conversation led me. The hostel staff said they had an information centre, so I figured I'd sort everything out once I landed.
Looking back, this approach was either brilliantly flexible or completely chaotic. Probably both.
The adventure started before I even left Australia. At Virgin Australia check in, they asked about my return ticket. When I said I didn't have one, they spent fifteen minutes discussing among themselves whether to let me board while reading my visa multiple times. Eventually they did, but I should've seen this as a preview of coming attractions.
Landing in Queenstown, I was tired but excited, until the immigration officer asked the same question. "When's your return flight?"
"I don't have one booked yet, but I'll be leaving by August 21st for my dad's birthday."
That's when things got interesting. They took my passport and phone, put me in a room with no communication devices allowed, and called in the supervisor. The supervisor called his boss. I ended up on the phone with some higher-up explaining my entire life story: why I didn't have a return ticket, my travel intentions, my itinerary plans.
The boss went through the whole talk about how having a return ticket is normally a requirement, but then said something like, "Look, I can waive this requirement for you, but I need to know you have sufficient funds to support yourself and purchase a return ticket when needed.”
"How much money do you have?" he finally asked.
I told him my account balance.
"Oh, that's enough," he said, like he'd been expecting me to say $50 or something.
But wait, there's more. After getting through immigration, I collected my bags and got pulled into another questioning chamber. Different officers, same questions, plus they wanted to know about my recent US trip. I'm laying out all my belongings on a table while they discuss my case with their supervisors, and I wasn’t allowed to touch any of my belongings.
At this point I was exhausted but strangely calm. Deep down, I knew they'd let me in eventually. Worst case scenario, I'd book a return flight right there. The whole experience was more absurd than scary, like being interrogated for the crime of being too spontaneous lol.
They even questioned my booking timeline: "You booked your accommodation very recently. Why?". Oh that’s very easy answer for me: "My visa just got approved three days ago," I said with a slight giggle. The logic seemed to escape them, of course I booked everything last minute when I literally couldn't travel until the visa came through.
Finally, they let me go. "Welcome to New Zealand," they said, as if the past hour hadn't happened.
Perfect start to an adventure, honestly. If this was how the trip began, I knew interesting things were coming.
Queenstown hit me with its tourist energy immediately. The hostel was huge, buzzing with people, but somehow harder to break into socially in the beginning. Everyone seemed to already have their groups, especially the long-term folks who were there for the ski season.
But that what was my initial thought, stay in Queenstown where they have pretty good tourist infrastructure. I did the classic first-timer thing: booked everything that sounded exciting. Milford Sound (the main thing I wanted to see), Jet boat, did the gondola and luge, plus I was considering skiing even though I'd never done it before. When the weather turned rainy, I rescheduled the jet boat to an earlier day and just went with the flow.
Milford Sound was incredible and absolutely worth it, though I wished I could've driven by myself and taken more time instead of the coach. The gondola and luge were fun but felt a bit touristy afterward. The jet boat was enjoyable, but by then I was starting to learn something about myself: I didn't actually need all these activities to have a good time.
What I really wanted was to get out and do more a bit adventure, but I was still terrified of the snow conditions. On my second day, I attempted the Queenstown Hill walk. Not exactly alpine conditions, but when I reached the summit, there was snow on the trail and it started snowing. My first real snow experience! I was ridiculously happy lmao, even though it wasn't much.
The problem was, I didn't even know what hiking options were available around Queenstown. The hostel crowd was more focused on skiing and partying. I had no idea Ben Lomond was a famous hike right there until much later. Classic mistake of not doing enough research on what I actually wanted to do, and I don’t even know what I want to do.
The real test came with Roy's Peak in Wānaka. I only learn about this 2 days prior, and this hike was initially the one I avoided before. People online were saying you needed crampons and ice axes, gear I definitely didn't have. I spent hours researching, checking weather forecasts on multiple websites, reading trip reports, trying to decide if it was safe for a beginner in alpine condition.
The forecast showed clouds, which meant limited visibility. Part of me wanted to attempt the sunrise hike, but that meant starting in darkness and had to walk 7 km from town to the trailhead in the narrow shoulder road when it’s not safe. I chose to start just right before the sunrise instead, figuring safer and warmer temperatures were worth the tradeoff.
Turns out, I prefer frozen snow over thawed snow any day. The thawed stuff becomes slippery mud that's way more treacherous than solid ice. Lesson learned.
I was hoping that the summit will be over the clouds
The hike itself was steep but very manageable. When I reached the summit, I was completely socked in by clouds with zero visibility, no views. Initially disappointing, but then something interesting happened.
I met this Spanish couple on the way up, and we ended up chatting during the descent. The husband had done solo trips through South America, and we swapped stories about travel, Spain, different approaches to adventure. They had a car, and I was planning to hitchhike back to town – my first hitchhiking attempt, which I was pretty nervous about.
Here's the thing: I didn't ask them for a ride, even though I knew they were driving to town. Classic me being too polite and not wanting to impose. After about ten minutes of walking with my thumb out, feeling awkward and unsure about hitchhiking etiquette, a car pulled over. Someone got out and called, "Run, fast, come on!"
I didn't realise it was them until I got closer. When I got in, their first question was, "We didn't know you were walking! How did you get to the trailhead in the first place? That's definitely not wise after such a challenging hike." They were genuinely concerned about me walking all that distance after hours on the mountain.
They were heading to Franz Josef, but insisted on dropping me right at my hostel. When I said anywhere along the lake was fine, they brushed it off"We have the car, why not?"
I was genuinely emotional about it, not just because my feet were tired, but because something beautiful had happened after what felt like a "failed" hike. Sometimes the best views aren't the ones you came for.
Standing on that summit taught me something important: snow conditions aren't impossible to navigate. They're just different conditions that require different preparation and mindset. This realisation unlocked a lot more adventures for the rest of the trip.
The real transformation happened when I got to Wānaka. The hostel was smaller, more social, and immediately felt different. People were excited to meet newcomers, conversations ran deeper, and everyone seemed genuinely interested in adventure rather than just partying.
When people talked about their day, it was all skiing, snowboarding, hiking, driving to Mount Aspiring National Park, exploring natural areas. They shared stories about how they ended up there, where they were heading next, what drives their travel. These were my people.
I did Mount Iron, attempted Roy's Peak, and even tried skiing at Cardrona. The skiing was fun but confirmed what I was learning about myself, I prefer exploring on foot. There's something about hiking that connects you to a place in a way that other activities don't.
Being around like minded people completely changed my activity choices. When I mentioned wanting to do certain hikes but not having transport, people offered solutions. I met a girl who was also heading to Queenstown and had a car – we ended up doing a trip to Glenorchy for Bob's Cove, a hike I really wanted but couldn't access alone.
The contrast became obvious when I went back to Queenstown for my final few days. I literally found myself thinking, "Should I just go back to Wānaka instead?" The energy felt so different: more commercial, less connected to the natural environment that had drawn me to New Zealand in the first place.
Mt Cook National Park was where everything clicked. The landscape was unlike anything I'd experienced, proper alpine environment everywhere, avalanche warning signs, the actual sound of rockfall and avalanches echoing through the valley. Mother nature doing her thing on a scale that made me feel appropriately tiny.
I was nervous about attempting Sealy Tarns solo, especially after reading through articles about how unforgiving the weather could be in Mt Cook area. But after conversations with other hikers, it seemed manageable with proper clothing and proper boots - though mine still weren't waterproof but still doable.
The hike itself was beautiful and kind of less challenging than my previous attempts, with proper snow patches and alpine conditions. When I got back to the hostel afterward, I met a guy who'd just completed the Mueller Hut hike. I looked at him like he'd climbed Everest. "You did that solo, in winter?" The fact that he'd tackled something I considered completely beyond my abilities was both inspiring and humbling.
That conversation made me realise how much I'd been limiting myself. My pre-trip plan explicitly avoided "hikes" because I had no experience with snow and alpine conditions. Yet here I was, having successfully completed several challenging hikes, talking to people who were pushing even further.
By this point, patterns were emerging. When given choices, I consistently picked educational experiences over pure entertainment. The stargazing tour in Tekapo was expensive, but I knew nothing about constellations and figured this was the perfect opportunity to learn. I could've done stargazing independently, in fact I did one when I was in Mt Cook by myself, but navigating the stars would've taken much longer to figure out alone.
Similarly, I was choosing challenging activities over comfortable ones, prioritising time in nature over time in cities, seeking out conversations that taught me something new. I wasn't consciously trying to be a different type of traveler, it just happened naturally when I paid attention to what I actually enjoyed versus what I thought I should enjoy.
The gear learning curve was steep but educational. Waterproof boots became essential after a few soggy hikes. Good traction was non-negotiable. I realised I probably should've brought microspikes/crampons for more flexibility on icy trails. During day hikes, I usually overheated and had to unzip my fleece, but the hard shell was crucial for wind and rain.
Most importantly, I discovered I prefer travel on foot. It's a simple realisation but profound in how it shapes everything else. Where you stay, what activities you prioritise, how you experience a place.
Comparing my early trip decisions to later ones, the evolution is obvious. I went from avoiding any hike with snow conditions to specifically seeking them out. Weather shifted from something to avoid to something to work with. Sometimes rainy conditions make certain places even more beautiful, like Milford Sound with its thousands of waterfalls cascading from fresh snow.
My booking strategy remained flexible (some might say chaotic), but I got better at prioritising research for things I actually cared about. Transportation between towns, weather patterns for hiking, what gear to rent versus buy. I was still making most accommodation decisions at the last minute, but that flexibility allowed me to extend stays in places like Wānaka when I was connecting with the environment and people.
The risk tolerance was interesting to calibrate. My friends sometimes see me as a risk taker, but compared to other travellers I met, I was actually quite moderate. There's a difference between calculated risks and reckless ones, and I was learning to navigate that distinction.
By the end of the trip, my relationship with uncertainty had completely changed. I went from being paralysed by weather forecasts to treating them as information for decision making rather than reasons to cancel plans. Solo travel stopped feeling lonely and started feeling like freedom and the ability to change direction whenever something interesting presented itself.
When I stepped back and looked at what I'd accomplished such as navigating complex logistics, completing challenging hikes in winter conditions, connecting with diverse groups of people, adapting to constantly changing weather, I realised I'd been underestimating my own capabilities for years.
The person who kinda panic researched winter gear in Brisbane was the same person who “successfully” hitchhiked down from Roy's Peak and completed tramping in Mount Cook. The difference wasn't fundamental ability; it was experience and confidence building on itself.
This adventure transformation was just part of the story, though. What really shaped the trip were the conversations. Random encounters with Spanish couples on cloudy summits, deep talks with fellow travellers in Wānaka hostel kitchens, the guy at Mount Cook who'd just completed Mueller Hut and made me realise what I could achieve with proper preparation. Hours spent around dining tables in Queenstown hostels, sharing stories and memories with amazing people from all over the world.
Solo travel creates space for these interactions in a way that group travel doesn't. When you're genuinely open to learning from complete strangers, every conversation becomes a potential turning point.
But those stories and what they taught me about the world beyond my Indonesian-Australian university bubble – that's what Episode 3 is for.
This is part 2 on my post-graduation travels. Episode 3 will explore the hostel conversations and people who shaped my journey in unexpected ways.