Night’s falling and I’m on the other side of the world. I’ve been hitchhiking along the North Island of New Zealand for the past two weeks after a semester “studying” abroad in Australia.

 My traveling companion is a childhood friend and we’ve been sleeping on the side of the road in a tent for the bulk of our travels. All we have are two guitars and the packs on our backs. Clean clothes are in short supply and by this point we’ve hiked two mountains and spent hours sweating on the sides of highways.

 Needless to say it wasn’t the most hygienic of times. Our last ride left us in between towns and we need a place to set up camp before sunset. We’ve been hitching down the coast of the Coromandel Peninsula and all the ground along the road is far too soft to pitch a tent on. The other side of the road has acres of grassy pasture — all of which is private property.

 The sun is sinking low and setting up our tent in the dark would be nearly impossible.

 “I bet we could sneak onto a corner of that cow paddock and be gone in the morning before anyone even knows we were here,” I think to myself.

 I’m bone-weary and right now any bed sounds like a good bed, so we creep past the gate and find a secluded corner of the field to set up camp. Naturally, as soon as the tent’s out of the bag, a blue SUV comes pulling up the drive. I guess we weren’t as secluded as we thought.

 The car begins to drive off the road straight toward us. A man steps out of the car and asks us what we think we’re doing. Some quick thinking helps this slip off my tongue: “Oh … well … uh … we were about to go up to the house and ask the owner if we could camp down here … ”

  I figure I’m toast. I wonder how much bail for trespassing in New Zealand.

 Blue SUV Man tells us to wait right there. The next ten minutes pass by like molasses. We consider running but soon realize we have nowhere else to go, and plus it’s insanely hard to run quickly with a backpack on. Before we can act, the blue SUV comes reeling down the path.

 When it pulls up to the shambles of our tent, a woman exits the passenger side.

 “This is my mother,” the man says, “She owns this land.”

 The plot thickens and questions arise. Are these people going to try and introduce us into some weird Kiwi family cult? Am I going to be at the bottom of a well rubbing lotion on my skin by sundown?

 But against all odds the woman walks over, hugs us and says, “Oh please! You must come and camp on the front lawn up by the house. And let me make you some dinner! You must want a shower. Come, I’ll get you some towels!”

 I’m intrigued, but suddenly acutely aware of the fact that my friend and I are both filthy, the definition of scruffy and by law, trespassers. But now this lady wants to make us sandwiches. If this happened in the states we would be in the back of a police car by now.

 So against everything my mother taught me, and with the fading memories of horror movies drifting from my head, we reluctantly get into the blue SUV and drive up to the house. Just as she said, we arrive to find a lawn with a beautiful view of the sea to pitch our tent on. Within minutes she lays out towels and has dinner ready for us. Any lingering fears subside when she asks if we like sugar in our tea.

 Maybe it’s because New Zealanders have an innocence that’s seldom seen outside of old television shows. Or maybe it was because we were just thrilled she wasn’t buttering us up for the slaughter, but we went to bed that night with a newfound respect for the goodness that can be found in people.

 A family welcomed two mangy-looking kids into their home for no reason other than simple kindness. They looked past the assumptions we all tend to make upon a first look. When they drove up to our tent, instead of seeing two delinquents ripe for the jailhouse they saw us for what we really were, just another pair of wandering kids looking for a place to rest our heads.

 Up until that night I’d always assumed it was just a product of our times, trust just wasn’t something people gave out; you had to earn it. But one family’s unwarranted and unwavering assurance that we weren’t mass murderers was enough to turn my mind. We walked back to the road that next morning with all our Western cynicisms about humanity flushed from our bones.

 That, and the packed lunches the property owner had made for us.