Wanderstop often feels like a diversion from any traditional standards a player may expect from a game, even one so cozy or hinting at purported narrative subterfuge. But in abandoning expectations, it truly thrives.
Seven years ago I was sitting in an office chair at work and began the grueling process of a 48-hour nervous breakdown.
As if carried away by a swell of uncontrollable emotions, silent tears fell down my face. In an attempt to avoid any concerned looks I would slightly turn my chair if a person walked by and, eventually, retreated into the bathroom for several minutes to compose myself. The following days were a struggle. I didn’t feel like myself. Any attempt to sleep it off were cut short as sharply intrusive thoughts punctured my waking hours.
Years later, pinpointing the specific trigger proved difficult. The nebulous web of everyday stress, a busy holiday season for a retail job, personal drama, and the sinking feeling of being a fuck up became the perfect storm of mental torment.
Was I losing it? Was I crazy? Was I dissociating?
When I look back on those days, the lingering notes of anguish can still feel palpable, like mental and emotional scars that merely fade and harden with time. But one notion always remained true. For years my head was able to stay above water, overcoming difficult situations without taking much of a toll outside of momentary stress. Yet after all those years of resistance, my defenses had thinned enough that whatever firm push was able to open the floodgates.
Wanderstop feels like a deeply personal game.
The eponymous locale is a tea shop located in the mysterious depths of a magical forest. Myself? I’ve worked at a tea shop for the past several years of my life. I pack tea into bags. I label canisters. I talk to customers. I blend ingredients. I ship packages.
Despite being surrounded by thousands of pounds of tea 40 hours a week, I rarely steep and drink my own. I can speak at length to smells and colors and tastes. But I’ve always been a coffee person–I’m sorry if that sounds insufferable. Still, I frequently consider my job a kind of haven, not just a way to get paid but an environment that usually provides minimal stress.
In Wanderstop, we meet Alta. Alta was a fighter. She was a fighter that had remained undefeated for years until one day she lost. And then she lost again. But how?
To Alta the answer was simple, she merely needed to do better. To be better, to overcome continued challenge. Her goal towards reclaiming former glory was to seek out Master Winters, the only trainer that could help Alta hone her skills. Master Winters could be reached deep in a distant forest.
Brimming with eager energy and renewed hope, Alta ran headfirst into the forest. And she ran. And ran. But suddenly, she couldn’t. Her determination dwindled, her body gave out, her consciousness faded.
When Alta awakes at Wanderstop, she and the player are greeted by the friendly warmth of Boro, Wanderstop’s “owner” and one of the few constants of the forest. This bald man with an imposing stature speaks in a jovial, eccentric tone. He attempts to console Alta who is confused but determined to continue on her path of redemption.
Another constant? At nearly any point over the course of Wanderstop, the player can walk Alta back into the forest away from the clearing where the tea shop is located. Every single time, Alta will collapse and awaken next to Boro and his warm smile. There is no easy out. Not even for a joke ending.
Ivy Road, the developer behind Wanderstop, is the studio formed by The Stanley Parable creator Davey Wreden. Perhaps had I not known of Wreden’s association with his prior work I would have expected something different from Wanderstop. But, it’s also important to keep in mind I’ve never played The Stanley Parable or Wreden’s other work, The Beginner’s Guide. But, much like a few of Wanderstop‘s customers regard Alta, reputations can often precede a first impression.
Wanderstop is a game about a handful of topics, moods, feelings, things. It is layered with symbolism both overt and subtle. While I’ve avoided knowing a significant amount about The Stanley Parable, I’m aware it works to subvert expectations and also breaks the fourth wall. Naturally, I went into Wanderstop guesstimating some Third Act shift or rug pull. Instead, Ivy Road has made an intentional narrative about one of the deepest issues that can plague a person’s psyche.
Alta is burnt out.
And for anyone who has experienced that feeling, Alta’s plight is instantly identifiable. And even with the stakes being so human and discernible, Ivy Road finds a way to expound upon them in poetic ways over the course of Wanderstop.
I watched the game intently for any cues that may lead me to a glimpse behind the scenes. Initially, I saw the way Alta scooped up tea leaves in a basket, the animation mimicked a video game character slashing a sword. The way she drove a seed or plant into the group replicated a visceral downward thrust of a blade. Her pruning shears gripped with deadly force as they struck down weeds.
Look as much as you may like, Wanderstop does its best to bare all with a touching honesty.
The player can relentlessly hurtle towards a quick conclusion, driving Alta deep into the woods. But every single time she returns to sit next to Boro. The only solution? Take a moment and make some tea.
Wanderstop is pivoted as a “cozy” narrative game, one with a dash of simulation. The gameplay is housed under a near-magical process of cultivating the ingredients to brew tea for the various customers that happen along the colorful clearing. As intended, the gameplay of Wanderstop is its safest aspect, one metered and controlled, never complicating the life of Alta or the player.
A lot can be said about the notion of ludonarrative dissonance. The tendency to apply the disparate elements of engaging gameplay that makes sense with the boundaries of the story being told is an ever-evolving topic, one that I’m keen to let others be concerned with. No, I simply don’t mind the droves of pirates and mercenaries Nathan Drake slaughters, only to hear Nolan North’s suave gusto in the next custscene.
Ivy Road effortlessly harmonizes its narrative and gameplay conceits, partially because its gameplay is straightforward, intentionally so. Thematically, the symptoms of Alta’s burnout and self-doubt perhaps may be cured by the simple act of making tea. Though I am no expert on the subject, being surrounded by tea for so long has allowed me to see the deep history of tea ceremony, not only it its drinking but in the steeping of its ingredients. Cultures across the world have found themselves sitting across tables, soaking dried tea leaves in hot water, waiting for the flavor to be extracted.
The ability to give herself a moment’s peace is the one thing Alta sorely lacks. She has driven herself too far. Her body and her mind are rejecting the notion of being a fighter. She can’t even pick up her sword.
For Wanderstop‘s remainder, Alta’s path towards self-realization is the narrative’s keystone. Along the way, players shape Alta’s personality through numerous dialog choices. From stone-faced silence to dark sarcasm to genuine compassion, Alta’s growth is often dictated by the player and they hold the burden of whether her journey is one of resistance or relaxation.
Roleplaying as the hardened fighter who once had no peer is easy. The player can have Alta be dismissive towards any kindness directed at them. Personally, my roleplaying took Alta on the path towards pessimism and frustration, yet never explicitly taking it out on the colorful cast around her.
Boro acts as Alta’s North Star and one for the game itself. Ivy Road chooses to give Wanderstop minimal voice acting, a shame since the few times we hear Alta speak, it is incredibly powerful. But I think an interesting stylistic choice would have been to give every character in the game spoken dialog except Boro. There is meaning behind allowing the player to picture a voice in their head and Boro’s idiosyncratic speech would have been difficult to pull off with his gentle charm. More importantly, Boro is intended to be both an enigma and guidance. He is written to never chastise Alta, merely be a sounding board and only offer musings with a kindness and concern for her well-being.
Wanderstop is not complicated. Though its narrative encroaches on deeper meanings, it is meant to be approached at the pace and understanding of the player.
Over the years I’ve grown weary of the nebulous “cozy” moniker that an increasing number of games attempt to align themselves with. Bright colors, cutesy characters, and a casual pace certainly fit the bill of a jolly game meant to only challenge the player’s personal investment.
Wanderstop may be a “cozy” game and a simulation at that, stifling it in the most common genre alignment possible. But the general lack of things to do and gameplay elements barely make it a management, resource gathering, or shopping simulator. So few blockades exist between the player making tea, serving it to customers, and progressing Alta’s development.
The grocery list of tasks to do in Wanderstop are fundamentally simple and almost mindless in execution. Players grab a basket, pruning shears, a watering can, and a broom. These are the basic “tools” of the Wanderstop’s tea trade. The broom is used to sweep up piles of debris around the area. The shears can cut up pervasive weeds and cut down unused plants Alta grows.
To start the tea-making process, the player runs around the edges of the clearing, swiping at tea bushes until the basket is full. That full basket of tea leaves is deposited at a dryer that creates two tea balls. To make tea, players interact with the massive machine at Wanderstop’s main room. Stretching up two floors, Alta must climb a ladder to drain tea into a primary globe, patiently heat that water to boiling, kick a drain to deliver it into a second globe where ingredients can be deposited, then kick another lever moving the infusion to a third globe where the tea is drained into a cup.
Within five minutes of actual “gameplay” and guidance from Boro and whatever degree of annoyance the player has Alta express, the generalized gameplay of Wanderstop is given to the player.
The most secondary element is creating the numerous fruits that will be used to make varying teas. To do so, players can plant a colored seed almost anywhere on the ground. Plant three seeds in a line and a small bulb will spurt in the middle of the line. Water that bulb and a small hybrid is created that will bear new seeds to be collected. Plant three seeds around that small hybrid and a new bulb will be formed. Water that and a large hybrid is created which, when watered, bears fruit for the tea.
Over the course of Wanderstop‘s five chapters, customers will filter into the clearing. Alta will speak with them, running through dialog and taking odd tea requests. The player can hold down a shoulder button at any time to dim the game’s color and highlight Boro, a missing tool, or a customer in need. Once all requests have been fulfilled, a new phase begins with new customers and a touch more complexity.
Players looking for an escalation of complexity will find little in Wanderstop. Certainly, a handful of customers will request a mildly complicated tea with a few fruits. Eventually, mushrooms are added that can alter the color of fruits but even that mechanic is sparsely used.
But to spoon-feed a growing list of hybrids and tasks for Alta to accomplish would be antithetical to the message the game is delivering. Yes, the weeds will spread if not tended to. Yes, piles of leaves will be scattered everywhere in need of sweeping. Yes, customers will leave their dirty cups on tables–even Boro and he owns the place! Yet the game never threatens players with failure. Screw up a tea order and you can make it again. Confused? There’s a book that can be read explaining what exact ingredients to use. Should the players wish, they can plant seeds and plants right in front of Wanderstop’s main door to minimize downtime.
Inherently the game is about Alta giving herself a moment of peace, to battle inner demons. She will, early on, be frustrated at the lack of things to do. In fact, there are lulls in the game where no progressive task presents itself. Should one become frustrated is that a commentary on the game or the self?
What Wanderstop ultimately becomes about is a reflection of the player, their mindset, and a story about mental health.
The numerous tasks players can engage with are based in whimsy. The gargantuan tea machine and its absurdity is explained away by Boro that it is merely “fun”… and it is. Plants grow magically. The customers that come in are all shapes, sizes, and species. Some claim they are from far-off lands that are never seen. One knight shrugs off an obvious curse to show pictures of his son who visibly is embarrassed by his father’s deeds. Another is a stuffy businessman asking for coffee. While another is a demon hunter in a world where there are no longer demons to hunt, instead their services go towards surveys and helping locales with mundane tasks.
Ivy Road’s world is colorful. A menagerie of candy-coated tones as each chapter has dominant hues ranging from pinks to reds to blues. Artistry flows from every corner, opting for personality over performance. Composer Daniel Rosenfeld–known as C418–crafts a soundtrack that evolves and transforms as the player moves around the world and based on what task they are performing. It is a joyful world, even when a few darker elements crack through.
While cozy in execution, Wanderstop allows the player to mostly do what they want. At one point in the game, Alta is merely told she can move on to what’s next or do anything she wishes. Make tea, plant a whole garden. Take photographs and fill the shop’s frames. Read the handful of fake but hilarious spy thrillers about the indestructible Dirk Warhard. Change the color of the Pluffins wandering around. While the options aren’t endless, the player’s time is. And that is what Wanderstop hopes to instill in its audience, a chance to take a break.
Wanderstop admittedly won’t be for every player. Obtuse, experimental games rarely are. Even its “cozy” moniker belies a genuine lack of requirements Ivy Road imposes. But threaded through this simple game about making tea is a powerful, poignant narrative that dwells on a person’s ability to come to terms with the futility of constant forward momentum. Grace and warmth can be found in the doldrums of existence. And in this chaotic age, we often need a break not only from the noise but ourselves.
