Our stay in New Zealand provided a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with a family who changed the direction of my life. I have altered their names in this story to protect their privacy, so let’s call this family the Smiths.
When I was 15 years old the Smiths moved to Wellington, they entered my life just as I was moving from childhood to adulthood. They were only there for a year but this family had a profound impact on the formation of my identity and the choices that I would make about education and work in the future.
I became close friends with Megan, the oldest of the four Smith girls and one Smith boy. This family was so different from my own. Dinner around our family table was mostly a quiet and sombre affair whereas dinner around their table was full of Continue reading →
It is such a rich experience to stay in a friends’ home, rather than in the anonymous blandness of a hotel. Friends delight in introducing you to the best of their world, the places that mean the most to them and the people who give meaning to their day to day lives.
We have just spent four nights with our friends Suzanne and Darryl in Puketurua, a tiny place in the middle of the North Island, New Zealand. I met Suzanne and Darryl when I was about 18 years old, with my ex-husband. Our relationship was full of the laughter, passion and intensity of two young couples in love and at the threshold of their lives. Over the last forty years we have only seen them a handful of times, nonetheless they have embraced Steven and when we catch up it’s as if we saw them yesterday.
Here are four of the diamonds from their lives that they shared with us:
The Table on the Deck: We ate all meals in this beautiful rural vista, fresh country food accompanied by the sound of cows lowing. These were joyous meals full of laughter and great conversation. Despite some tough times this couple has maintained a great passion for life, and each other. Suzanne and Darryl reckon that lethargy and joylessness kill you, so you better get off your arse, do something and have fun while doing it. No space for complaints or whinging at this table.
The Blue Springs, Te Waihou: “We’ll do a bit of a walk” they said, “just an hour or so by a spring”. What an understatement. The Blue Springs were shockingly beautiful. Crystal clear blue waters with mesmerising vivid green plants that drift in the current. I understand Coca Cola holds 90% of the water rights, and the Spring supplies 70% of the countries bottled water.
The Mystery Tour: We’ll take you up to see our friends place, you’ll like it there. Their friends Phil and Karen have an idyllic spot which they call home. Previously a trout hatchery, they have their own private spring of crystal clear, icy cold water, so cold our feet hurt when we dangled them in. Breathtakingly beautiful.
The day was accompanied by two gorgeous Blue Healer, Border Collie cross dogs with stunning mottled coats and a ginger kitten who snuggled up to them, homemade shortbread biscuits, New Zealand wine, great company and a perfect summer’s day. Bliss.
We had a couple of trips to the Rhubarb Café in Arapuni for great coffee and more laughs with the owners Louise and Bryan. Delicious food delivered with down to earth New Zealand customer service, served on old fashioned Formica tables, just like mum used to have. An unexpected find.
After four days with Suzanne and Daryl my heart was warmed by the fire of this wonderful long burning friendship.
My niece Melissa was born when I was 19 years old and working in Queenstown, just before I headed to Australia. I remember queuing up to use the pay phone in downtown Queenstown so I could ring home and find out whether my sister’s baby had been born. That’s how you kept in touch before mobile phones. I was very excited to be an aunty for the first time. I had been diligently knitting a baby jacket and booties in a soft mint green. In those days you had no idea of what sex the baby would be so mint green was a safe colour, appropriate for either a boy or a girl. For some reason I thought that the beautiful and delicate layette should be finished with a hard dark brown ribbon. Maybe this was my clumsy gesture towards hoping that Continue reading →
I value kindness, that old fashioned virtue of helping out another human being in a gentle and unassuming manner. Simple acts such as picking up a toy dropped unnoticed from a pram, giving directions to a stranger, checking on a neighbour or giving a heartfelt compliment can make such a difference to the recipient’s day, way beyond the magnitude of the act. More profound acts of kindness take time, effort and commitment. As a psychologist I have heard many sad stories where small acts of kindness would have made a significant difference to someone’s life. Kindness can be contagious and I like to imagine that even the smallest kind act can Continue reading →
I left New Zealand when I was 19 years old, my first experience of running away. Since then I have tried to come back every two or three years to see my family. Each time I feel compelled to reach out and touch the ghost of my childhood and wonder whether others have similar experiences. I devour chocolate fish and pineapple lumps, (New Zealand confectionary delights), candy floss, mixed lollies sold in paper bags, hokey pokey ice creams, spearmint milkshakes which must be served in an icy cold aluminium container and for a savoury dish, bacon and egg pie with sliced tomato on top. I could buy these in Australia but somehow it would be traitorous to eat them there.
Then there is the drive past the family home, sold when my mother died 15 years ago, Continue reading →
I never expected to cry while standing in the square at Christchurch. The ugly jagged scar of the earthquake four years ago in February 2011, when 185 people died, was so apparent that it took my breath away and I wept. This is a city which has experienced an intense trauma, and its everywhere you look.
I’d followed the news reports when the earthquake happened. As a New Zealander I was concerned but if I’m truthful I really didn’t take the time to understand the scale of the disaster. Even when I spoke to my friend, who had been home visiting, and driving in the city of Christchurch at the time of the quake, I still didn’t get the enormity of the devastation.
As a child in Wellington I’d lived through minor earthquakes Continue reading →
In Maori legend the Araiteuru canoe (one of the large ancestral canoes that came from Hawaiki) was wrecked on Shag Point while on its way south in search of greenstone. Food-baskets and kumara on board were washed ashore. The kumara became irregularly shaped rocks and the circular food-baskets became the Moeraki Boulders, called by the Maori Te Kaihinake (the food-baskets). The reef at the mouth of the Shag River is said to be the petrified hull of the canoe, and a prominent rock nearby to be the mortal remains of its navigator, Hipo. Names of passengers are given to hills in the area. The legend is an example of how a colourful story would be woven around the physical features of the landscape to perpetuate a knowledge of geography in a culture without a written language.
We’ve been on the run for about a week, maybe just a bit more, and time is starting to slide. I have very little idea of what day it is and it feels as if I have been away for a long time. Bliss. This somehow feels different than a holiday. Having six months off creates a new perspective. Sorry work but I am not missing you.
Our pace has now dramatically slowed as we are spending time with my 65 year old sister who uses a walking stick and has challenges with mobility. It’s a humbling exercise in patience, one which I struggle with.
Now with my family of birth I have taken up the position as youngest sister and slid easily into the middle seat in the back of the car, a place where I suspect many youngest sisters live. My daughter will laugh at this as often her place in our family car is the middle seat. There are not many situations where I am now the “youngest” of anything so I will relish my place.
I am already getting tired of restaurant and fast food meals which means that for the first time in a long time I am thinking about cooking, not that I am doing any. Steven cooked bacon and eggs for dinner and it tasted like a treat.
As the frenzy of work has absented my head I have space for other ideas to float by but right now I’m not thinking of much more than how extraordinarily beautiful Queenstown is.
Steven and I are muddling along beautifully together… there will be a time along this journey when I suspect we will need time out from each other.
I’ll update regularly about our experience on the run… but I couldn’t possibly set a timetable for that….or anything.
Whenever we think about undertaking a bike trip in unknown territory I get scared that I won’t be able to do it. I fear I might become stranded somewhere, half way up a hill, too tired to go any further and with no way to get home. Physical exercise has never been my thing so contemplating riding 152 km does not come easy to me. I’ve had to turn back on one bike trip and get frustrated trying to find information that gives me a real sense of how difficult the trip will be. I want to be challenged but not distressed.
A sarong has always been an essential travel item for me. Not one of those gauzy little numbers that wouldn’t fit across my hips. My sarong is strong, opaque and expansive. Of course the sarong is great for the beach and I know that there are a 100 ways to tie it into some fancy dress. I do use it like that but it’s the other uses that make it essential for my bag. The sarong has a multitude of uses: a dressing gown, beach mat, towel, picnic rug, table cloth, a sheet on dubious beds, scarf, modesty covering for temples, mosques and churches and it’s a great creator of shade. I’ve even wrapped my dirty laundry in it. It takes up next to no room in the bag so how could I not take it?
My friend Kerryn tells me that her travel essential is aluminium baking trays and Continue reading →
Our stay in New Zealand provided a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with a family who changed the direction of my life. I have altered their names in this story to protect their privacy, so let’s call this family the Smiths.
