I made it through a Wellington winter, in a leaky old beach house with rain and wind nearly every day for months. Not what I expected on my adventure. Spring is here now, with sun, perfumed air, bright flowers, and the ability to be outside the house.
What I’ve learned: I want to be with my people, in my part of the world, which is the most complex ecosystem and society around. Even with the dark side of our culture, it is my place. I miss my dirt, my cats, hugging my own family and friends, knowing where to find good Italian food, playing music in the driveway, Asheville pizza, the wide polluted French Broad River, and central heat.
I’ve learned to live without a dryer, no big deal.
People in New Zealand in my area are very family oriented, don’t really buy a lot of things, don’t travel now, have simpler tastes, are more casual, are really bright and supportive. Some folks have taken time to bring me to the bush, to yoga Nidra, or sound healing class because they know I miss these things.
The Routebourne Track forest and Doubtful Sound are the most beautiful, majestic, wild, fearsome, nonhuman, spiritual places I’ve ever been.
People put pickled beets on everything, which is “quite nice.” I “quite like it.” I’m “keen as…”
New phrases, “Take a little squiz,” “yah-no,” “good on ya,” getting a “ginjury” while riding a bike after drinking gin. Getting pissed is drunk, and being mad is mentally ill.
Soon to leave on a jet pane, with a new used mandolin from Alistair’s Music in Wellington, leaving some fond memories and forgetting the damp cold feet for half my time here. Ta.