...where on earth did he come from?

I’m not sure that the last two weeks actually existed. They past in such a blur of overtime, alcohol, adventure and hilarity that there was never a moment to stop and make sure that in reality, only a couple of non eventful days hadn’t passed in which I had escaped to a long and raucous reverie. According to the calender though, it has indeed been two weeks since I last wrote and whether it be a good thing or a bad thing, all I remember was real! So where should I begin?

I had spent most of the week before last at work. I was there more than I was anywhere else. Not that I minded but by the middle of my second fourteen hour shift of the week I was very much looking forward to my Sunday off, which I had managed to score by agreeing to swap a shift for someone else. But then, just as I was counting down the last dying hours of Saturday evening I was informed that I would now have to work my original Sunday shift as someone had called in sick. I explained that ‘I had plans’, which wasn’t a complete lie but they certainly weren’t firm plans by any means, and was told that ‘they would figure something out’ in a way that makes you feel utterly guilty for not snapping too and saying ‘yes I’ll do it’! I went on my break feeling more than a little guilty. I was plucking up the courage to call Ollie and tell him I would be working the next day (Work and Ollie is the equivalent to a rock and a hard place, you can decide which is which!) when I found a text. I don’t remember all it said but the main gist was ‘Amy I’ve booked a hotel in the city, we’re going out for the day Sunday and we’re not coming home’.  Now that was a marvelous surprise! It also got me out of the awkward work situation as I really did have important plans! I found a friend to cover the shitf that I was meant to be covering (how complicated!) and it turned out she really wanted the hours anyway. So it was settled. Sunday was going to be a wonderful day, I could feel it already! 

I’ve gone into such detail about work just to show anyone who has ever had the thought ‘my job sucks, I know what, I’ll go far, far away to another country and get a little job and life will be simple and nothing like it is at home,’ that life is the same no matter where you are or what you do! It’s just a bit sunnier in some places than others! But don’t get me wrong, I love having my own job. I love having one that is just mine. Weird but true.

Anyway back to more exciting talk. I woke last Sunday feeling so insanely tired that I thought I was going to actually be sick. I fell into some clothes, packed a bag and we set off. The plan was to head into the city, find breakfast, catch the ferry to Rangitoto and then come back to our hotel to prepare for a small night out. Perfect. Ollie took me to the little town of Devonport, which was by the sea and very pretty. He had wanted to take me to a coffee shop that roasted its own coffee beans but unfortunately it was closed. So instead we found this amazing coffee bar/bakery/insanely nice breakfast place that baked its own ginormous muffins and made the best pancakes I’d ever tasted (yes pancakes again, my love for them is truly eternal). The coffee was great too and after a quick espresso and a longer caramel latte I was feeling more awake already! And not only was the food and drink superb, the open and rustic atmosphere of the place, combined with the best playlist anyone could wish for on a Sunday morning, made me want to forget the mountain hike and just pass a lazy day eating baked goods and getting high on coffee. After purchasing two muffins that weighed about the same as a small child, Ollie said he had one more place to take me before we went to catch our ferry. 

As we entered the deceivingly large second hand book shop my heart began to skip, and it wasn’t the caffeine. It was the smell. The smell of old books. The sight of over crowded shelves packed with countless hard backs and manuscripts. The rickety old furniture. The ghosts of every past owner willing me to pick up their book. I think I had just entered my heaven. For the next thirty minutes I became lost. I made my way through the rows, tiptoed to the top shelves and knelt to reach the bottom. Passing through my hands were works from the 1800’s, first editions, rare one of a kind books and novels from my childhood I never expected to see again, and certainly not in New Zealand. The very fact that many of the oldest books would have travelled here with someone to start a new life, probably from England, and that the book had been important enough to have been packed was amazing. It was so exciting. I found Dickens novels, Kipling, poetry I never knew existed, editions of books I knew my grandparents also had, and some of the most interesting books I’ve ever seen. I found one entitled The art of carriage painting, it was a training manuel for a ‘carriage painter’ published in America sometime in the late 19th Century and came complete with an inscription that someone had written at the time of presenting the book to its new owner. I wanted that book! 

I think my favourite find was a book entitled ‘Creative Writing in New Zealand’ in which the writer had created a critical appraisal of New Zealand fiction writing in the early twentieth Century, including commentary on Katherine Mansfield. The fact that the term ‘Creative Writing’ was being used in the 1900’s was enough to make me smile. How can the term still be being sneered at today when over one hundred years ago it was already in existence? I found this particular book very intriguing and it almost left the shop with me. But I had a problem. I didn’t have enough time to explore the wonderful shop properly and to just snatch a book quickly from a shelf to purchase would have been an insult to the shop itself. To add to that fact, there were a number of books I had seen but I couldn’t just chose one and they were quite expensive and I was worried I wouldn’t make the right choice under the pressure of time. I could have just picked a paper back I had been wanting to read but how can one purchase just a paperback from such an almighty place? Ollie did buy two editions of Sherlock Holmes stories but I left empty handed, only a pain in my heart. I think it was crying. I had dragged it from paradise with only a half whispered promise that we would return. But I had to return, I had to examine all the books, I had to give some a new home, a new part to their journey. I told Ollie that if heaven was a library in a coffee shop by the sea then I would never worry again.

* * *

The cloudless blue morning had turned to cloud. As we bobbed up and down over the waves to Rangitoto the sky spat at us. I was worried that even if we climbed to the top of the old volcano we might not see anything as everything would be submerged in grey. But I reminded myself that this was New Zealand and the weather had a habit of changing in a moment, so all might not be lost. Once on the small island we set off at a massive pace, over black bubbling rocks of ancient lava (or whatever Ollie said it was) towards the top of Rangitoto. Passing over the jetty, Ollie discussed with himself for the umpteenth time this year just exactly what a mangrove looked like while I concentrated on subduing the caffeine trip I could feel beginning to ignite inside of me. Not far up the track I started to run, jump and fling myself towards the summit. Caffeine searing through my body from the morning’s coffee I was the unstoppable force of an over excited human being on the rampage. I saw nothing of the scenery as I raced ahead and talked a million words a minute about nothing of any significance. Ollie’s face was one of resignation as he waited for the inevitable. It was not the first time he had witnessed the effects of this particular stimulant on me. 

Suddenly I was angry and blaming Ollie for every pot hole and branch in my way, complaining it was too hot and berating him for downing most of our water supply on the ferry over. ‘The second stage, Anger’ said Ollie as he continued to lag behind me. He only had to round a few more corners before he found his wife failing about on a rock complaining of water depravation, extreme exhaustion and delivering the phrase ‘Oliver I can’t do it, just go on without me’. Yes. I had well and truly crashed. And it always happens this way. I have half an hour of glorious exertion where I honestly believe I could run twice around the world and then it all goes horribly wrong. Picking me up and tugging me up the hill Ollie promised me I wouldn’t die there on a volcano and that we didn’t have too far to go. So I walked the rest of the way, eyes in the back of my head, cursing everyone I saw for not being as tired as me. 

But then we reached the top. The air instantly lost its humidity and a fresh breeze twirled around us. The clouds had politely moved on. The four other people who had got there before us were silent. It would have been rude to speak. The atmosphere was conducted by the astonishing view. We became lost in the blue sea, the little islands and the city glinting beneath us. I lay down, face to eternity, and closed my eyes. I was in the sky whirling round and round, on top of everything, far away from anything. When I finally opened my eyes we had been joined by more people but the silence was still just as obvious. Standing together we waited to watch the sailing race that was about to commence in the harbour at the edge of our view. Ollie knew all about it but I was apparently oblivious to the scheduled event. A little boy and his father walked onto our part of the deck. ‘Holy Moley Shacka Moley! Look Dad!’ I think that boy described the view perfectly...

And then something utterly odd happened. A Jew fell from the sky. 

Well I’m not entirely sure he fell from the sky but I haven’t the slightest clue where he did come from. In full Jewish attire, this gentleman walked over to Ollie and exclaimed, 

‘Are those shiny things down there bulls?’ 

Well I think he meant ‘boats’ but it sounded like bulls. Ollie replied that yes they were boats. The man thought about this for a second and then said, 

‘You would need a good camera to take a picture of those boats as they’re too far away. Not a disposable camera. You would need a good camera.’ 

Ollie politely agreed while I continued to stare at a nearby bush and tried to keep my heaving, laughing shoulders to an absolute minimum. Then the man said to a woman nearby, 

‘That’s a bull (boat) down there.’ 

‘Yes’ she replied. 

‘Are you not going to take a picture of that boat? It’s a big boat. Take a picture.’ ‘Why would I?’ The woman was understandably confused by this gentleman’s demands on her photographic evidence of the day. He disappeared and silence once again resumed. Suddenly he was back again. 

‘What are all those things on the water down there?’ he asked Ollie.

‘Mate they’re boats.’ 

‘On the water?’

‘Yeah mate they’re boats on the water.’ 

‘Ahhh right.’ And with that the man in the scull cap was gone. Back into the sky.

I planned to appreciate the descent more than the ascent now that my ‘rush’ had worn off. I wanted to inspect the tropical like rain forest we had come through and listen to the birds. However this didn’t happen. You see the track was pretty steep. It was one of those where you try and walk slowly but soon find yourself in a kind of ‘trot’ before the ‘trot’ turns into more of an awkward jog with arms like a T-Rex plopping bent beside you and then before you have time to adjust your pace you’re running full speed downhill and yelping because you’re Forest Gump and not sure you’ll ever stop again. Well that was me, muffin in hand, running towards the sea. I would manage to gain control momentarily, pick up my stilted yet deep conversation with Ollie before my arms would start to gain momentum, my feet to leap a little, and then off once more on a run that might end in a bush. One women even twisted her ankle going back down! In this fashion we returned to the bottom and to the ferry having failed, I think, to have appreciated the lovely little volcanic uprising properly.

There was one plateau in our hastened return where we found some sign posted lava caves and clambered over rocks to check them out. Leaving some Eastern European tourists marveling at a small hole in the ground that they believed were the caves, Ollie and I walked a little further and found the real ones. In reality they were just a series of pitch black tunnels that one could curse and trip their way through before reaching a dead end and having to go back through the same rigmarole again. But there was something intriguing about these black holes that made me glad we had found them. I tried to use Johnny English’s technique of using ‘song to see’ but Ollie stopped me before I could really decide if this method worked. 

Back on the ferry we agreed that Rangitoto had been good fun, despite my caffeine travesty and the impromptu run. Then I did my classic boat pastime of falling asleep for the entire trip back. Ollie has decided that I am incapable of ever taking a return boat journey from anywhere without falling asleep. I don’t know what it is but I just can’t help myself.

* * *

We found our hotel and I was immediately impressed by Ollie’s choice and the deal he’d managed to get us. Recently refurbished and very modern it was probably the nicest hotel we’ve ever stayed in (I’m not counting Vegas because nothing should ever be compared to Vegas, it just wouldn’t be fair!). Our room was on the eleventh floor and although I tried to forget this fact Ollie enjoyed showing me the view from our window and just how high we were. Resisting the urge to vomit I told myself I was really on the ground floor and perfectly safe. I don’t know why but I’m really not good with multistory buildings. The first thing I did was run myself a bath. I hadn’t had one since Vegas (how showoffy does that sound!) and I reallly fancied one. It was such a treat for Ollie to arrange this evening for us and I wanted to make the most of it, which including abandoning my kind husband for the world’s longest bath! 

I got dressed and we headed to Ollie’s favourite beer bar before choosing a restaurant to have dinner in. We ended up on the Viaduct in a very pretty restaurant by the water that was covered in fairy lights. After the ‘wine disaster’ of our last adventure we both agreed to drink other things...but I think cocktails for me wasn’t exactly a much better choice! After dinner we found an irish pub (Well it was St Patrick’s the night before!) and a relaxed pint of cider. I returned from the toilet to find Ollie surrounded by a group of guys and was greeted with the line ‘Please give us your bra’. I was then introduced to the Stag group that Ollie had inadvertently just become a part of. After several minutes of less than coherent conversation on the lads’ part it turned out the stag was getting married on either Tuesday or Wednesday, nobody was sure which, and that he had a list of things to do before he went home that evening. His ‘do’ was ending early due to some sort of cake retrieval early the next morning much to the disappointment of the brother in law to be; a lovely chatty little lad who didn’t not resemble my own brother in law slightly with his ease of talking to strangers and conjuring everyone up into excitement at any given moment.

Among the list of dares was ‘kiss a tranny’, not the most inventive ‘dare’ but they thought it was hilarious... . Anyway I told them that Ollie always made a good woman and that perhaps he could oblige if they had a dress. They did not have a dress and five awkward minutes later, wearing my top, Ollie gave the groom a peck on the check, much to the delight of all the other guys. If only they knew this was one of Ollie’s tamer girly outings! Back in my top, now throughly stretched, I again refused to be the ‘bra doner’ for dare four. To the horror of Ollie, my excuse was that I had only one bra due to the fact that I was traveling and that not only did I not want to reduce that figure to zero, it was also in such a state that no woman on earth would want anyone else to ever see it! I add at this point that I was also a little dubious of giving up my bra in any circumstance (even for burning) as it wasn’t very ‘lady like’! Embarrassed by my honesty (as always) and after we had said goodbye to our friends for the evening, Ollie had a word with me.

‘Amy I am disgusted that you only have one bra with you. That’s awful! And so not like you! It must be in a terrible state (You would wonder that he had never noticed?!) and you are to go and buy a new one first thing tomorrow. I am shocked and appalled!’

Slightly bemused and amused by Ollie’s severe reaction to the news that his wife with a passion for clothing had disappeared and turned into a bohemian traveler with a holey bra, I was only to happy to oblige and go shopping! 

We had to be up early as Ollie had to go to work, so after a very tasty breakfast at the hotel I said goodbye and walked through torrential rain to the train station. After such a great evening the rain reflected my deflated mood as I returned to reality on the platform. I was thankful however to be hangover vacant and pleased our decision to leave the wine alone had payed off!

* * *

The next week passed in another blur of work and trying to catch up on sleep. By Saturday though I has ready to have some fun and even though I was working until 1A.M I was concocting a plan. There was a work social taking place and I had been invited. I was all up for going and had proclaimed this on numerous occasions so that I think my colleagues were slightly apprehensive of my appearance. Promising to do a Karaoke medley and giving a small taster isn’t the best way to reassure people you’re normal, just for the record. But by the end of my shift I was worried that no one would still be there and that if I turned up to the bar by myself I may look a complete loser surrounded by dodgy old men. The antidote to this eventuality was to be picked up by a girl friend from work and her friend, to head into the city for a night of dancing (well her and her friend dancing, me looking a fool).

I jumped in the car, smelling faintly of fries, and we set off up the motor way. I was aware that although I knew my friend on a work level, she was not yet aquatinted with ‘Amy’ and that I should try and tone down myself so as not to be abandoned in the city! I am well aware that I am an acquired taste, not suited to everyone and that I have to ease my personality in gently. But the three of us had a brilliant night (well I did and I hope they weren’t just being polite when they agreed!) and we danced and laughed until 5A.M. Highlights of the night included becoming the centre of a dance off between about five guys all vying to impress us and failing, and a guy who thought that speaking Spanish to me would be alluring, only to find out later that I could speak enough of the language to be utterly unimpressed! From what I could make out he was from Chile and didn’t find my response of ‘is it cold there?’ funny. He also couldn’t get his head round the fact that my giant M&M bag wasn’t edible. Shame!

I was reminded of my age when I woke up at 9A.M with a huge headache and wishing I was back at university so I could hide in my bed all day and nobody would disturb me. But instead I was up and dressed; we had promised Skye we would take her on a surprise trip. She had never been ice skating before and Ollie wanted to take her. She was confused as we told her to find some woolly socks and a winter coat when it was so sunny outside. And even more uncertain when we told her she could wear her jandles to start with as we would borrowing some different shoes later on.

We pulled up to the ice rink and there was a huge pile of crushed ice by the back exit. I asked Skye what it was but she hadn’t the slightest clue! Once inside and hearing the echoes from the large interior she asked if we were at the swimming pool. It was then I pointed to the picture of a pair of ice skates and her face finally lit up. ‘Ice Skating?!’ she exclaimed! We hired our boots and sat down to put them on. Skye was suddenly quiet and after a few minutes said,

‘What are we doing next?’ 

‘Why what’s wrong?’ Ollie asked.

‘I’m cold, it’s too cold!’ Her face was full of worry. I couldn’t help laughing, it was cold but nothing I wasn’t used to. But her? I suddenly realised that maybe this kind of cold was something she had never experienced before. It was as if Skye was actually a little freaked out by the temperature! I told her that by the time we got skating she would warm up and everything would be fine. Pacified for a moment she then lowered her head. 

‘Auntie Amy I’m shy.’

‘Shy?’ 

Skye sat up on her knees and looked at the people already skating. Some were younger than her and already very good. I realised how apprehensive she was about not being able to do it and I reassured her that even though we’d all be rubbish to start with we’d soon get used to it. It was then that Skye agreed and pointed to a woman doing an arobesque across the centre of the rink.

‘That will be us in a bit aye Auntie Amy?’ 

I burst out laughing and so did the woman sitting next to me. ‘Erm, let’s just work on standing up Skye, I’m not sure we’ll quite manage to dance!’

The three of us hit the ice and to our surprise, Ollie and I had obviously clung onto the memory of how to skate and we were much better than either of us had dared to imagine. This was a massive bonus as it meant we could really help Skye without hanging on to each other as well! We were not great by any stretch of the imagination and continually had those novice skater moments were for no reason whatsoever your body suddenly jerks like it’s being possessed and momentarily your balance is yanked very obviously from you. But Skye was so determined. She only used the ‘zimmer frame’ like support for about ten minutes before the side became her best friend as she learned how to move her feet. After about half an hour and watching at least ten people smack to the floor she relaxed and stopped worrying that everyone else was so much better. Her biggest smile was when ‘Uncle Ollie’ did a spectacular trip and landed with split legs in the air. But much to her disappointment ‘Auntie Amy’ just wouldn’t fall over, not even when she pushed her many, many times! 

‘STOP Auntie Amy, STOP Uncle Ollie! STOPPPPP!!’ 

‘We’re trying Skye!’

What Skye couldn’t manage to get her head round was that Auntie Amy and Uncle Ollie couldn’t just come to an immediate halt every time she wanted to stop suddenly. She wasn’t happy with the fact we only had the ability to roll to an eventual end. This frustrated her very much; perhaps she wished she had come with pros! 

By the time we left Skye was almost a pro herself and I admired how fearless she was. I’m not sure she totally understood what ‘ice’ actually was even though we tried to explain but when we left and she saw the pile outside she ran over to it. I’m also not convinced that the kiwi in her could ever adjust to the cold. I think she thought that type of temperature was just plain wrong!

In the evening Ollie and I cooked a delicious roast dinner for everyone, complete with some of the best homemade roast potatoes I’ve ever eaten. I was so impressed by Ollie’s attempt at them! It was also my first ‘veggie’ roast without meat and you know what? I didn’t miss it one tiny bit!

* * *

And now it is Monday and the start of another week. It is also nearly April and we have been away from England for six months already. Where is the time going?

26/2/12

STOP! Collaborate and listen...

Books in New Zealand are expensive. Far more expensive than at home. And although I could be selfish and say this is a problem for me, actually, it is a problem for the people who live here permanently. Reading is, I believe, more and more unpopular. Not just within the younger generations but also the working ages, as people simply cannot find the time to sit down and read a book. And why should they when they have been at work all day and can instead flop down in front of a box that will do all the work? You don’t have to have an imagination to survive anymore, you don’t have to be able to think ‘outside the box’ ‘cos the fancy flat screen one in the lounge will do all that for you. And it’s a shame. It is also a bleak outlook. But by far this is not the case for everyone, there are still people who have a passion for reading, it just doesn’t feel enough to me. I think the introduction of e-readers has helped encourage readers because I guess it doesn’t feel ‘old fashioned’ and they take reading to ‘new and exciting levels’?! I don’t know. To me there is nothing better than making the first crease along the spine of a book you’ve just purchased. Inhaling that ‘booky’ smell and knowing that in two hundred odd pages time your life will be altered forever. And you were the one in charge of making that happen, you turned the pages, you constructed the images of characters, you made something come to life. This just isn’t possible with films. Someone has already done the best bits for you. Don’t get me wrong, I love films, I absolutely adore them, but nothing can compare to the feeling I get when I finish a magnificent book. It sends me into a trance, I can think of nothing else, and those characters are now a part of me. Forever.

So it is a shame that books over here are more expensive than Dvd’s. It’s as if they are on a pedestal and only the ‘well to do’ can reach them. And what a shame. What a shame that so many people are missing out. This is not a country filled with particularly affluent people. I know that if I only had $30 to spend and it was a choice between a Dvd for my family and a book, the Dvd would have to win. Hopefully their National Book Week has inspired some people to use their $5 off voucher and purchase a little piece of wonder, but I’m not so sure. There have been too many homes I have been in where there are absolutely no books to be seen. I couldn’t even begin to imagine my life without loads of books, let alone none! So when I used my own voucher and bought a book I’ve wanted to read for ages, my excitement was of course great. Out of the store, straight to the coffee shop to be glued to my seat for as long as possible. Perhaps one day someone will buy my book and race to become lost in it just as eagerly as I get lost in other writer’s. I suppose that remains to be seen...

* * *

The subject of this weeks blog is a personal one. Since being away I have had time to reflect on my life, on where I’ve come from, where I’m going and all that sticks those two things together in between. One doesn’t have to leap across to the other side of the world to gain some perspective, but I’m not going to lie, it certainly helps. We’ve only been away about five and a half months but that has already been time enough for me to introduce myself to me, and find out just what I might be all about. This might sound silly but honestly, at home when your life and everyone else’s is speeding past at a gazillion miles per hour never letting up for one second, it kind of becomes impossible to just stand still for a moment and decide if you’re in the right lane. But I am only young. Perhaps with more years grows the ability to command your surroundings better and make more balanced choices. Like Neo in The Matrix slowing down time so he can dodge the bullet. Like I said, I don’t think you need to leave your home to dodge a bullet, but for me it seems to have worked. 

I am not an easy person to live with. I never have been and quite frankly, I don’t think I ever will be. I’m one of those people some might call a ‘worrier’. I worry about everything. But you’d never know. Anyone who has ever met me would probably think I’m the most care free person in the world, but the fact is, I’m not. I’m also an impulsive person. The kind of person who’d create a massive argument just because they wanted a dramatic moment to give a particularly dull day some substance. The kind of person that no one would actually know what they really wanted, because in all honesty they don’t actually know what they want themselves. I’m as high as a soaring kite one moment and the next diving, falling deep underground into a hole. And maybe for no apparent reason. I play complex games in my head, parallel lives of what could have been, what might be, but always, always coming back to the one that is real. If I didn’t I suppose I would be in trouble. It is this small glimmer of sensibleness that I suppose keeps me in my life. Without it I think I would have fallen off the edge of the world years ago. So in a way it was my idea to go travelling initially. I had always wanted to do it, ever since I can remember I’ve planned my ‘escape’. Did I really think I’d do it? I don’t know, dreams don’t come with a deadline. 

And it was because of all this that I knew I wanted to marry Ollie. You see I didn’t think there was anything or anyone in the universe that could stop me wanting to see the world, to stop me leaving England, to stop me full stop. But then I met Ollie. Suddenly nothing else mattered, I was willing to give up everything I wanted if it meant I could have him. And I mean everything. When we were first together he told me he wasn’t particularly interested in travel, he hadn’t read a book in over ten years and he had the emotional range of an amoeba’s hair follicle (this turned out not to be true, but he just doesn’t realise!). Basically I’d fallen in love with my polar opposite. And it was pretty obvious in the way we both behaved. Ollie was a reliable pillar of his family’s life while I was the ‘Ohhh Amsie’ of mine. But for some reason none of that was a concern. But as much as I was flinging everything I wanted (or so I thought) out the back door as I said ‘I Do’ I just didn’t care. But I suppose ‘I’ wouldn’t have, because that’s me. Impulsive. But no. No it wasn’t that. I really was willing to put my dreams away in a box because to me Ollie was more important. I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t. Because I never actually really wanted to get married until I met him. Ollie was my everything, I just hadn’t known it.

If only life was that simple though. If only I really could have put the other things in a box. But I think we all know that’s impossible. Dreams are created to be dreamt, to be acted upon. And so after the confetti had settled I felt them start to creep. Like a rash they spread, slowly at first but then more feverishly all over me. I’d find them between my toes, at the ends of my bitten fingers, in the corners of my eyes and on the tip of my tongue. I had to be honest. Aren’t you supposed to live without regret? Well I would regret not seeing the world. And so I had to find a way to tell Ollie. To tell him ‘Sorry Ol’s but actually all those things I said weren’t that important to me, those things I said I didn’t want, well you see, I actually do.’ What would he say? And if I didn’t get the answer I needed, what would that mean for me? Even in hindsight I still can’t believe what happened. I still can’t believe that Ollie didn’t just say ‘O.k. we’ll do what you want’, he actually said that he’d changed his mind about what he wanted too! And so we left to go travelling, both fully committed and jointly participating in a decision we had made together because it was what we BOTH wanted. How cool is that? Do I need anymore proof that marrying Ollie was my best decision yet? That worrying gets you know where and unless you speak your mind, tell the truth and trust you won’t solve anything?

I can only actually begin to understand all this now since I have been away. Like I said, I needed to stop my world for a second so I could see the full picture. And already I am happier. We are happier. Having accomplished all that we have in the past few months has made the future a far less daunting prospect. I now agree, if you want something you really can make it happen, you can have whatever you want. It just takes hard work to make it happen. And you only really know you want something if you’re willing to do that work.

* * *

Another change that has occurred for me recently is the decision to become a vegetarian. In the past I’d never been a huge meat eater (I think it stems back to a childhood error of trying to feed dead pheasants but that’s another story) but I’d also never really given what I ate much thought. I’d never taken the time to think about where my food came from. Obviously I knew the basics, I wasn’t like the group of Aussie kids who were polled recently and found to think yoghurt grew on trees! But I’d never considered how the demand for food with a population as big as the worlds could be, and is, met. How our want for cheap food was affecting the way it was produced and what we might be doing to our environment. I know I keep saying it but when I was at home and life was flashing past without me making a chance to have an effect on it I wasn’t really thinking about what I was putting in my mouth. But that was wrong, I should have been thinking. It’s all very well to toss a plastic bottle into the recycling or buy an organic cucumber but if I’m still buying the cheap meat, milk and cheese then I may as well have melted the bottle and posted the carcinogenic fumes to the nearby primary school! (If I was on television, that last comment would have cost me with OfCom I’m sure!!) 

Ollie always wanted to go to the local market to get our fruit and veg and visit the local butcher, but to be honest I could never be bothered. What was the point when you could get it all at half the price and all under one green and white roof? How ignorant of me. I wince now just at the thought. I’m not saying shopping at the supermarket is wrong, of course I’m not, but I think personally, I should have been making myself more aware of the impact my food choices were making on the world around me. Now, I’m not one for shocking people into change, I am more of a believer in posing a balanced argument and letting someone make an informed decision. But in some cases to be shocked is necessary. 

I didn’t mean to come across the film. I was actually looking for a vegetable bake recipe. But I was on one particular site and curiosity got the better of me. I wont say what film I watched, I’m not writing this as an advocate or to change people, this is about me. So recommending people to watch a ‘shocking film’ would be pointless. Like I said, you have to want to be thinking about making a change, not be forced into it because you can’t get an awful picture out of your mind. Anyway the film I watched was pretty horrific. In fact it made me cry. Not just because of what I saw but because I had been foolish enough to think that in some cases it could have been any other way. Now I’m fully aware that not all meat production is done in the way I saw. I am astute and intelligent enough to realise that the film makers were using the worst cases. I get that. But that wasn’t the point. The meat I used to buy would have come from places like those. I know because I remember the price I paid. I wouldn’t have felt so guilty had I bothered to take an interest before, to have listened to Ollie. But it was guilt that I suddenly felt. I was part of the awful treatment that does go on, I was part of the demise of good farmers, I was part of the mass consumerism that is harming decent food production. 

So sitting on the sofa I made the choice. To be the difference. To make a change. Not only do I not miss meat in the slightest I also feel a hundred times better in myself. I’m eating healthier, I’m thinking about what I put in my mouth and I actually feel pretty great. Not great because I’ve done a ‘good thing’ but because I have made a choice that I hope will help me to make more educated choices in the future. And it is all about choices. I have also stopped drinking cows milk. It was actually that part of the film that affected me most. I stopped to think about just how much milk must be needed in the world. All the things that contain milk, all that it is used for. And I decided that if I could make one little alteration and switch to another form of milk for my tea, coffee and cereal that maybe in some way I could save a few pints of milk each week. O.k. it’s not a life altering difference and ripples won’t be felt across the globe, but it will make a difference to me. And I guess, ‘That’s all I have to say about that’.

* * *

I apologise if this blog has been a rather self indulgent one. And I’m sorry if it hasn’t ‘entertained’ as others might have but there were some things I needed to say and felt that maybe this blog was the place to think them out. I promise that next time there will be a new adventure and I will leave the personal evaluations alone...

12/3/12

*Please note - Before I am accused of plagiarism...I am fully aware I have used lyrics from a song as the title to this blog and a line from Forest Gump part way through!

the importance of wind direction cannot be underestimated...

Someone once asked me if I spent a lot of time sitting, planning, thinking and organising my thoughts before writing my blog. I only wish I had the luxury of time for this to be so. Perhaps then my writing would be better. But although I don’t give specific time to ‘thinking about what to write’, I am always thinking. Like everyone, I never stop. But for me, rather than just thoughts I actually narrate my life, as it happens, in my head. I’m sure this seems a thoroughly odd concept but I have never been any other way. It’s as if I’m telling someone a story without an ending and we are both often surprised by the next paragraph or sentence. And it is in this way I suppose my blog is formed. When I eventually sit down in front of the keys, all I have to do is flick back a chapter in my internal monologue, and there, in front of me is the story, all ready to be written. So I never actually stop writing, just not all of what I ‘write’ makes it onto the page. I once demonstrated to Ollie what was going on in my head and he lasted five minutes before he begged me to be quiet. Perhaps I am on the edge of sanity. 

One of my favourite past times when I’m on a train or in the car is to conjure up someone from my past or someone I might be missing and have a conversation with them. They are there in front of me and we chat and I never know what they are going to say, but of course I am playing both parts. I suppose the real madness is that often the two of us disagree! 

Words, mean everything to me, the spoken, and more importantly sometimes, the unspoken. Try and stop thinking for one second. A game I like to play. It is ultimately impossible. And how wonderful that we shall go on ‘thinking’ forever. What possibility. What excitement!

* * *

This weekend, Ollie and I took another one of our little road trips. We talked of nothing else for the days leading up to Three O’Clock on Friday afternoon and when we finally jumped in the car we couldn’t have been happier. Traveling of course was the reason we came here! Our journey was a long one. I had decided that I wanted to drive right to the very tip of New Zealand, to Cape Reinga and the place Maori’s believe their spirit goes to leave this world when they die. It was going to take us seven and a half hours but I was sure it would be worth it! There is only one road that goes that far and as night descended through windy roads and mountains, we were suddenly on a real adventure. As Ollie drove and I tried to sing along to the French ‘mix’ CD we’d found, I put to the back of my mind the cyclone warning on the television earlier that day. Surely it wouldn’t be that bad...

We reached Cape Reinga at half past eleven, both exhausted and both a little tense. The last few hours had dragged. Impossible up and downs, ins and outs, roads that had left us both feeling sick. Tempers were running a little thin; we had both been up since half five and done a full days work. We pulled into the cliff top car park, unable to see anything except a few camper vans dotted around. At least we weren’t alone! Ollie turned off the engine and that’s when we heard it. The wind. One hundred ghosts rushing past us, shaking the car and warning us not to stay. The eerie sound of gusts through sand and reeds, through rock cracks and across barren fields was enough to make me want to turn around. What an intense place. And it was only heightened by the black. We had no other option than to sleep in the car. We had brought pillows, sleeping bags and a quilt so we were comfy. But I was petrified of the wind, certain we would be swept over the edge. I am always more dramatic and fearful at night and I tried to tell myself this, but the rocking car was not helping!

As always when it is least possible I needed the toilet. Leaving the safety of the car must be what leaving the shuttle to walk on the moon for the first time must have felt like! As lady like as I could, I crouched down beside the car, tried to relax and let nature take it’s course. It was almost impossible to think as the wind blew me about and tried to take me away with it. Back in the car I felt something and looked down. 

‘Ummm Ollie....I’ve peed on myself!’ 

‘For goodness sake Amy! I suppose you didn’t check the wind direction?!’

‘Wind direction! It’s coming from all bloody directions!’

‘But you’re supposed to pee DOWN WIND!’

I decided not to reveal at that moment that I was never completely sure as to what ‘Down wind’ meant. Even so Ollie was not impressed. And neither was I, they were the only pair of trousers I’d brought with me and if the weather stayed this bad I would freeze in shorts! The rain came down and utterly disgruntled I dealt with the soggy jeans and got into my sleeping bag. This was not the fantastic cliff top camping trip I had envisaged and I berated myself for plans that never ‘fruitioned’ (my new word) as I wanted!

I woke an hour later. Well I didn’t really wake so much as come to full consciousness from the drowsy panic I had been lying in. I pushed Ollie, woke him up and demanded he move the car before we plummeted to certain death. Unhappily, to put it mildly, he obliged, started the engine and drove us in search of ‘safety’. Unfortunately the ‘safe place’ I thought I recalled, proved to be a lot further back down the road than I had hoped and after about a mile Ollie spun the car round, told me to get a grip and took us back to the car park. I did convince him to chose a more sheltered spot behind a large sand dune however and that silenced the wind to one rock of the car every five minutes and that was enough to pacify my fears. And so we slept.

We woke at six to darkness, rain, and wind. I was totally gutted. We wouldn’t be able to see anything and we had driven three hours out of our way for nothing but a cyclone we could have experienced from the comfort of a bed in a hotel. Agreeing on a couple more hours of sleep, we hopelessly turned over; as much as you can on a half reclined car seat!

Eight O’clock and the magic that is the New Zealand weather had transformed above into a beautiful sunny, blue-skied morning. Wow! It was still windy, this place is after all renowned for its gusts, but we didn’t care. It wasn’t cold and it certainly wasn’t raining. As we walked the path down to the lighthouse (past the toilet block D’oh!) we enjoyed the amazing view of a tumbling coastline falling into sandy beaches and an ocean the bluest I’ve ever seen. The whirlpools of Tasman meeting Pacific played below as we breathed in the freshest air. No wonder this is such a special place for Maori’s, it is truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. And there is a very wonderful feeling about this Cape. Even now, thinking back I have goose pimples. Just Wow!

Car still intact we left behind the wind and the wonder and drove back down the longest ever road, headed for Paihia and the Bay of Islands. In the daylight we were able to see the spectacular scenery the night before had hidden. The Northland area is quite extraordinary in its epic landscape of fields turning to forests, to coast and rocks. We reached Paihia early in the afternoon. No wonder people visit this part of the country in flocks! The Bay of Islands is by far the nicest place we’ve visited here yet. Like something from a film, little treed islands sprout out of crystal waters, boats bob up and down moored off secluded beaches and the windows of little towns sparkle in the distance. 

We checked in to a backpackers lodge and then set off to explore. We boarded a small foot ferry that would take us over to the little town of Russell just on the opposite side of the bay. It was meant to be very quaint! The Dutch Ferry Master was turning families away as he said the conditions were so rough on the other side it was almost impossible to disembark the boat, let alone dock at all. Of course this only made Ollie more eager to take the trip. He enjoyed telling me that he’d love to see what ‘Your Mum’ would do right now! The crossing wasn’t that bad at all and although the boat rocked violently as we were getting off, it was nothing I wasn’t used to in Cornwall! Even so, the other passengers were literally racing to get off, pushing past Ol’s and I, falling up onto deck and looking a little green. We just sat and laughed! 

Russell would have been a lovely little place but all I’ll remember it for is getting blown to bits! Unfortunately the town was facing right into the current wind storm and I could barely stand up let alone ‘take in the sights!’ We did find a nice cafe and I got to have pancakes but that was about all we managed! Rain appeared for about five minutes, in which time all the other customers under the shelter out doors raced inside while Ollie and I sat it out and then enjoyed the sunshine afterwards while they all looked on, foolishly crammed together indoors! I guess we’ve been here long enough now not to be put off by a ‘little rain’!! We caught the first ferry back, disappointed we couldn’t have got to know Russell a little better, but relieved not to be constantly taking a battering. I did have chance to find out that Russell is home to the oldest church in New Zealand and that something else important happened there! Probably to do with the signing of the Waitangi treaty between the British and Maoris. This region is where the founding of modern New Zealand took place and the whole area is rich in history and  full of small museums in peoples backyards desperate to tell you about it for a few dollars!

Back in Paihia Ollie and I had a look around and learned some interesting facts on Kauri wood from a DVD playing in a Souvenir shop! The ancient trees, up to 50,000 years old still lie intact under the ground, preserved in someway (ask Ollie) perfectly. They are kind of like an iceberg (I’ve decided) as part of the tree lies exposed on the surface, which is decayed an unusable, and part lies under the ground, and it is this which can be used. And what ‘uses’ they find for it! Amazing Maori carvings, furniture, boats, weapons, hot tubs! The wood is super hard and when polished has an amazing shine, an almost melting look to it. On one of our next trips we hope to go and see a Kauri forest and learn more about these magnificent trees.

* * *

After a shower it was time for something to eat and a relaxed evening looking out across the bay. Our waiter was one of the scariest looking men I’ve ever seen! Imagine Jim Carrey playing a freaky Navajo Indian in Ace Venturer style and you’d be half way there to imagining ‘Danean’!! He was pleasant and nice enough but his demeanor and face will be in my nightmares for a good while I’m sure! I’m not being horrible, he just had a face that would send shivers up your spine! I’m not talking ugly, just down right intense scary! And he wasn’t a Navajo Indian, he just had that kind of look! Anyway enough of that...

The food was delicious! I had chosen a Thai restaurant and it certainly didn’t disappoint. Ollie had a Sea food stir fry (of course) and I had my absolute favourite dish, Green Curry. Only I had a Tofu version (Yes Tofu, but that’s for another blog) and although I tried, I’m really not a Tofu fan. I just wanted the veggies and sauce really and both of those were exquisite. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it! We shared a bottle of New Zealand wine (of which I am now a huge fan!) and had a great dinner of conversation and getting a little bit tipsy! Afterwards we moved on to a bar, desert and more wine. 

As we watched the sun go down huddled under a blanket on a couch I felt totally at peace. We both had to pinch ourselves to believe just where we were. Suddenly things felt very surreal. I broke this ‘serene moment’ however by promptly dripping chocolate from our fondue all down the bar’s blanket. Ollie, to my surprise, was furious! He told me I had to be more observant, more considerate and to grow up! Apparently I was an embarrassment! I found the whole incident extremely amusing, especially his over reaction! I chose not to mention I had also dripped it down the table leg and along the floor. Apparently he is already losing hope for our children, and they aren’t even a twinkle in either of our eyes yet!

The second bottle of wine was enough for me to realise that perhaps bed time was upon me. It wasn’t too late, but after the busy day before, the night in the car and now the delightful effects of alcohol, I was feeling very sleepy. Ollie promised he was only going out for one more and that he wouldn’t be long. I didn’t mind, I would have stayed for more had I not had work the next morning. Besides I was happy. And there’s nothing worse than ruining a happy night by spending the latter part of it talking to the plug hole in the sink!

* * *

I heard him before I saw him. After the umpteenth attempt, the key finally found its hole and Ollie entered the room. Swaying onboard the ghost ship ‘Oliver’ he started to undress. I stayed quiet but I was feeling sick just watching ‘the removal of the shorts’. Finally they found Ollie’s ankles, but then he did the classic ‘trip and stumble’ and both shorts and Oliver were on the floor. I was just falling back to sleep when suddenly the drunken bulge next to me leapt out of bed, apparently to fast because next it was bent double clinging on to the mattress for dear life. Then I heard the sound. That awful sound. Like a train coming down the tracks a mile away. From somewhere in his stomach. ‘Out the door!’ I yelled. ‘Ollie out the door, there’s a bucket!’ After moments in the open air, my beloved husband made his way to the bathroom where he may have spent much of the night, I’m not to sure, because I was soon asleep again!

* * *

Sunday morning wasn’t quite the romantic ‘breakfast by the beach’ and ‘leisurely drive home’ I had imagined. Instead it was a divine five hours of coaxing my husband out of bed, fleeing the hostel before they found ‘the bucket’ and sitting in the car praying the cops didn’t pull us over. I did get my breakfast but I was sitting opposite Stevie Wonder who had developed the shakes and an inability to open his mouth any more than a centimeter. Simply delightful! But all was not lost. We had, had an amazing time away and we had laughed a lot. Ollie redeemed himself by getting me home in time for my shift and for driving all that way feeling appalling I’m sure! Perhaps next time we’ll go for three nights!!

5/3/12