Miss-ups, pits and frinds

I love accents but, after three weeks here, I still need reminding.

'How do you spill your name?', asks the plump lady behind the counter.
'Vee ee en en'
'Could you repeat that for me?'
'Vee ee en en, like the diagram.'
'Ah! Vee een in in!'
'Yis. Vee ee in in.' I delight in the mimicking. I must have been a monkey in another life. We both laugh.
That visit at Mangawhai post office (cum service station) was the consequence of my first mess-up.  Having forgotten all my swimming gear in a hotel on our little tour up north, I had to mail them a courier bag. 'It's on its way! I packed it mysilf', was I told on my last worried phone call to Paihia motel.

My second mess-up is being vigorously remedied as I write. You would think that, in a period of drought, and being dependent, like most people, on a rain water tank, I would remember turning off the garden hose tap, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you? Well... Thank God, it is now raining with a vengeance, a dense, obstinate and drenching downpour that makes for a keen perusing of the internet to see whether Mangawhai movie theatre has anything on.
There might not be much of a chance of that, as I have been kindly advised to get food supplies, in case I am stuck at the bottom of the drive. I did. I do what I am told. I can already see myself sitting in the van with torrents tumbling past me. Surely it will not be that bad, will it?





The plan was to spend some time progressing with my novel. I get forever distracted from it but I don't despair. I play guitar, prepare meals, drink cups of tea, read fantasy novels with a lot of dragons, write a rambling blog and go on very wet dog-walks.






Lola, nicknamed (by me) Her Ladyship, Sweetie Pie and Little Miss Muffet, draws attention to her. When we go to the beach, people always wonder what sort of breed she is. I provide knowledgeable information, as if I had always known there was such a breed as an Italian truffle dog. I am her current pet, as her two usual dedicated servants are away. She kindly takes me out, lets me feed her, give her treats and brush her hair. In exchange, she graciously sleeps under my bed, allows me to rub her belly and entertains me by letting me throw her sticks and tennis balls that she will refuse to release (or not without growling. This is serious stuff).

She couldn't be more different from Zoe, whom I was introduced to in New South Wales and Canberra. A sturdy and rambunctious chocolate Labrador, she owns three diligent humans, Helen, Jeremy and David, in decreasing order of diligence. She has not yet managed to convince them that running after kangaroos is a worthwhile pursuit but she doesn't hold a grudge. In exchange of their good service she helps load the washing machine, with a preference for the niffiest socks.

Minnie the cat, in Sydney, will reward the devotion of her lady-in-waiting by showing her how pretty she is, flicking her tail, letting herself be fed and stroked and by striking at random with claws and teeth. Just a warning, mind. Ladies-in-waiting shouldn't become too familiar with a queen. You gotta love her spunk.

There is more variety to my life than giving a pet review. Ken and Kathy took me sailing for a day. I was amazed at how familiar it all felt. I must have digested more about sailing than I thought. We had some drizzle and a limp wind so we'll have to do that again. Still... At one point, both sails were up, the engine was off, and in the blissful silence, Kathy put music on, a pure Celtic voice, the perfect accompaniment to jagged rocks, cloudy skies and silver seas.

Andrea is a Transactional therapist, a mother of three boys, owner of many chickens and of a wooden house that she is transforming from little more than a shack to a family home. She has vision. Before sitting at her table for a vegan meal, she showed me around the grounds of her property, the 60 trees she has planted, for fruit and shade, the sun-facing slope for the herb garden rockery, the circular area that will be a flower of life mandala and the emplacement for the future pond and water slide. Let's not forget a huge vegetable plot, already full of Kumara (or sweet potato, a new Zealand favourite). How she finds the time, I don't know. Never mind finishing her masters degree. She took me boogie boarding, riding the waves for beginners, a lot of fun and far less daunting than surfing. We will drive together to New Zealand Spirit Festival in a week. She is becoming a friend.

I find here a crowd of inspired people engaged in a variety of spiritual and/or ecological paths, Tai Chi, Yoga and Qi Gong classes, five rhythm dance groups, health food stores and organic market gardening aplenty. Ken and Kathy drove me to a spiritual commune named Absurdistan (yes!) where, in the octogonal hall dedicated to Sufi twirling, an Irish musician played and sang tunes from around the world, his guitar sounding in turns like a Koto or an Oud. Sunday evening, Josie invited friends for an evening of songs, poems and music. Adults and children shared, chatted, met, reconnected. Lizzie sang a Maori song learnt at school and played the tin whistle. Her brother read a poem. We had Scottish songs and some foot-tapping Irish tunes with Jess on the violin and me on the guitar.  And more. Much more. A heart-warming, joyful, moving and easy-going time.
No, this is not a fair-sized town I am speaking of here, but a few sparsely-populated widely-spread villages. A testimony to a dynamic community life.

I realise that traveling obliges me to be in the 'here and now', to learn 'mindfulness', as it is now coined. In a constant state of flux, worry or anxiety surface at times, when health falters, when unexpected snags occur, when the infinity of choice is overwhelming.... Freedom is the silver lining of uncertainty. I feel at one when the path is clear and I relish this time of peace in the cottage among the lush greenery.

Carla wrote the NO GOAL manifesto.
1. I am. I breathe. here and now.
2. I don't know. The luxury of emptiness.
3. I go with the flow, with the pulse of my soul.
4. I have no goal. I see what happens along the way.
5. I have no story. I let creative spirit write my story line.
6. I have no choice. I follow.
7. I trust and surrender. I let go.
8. I miss out. I escape pressure and expectations.
9. (and this is my favourite). I wander. I keep myself as a pilgrim and a guest upon the earth.

Star Trek toilets in a one street village

In Mangawhai village (pronounce Mangafai), there are public toilets. Electronic button-pressing pods, of the stressful kind when I never know whether I am safely locked in or will be released at all. Now, these are squeaky clean. A stewardess voice rises to welcome me, to assure me it is locked and that I have 5 minutes, ready or not. A soft musak (Come on! Really...) surrounds me and when the door whirrs open, I am surprised not to have been transported onto another planet.

This being said, flight travel has that beam-me-up-Scotty effect... The body has landed but the mind plays catch up. For the new reality to sink in, I try to visualise the map of the world. It doesn't work.

Starship Enterprise would have been an improvement over the cheap airline I have chosen for flying to New Zealand. After a long wait for checking in at Sydney's international airport, I am told my flight is cancelled and am redirected to another desk. I queue. I fidget. I wonder where the hell are my travel insurance papers. But all is well : I am transferred onto another flight, no extra cost, phew, and here is a $10 voucher for breakfast. Thank you. Reassured, I scuttle off to another queue. I stand. I wait. I am informed the flight is full. I rush back to the previous desk. I queue. Who told you that? No! No worries, there are still a few seats available, better hurry back, though. I run. I queue. Incredibly, I check in. Desk yoyo. Hours of fun.

Any airline would have been un upgrade on the one I have chosen but relief and joy are short-lived as I shuffle for another hour in the customs queue at Auckland airport. We wouldn't want any nasties to  enter these beautiful islands, now would we... Too right! I learn that possums, for instance, indigenous to Australia and a protected species, are the most damaging animal pest here.

My original idea had been to stay for three months in Australia. That's until I received a message from my friend Carla, in Northland. She was going with her partner Alistair on a vintage car Tiki Tour and needed someone to house and dog sit for them. I would stay in a rustic cottage, surrounded by lush greenery, down a (steep) drive, 15 minutes from a stunning coast. Was I interested. Erm... Let me think... A chance to reconnect with my friend, to enjoy peace and quiet to write and ponder, to not be a tourist but share, for a while, the life of a   community... 

OK! Change of plan!
The first few days were spent in an easy-paced flurry... negotiate the van up the drive, find my way around the area, work the generator to use the washing machine, locate the best dog-walking spots, health food shop, yoga and Qi Gong classes .. Carla took great care in showing me the nicest cafés, lined up a picnic and a concert for me and introduced me to friends so I wouldn't mope in the cottage on my own lonesome. She is also a celebrant. A Kiwi-Maori couple and their three children kindly included me in the barefoot wedding ceremony Carla was conducting, on the beach, under a tree, between showers, with the surf crashing in the background. Followed by a tailgate picnic of sandwiches and nibbles. A very moving moment in its simplicity. 

I had another opportunity to think about rituals and how they give meaning, rhythm and focus to our lives and to the world around us. Tow days after I landed, Carla led a Brazilian Yemanja celebration on Mangawhai beach. We had our bathing suits, white, blue or green robes, brought flowers, music (I had a guitar kindly lent by Mangawhai's guitar teacher), stories and poems to tell and food to share. It was a unique way to meet a group of lovely local ladies and to give offerings of flowers from the land to the goddess of the sea. Within a couple of days, Yemanja had taken them all into her depths and none was left by the surf. She had accepted our gifts.

The seas need all the protection we can give them, spiritual or otherwise. One evening, Alistair told a story. He had been on the Rainbow Warrior 20 minutes before it was bombed. He talked of the long deep swell of the Pacific ocean when he sailed with friends to French Polynesia to protest against nuclear testing.
For the last 5 years, he's been rebuilding a Talbot and for the last 2, preparing a rally for the Talbot owners association. A bunch of car nuts (most of them English) in fantastic contraptions was flocking to Auckland. The reason for my dog-sitting presence. As the starting date loomed nearer and he was still sorting mechanical problems, I was offered to share the first three days of the tour with Carla and explore Northland in a bright red Morris minor. Now, we felt very glam with our scarves and shades, eliciting comments on the way, "Hey girls (girls!!), looking great!". Tourism in style.


In Paihia, we hopped on a "dolphin discovery" boat trip and quickly located a big school of adults with little ones. We were told young dolphins need to eat very often to maintain their body temperature. Were we to swim with them, they would just want to play and forget to feed. So, we admired them from the deck.  A small hammerhead shark slithered under the hull as we left. The Bay of Islands Swordfish Club in Russel, dating back to 1910, served us a fantastic buffet with appetising seaa-food. My new decision to become a vegan was short-lived.

We visited Butler Point whaling museum, feeling quite sick at what we did (and continue to do) to animals. And yes, I can see the paradox with my sea-food comment. Back to a vegan diet. By the lapping waters of Mangonui harbour, an old settler home and garden, still in use now and open to the public, transported us back to the reality of early immigrant life in Northland. We spent the night in Omapere, at the mouth of Hokianga harbour, on the west coast, so much more rugged than the east. I could see the waves crashing on the shoals at the entrance to the estuary... On our way back to Mangawhai, we paid tribute to a 3000 year old kauri tree in Waipoua native forest. Tane Mahuta, "Lord of the Forest" is said to be the 4th biggest tree in the world. Well, it left me in awe... There were bigger kauri trees that were felled in the past. A land of giants...

Carla and I left the main roads and rattled back east on a series of gravel roads twisting and turning up and down and releasing clouds of dust. It made for some really concentrated driving from Carla and some complicated map reading from me. We felt lost in the middle of nowhere. Desperate for some relief from the beating sun we skinny dipped in a river snaking through a valley before reconnecting with asphalt and "civilisation".


I am now sitting at the garden table. The rattle of cicadas talk of high summer. Birds chirp, hens peck,  Lola (a fluffy and good-natured Italian truffle dog) sleeps in the shade, a cool breeze teases the parasol and I reflect what an interesting balance New Zealand has achieved, between wilderness and modern conveniences. The Anglo-Saxon drive mixes well with the laid-back Maori culture. Maori is compulsory for all children in primary school and all learn the old legends of the first Polynesian settlers. I find here an easy-going welcome, a no-fuss friendliness, a natural solidarity, a can-do attitude. Even without the rose-tinted glasses of a first-time visitor, I can see New Zealand is efficiently administered, with a duty of care for the natural world. It also helps that it is sparsely populated with 4.5 million people, distributed along 2000 km (1300 miles) of country.




It isn't immune from global warming : bush fires have been raging in Nelson, in the north of south island and people depending on rain water tanks in Northland see their supply dwindling.  The ozone layer is quite thin over this part of the world. One quickly feels the sting of the sun.