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.

In Australia and not dead yet

There must be 50 ways to be uncomfortable on a plane.



Two days after the most swanky New Year's eve party, I was on my 9 hour flight to Sydney, still recovering from gorgeous buffets, oysters, sashimi, flowing Champagne, wicked desserts, an entertainer, a live band and fireworks over the harbour. The Hongkong Cricket Club -no obligation to talk about cricket- had a lot to answer for : a fantastic venue and an unforgettable moment to share with Gwendoline, her partner Jason and their friends. The cherry on the Dim Sum.
No tearful farewells. We'll see each other again soon. I am not on the other side of the earth any more.

I had booked extra leg room at no extra cost, just near the emergency exit, rejoiced in the stretching and evacuating potential and ate all my toy airplane food. It was looking good. I then spent the night wriggling in a variety of half supine combinations and juggling with pillows and blankets, learning fatalism and discovering muscles and tendons I didn't know existed. I had just resigned myself to not sleeping at all when the stewardess woke me up with breakfast and the news that we were almost there.

Australians' secret glee

Words have been trotting in my head for the last weeks, all temporarily exiled by the enchantment of continuous discovery. I can't ignore their clamour any more and will reluctantly postpone going out into Canberra's blazing heat for today. From the word go, at Maggie and Allen's Sydney suburban house by the park, I discovered nature was everywhere. Indigenous myna birds, cockatoos, kookaburras, butcher birds (they sound lovely though have appalling manners, it seems), crested pigeons and others I am forgetting. At the Botanical gardens, I had to defend my cupcake against the encroachment of a greedy ibis and saw sci-fi plants and gumtrees with peeling bark.

That was enchantment number one.  Enchantment number 2 was realising that southerlies bring cold weather, that it is recommended for a house to face north and that the moon waxes from left to right instead of right to left. Enchantment number 3 is being tumble-soaked by the powerful waves on Manly beach and spotting pelicans fishing by Manly Sailing Club. That was just the first days.
Ok, I could list enchantments but it would be tedious.

Still, bear with me... A Goanna climbing up a tree, a blue-tongue lizard under a log and Bell Miner birds chiming in the Border Ranges rainforest where I had gone for a retreat. The racket of cicadas. Tree ferns, Antarctic beeches and strangler figs.

A guard of honour of grey kangaroos on either side of the road at David and Helen's home by the sea and the same little fellows munching grass behind the house every evening, like a flock of alien sheep. An emu in the neighbour's garden. There is no doubt his ancestors were dinosaurs. A display of rainbow lorikeets in the tree by the veranda. Anemones in rock pools and blue swimmer crabs,  pincers at the ready. Seals dozing on rocks like big furry slugs and shearwater birds at Montague island.

 Magpies begging food from Helen's hand in Canberra. Yellow crested cockatoos, Galah birds.... On a wet (yes, wet) trip to Tindbinbilla park, the trail of bubbles left by a platypus in the water and the wonderment at the appearance of this shy and rare creature. Koalas sleeping high up in the fork of gum trees.


And no, in case you were wondering, I didn't see sharks, venomous snakes, salt water crocodiles or the number of lethal spiders lurking ready to pounce on the unsuspecting foreigner/tourist/townie. And that in spite of dire warnings.

There is a secret glee, a good-natured smugness in Australians when issuing worrying information.  'Now careful when you go to the beach. A number of people get drowned every year.' (Sydney) And, 'OK guys, there are two first aiders on this rainforest walk. We have compression bandages for snakes bites, etc, etc...'. (Border Ranges National Park). As you start to tread gingerly, alarmed by every sinuous branch fallen on the path, you can't help noticing that some other participants (Australians) are walking bare foot. Or, 'Careful, when you get to the top, there will be leeches.' (OK, not lethal but gross). 'Last time, I was bleeding all the way down, haha. They inject you with an anticoagulant, you know.' (Gulaga mountain, south of New South Wales). 'Ah, and there will be ticks.' Ugh..... 'But those don't give you lyme disease, they paralyse you.' Sigh...

 This being said, I almost got carried away by the rip at Potato Point and have collected a fair amount of mosquito, ant and bull-ant bites. Not to forget the aforementioned leeches. They got me. Don't walk with sandals.

This afternoon, the sprawling suburbs of Canberra are ghostly in a hot dusty wind that hides the snowy mountains. Not snowy now. My friends have welcomed me like family. Laughter around the dinner table, bouncing grandchildren, board games, afternoon naps, cool beers, fish and chips by lazy inlets, swimming in jade and turquoise waters... We have rekindled an old friendship and created new memories to share when we see each other again.
In the Border Ranges, I have made new friends, from Adelaide, Melbourne, Perth, Darwin... 'Come and see us we have a spare room!'

Until arriving in Canberra's end of January's blazing heat, I would have declared that this continent is very green and mild, with lush grass and thick forest. After crossing the Great Dividing Range, it is the bush, gum trees sparsely dotted on miles upon miles of dry grass...an awe-inspiring vastness whispering in your ears.

Up and Down

Getting croissants in the morning is a matter of going down. Down from the 20th floor, greeting the doorman hunched behind his desk with a cheerful "Jo San"! ("Hello" in Cantonese, but only in the morning. I have no idea what to say in the afternoon or the evening. Just say "hi", I was told, how uninspiring), down a  steep flight of steps, across Holywood road, a smile to the antique dealer who owns a stall down the next steps, down more steps, walk along Cleverly street, turn right at the shop that sells dried food... when I say down,  I mean down. The young waitresses at the bakery have taught me how to order my cafe latte in Cantonese. Mm Koï, yat pui kafe, yu laï MmKoï. Mouthing sentences in another language - and be understood- is an ever renewed pleasure. Then back up, up, up and up with my pastries in a paper bag "In bread we crust".
I like place names in Hongkong. Island Line towards Kennedy town, Sheung Wan ("wan" means bay, loads of "wans" around here), Ladder street, as steep as its name evokes...

In Macau, place names are both in Portuguese and Cantonese. The city has been given back to China only 20 years ago. The old town is now a world heritage site and beautiful buildings in pastel colours make me think of elaborately iced cakes. I walk along its European-looking alleys, baffled by pervasive smells of Peking duck and soy sauce. In a vegetarian restaurant recommended by a young lady, I meet Wai Chong, who speaks perfect English. She is surprised to see me there. No tourists ever eat in that tiny place at the end of a back street. She orders for me, will insist to pay for my meal. Welcome in Macau! Most vegetarian restaurants in China, she explains,  have a religious background. This one is Buddhist. This is why no onion or garlic is used in the dishes as they disturb mindfulness.
I take the bus to the island of Taipa, where tall buildings and crazy grand hotels dwell.

In the Venetian, I wander for an hour or so along the Gucci/Dior/Longines/Vuitton corridors, have a peak at the casinos and eat ice-cream along the grand canal, complete with gondolas... Sorry Macau, you haven't quite out-blinged Dubai but, no worries, you are almost there. This is James Bond precinct... I escape to a park where remaining wetland and a few birds survive among the roaring traffic and a young married couple is being photographed in front of a colonial house.

With Gwendoline, we sail on the Hongkong straight in a classic junk. We are offered drinks, see the full moon over the water, the reflection of the city lights. Sails are lit red. It could be artificial but it is magical, like being on a film set of "Pirates of the China Sea" with Jackie Chan as its maverick captain.

It is the first time I celebrate Xmas at my daughter's, with her partner. We get up early, open a few pressies. Friends arrive at 9am, with bottles of beer. Start as you mean to go on. Up, up more flights of steps, later, to other friends with food and bottles adding to the magnificent buffet awaiting us. We play non-politically correct games. Roaring laughters. I get back early, down, down to the flat to phone Europe and snuggle up on the sofa. A perfect day.

One evening, I go to Ben's art class, down and along Queen's road. He teaches me how to hold my brush, how to give the ink different values, shows me the work of modern Chinese artist, emphasises the importance of the empty space, the white in the page, of trying the essential stroke.

Following his advice, I take many trains to go almost all the way to the border with China to the Art museum of the China university of Hongkong. I walk up, up into the forest surrounding the campus, perched on the mountainside. The permanent collection is not available but I marvel at the display of jewels from Tibet, Nepal and Mongolia. On the way down, I eat Dim Sum in a restaurant that seems to be a club for the university staff. Never mind. They welcome me, give me a menu, lead me to a table covered with a pristine white cloth, offer me a choice of teas, bring steaming dishes. I eat a sweet soup for dessert.

On the way back to Hongkong island, there is time to visit the monastery of the 10 000 Buddhas. Golden statues line the path up the slope. A lot of steps for a lot of Buddhas. Buddhettes adorn the top shrine, some holding a baby, not unlike statues in most catholic churches. I walk down a secluded path, where no tourists stray, where families of monkeys scamper away as I approach and spot signs for a bees farm, delighted to be away from buildings, busy-ness and traffic.

Gwendoline, who knows my longing for wide natural spaces, takes me to the island of Lan Tau. We walk along market gardens and up, up, up. It is only 24° but so humid that it feels much hotter. We walk down the path, more flights of steps to another harbour, a restaurant, the ferry to Hongkong island. Beaches ares still being cleared of the destruction wreaked by the October typhoon, the most severe on record, tangles of trees and branches, concrete blocks torn away from the promenade... I was recently asked whether I "believed" in global warming. It is a strange turn of phrase. Believing is not seeing and the effects of global warming are in front of our very eyes.

After 3 weeks spent here in the Far East, I can't help reflecting on how wholeheartedly consumerism is embraced. I met Isabelle, a French lady who taught French in Yunnan, China, for the last 15 years. People are happy there, she said, rejoicing in being able to purchase goods. For how long will they rejoice until, like some of us (not enough of us) in the west, they realise it is a downward spiral for our world?  In 100 years, will there even be insects left?

This evening, we will celebrate New Year and I hug and embrace all my loved ones, those are that present and those that are not, all y friends far and wide. I wish them to live in peace and happiness.