That Fern Photograph ...

Ferns were the object of my photographic desire when I reached home.  No explanation, I just found myself falling in love with them ...

This photograph, there was so much wrong with it but I love it.  I'm tempted to get it printed Huge. 

There's been a wee bit of blogging done by my self tonight.  I'm trying to turn my curious gaze away from all that is wrong in the world and find some kind of peace of mind. 

But wait ... there was something I almost forgot.  This article was out there this morning and I loved it.  It opens with, and yes, I added (or girl) ...

Date a boy (or girl) who travels. Date a boy who treasures experience over toys, a hand-woven bracelet over a Rolex. Date the boy who scoffs when he hears the words, "vacation," "all-inclusive" or "resort." Date a boy who travels because he's not blinded by a single goal but enlivened by many.

Lena Desmond, extract from Date a Boy Who Travels

The Simplest Things ...

I woke at 5.30 this morning ... again.  Then again, I was dragging my tired self around at 10pm last night.  So much earlier than happens in Belgium.

My body clock has changed, possibly inspired by this small passion I have developed for lying in bed and listening to the dawn chorus here in New Zealand.

Today we're still on the west coast of the South Island of New Zealand.  This morning, we'll hunt down a glacier - Fox or Franz Joseph Glacier, although access isn't what it used to be since 2 young men were killed by falling ice a year or two ago. 

I remember the awe-inspiring feeling of getting up close to those lumbering icy creatures but I'm happy to remain safely at a distance with my telephoto lens.

The telephoto lens has been the lens of choice (as usual) on this trip ... even when it comes to the intricacies of capturing fern fronds.  I carry my wide-angle lens everywhere but it's rare that I use it.

This morning I was lying here in bed thinking about the air and the water here in New Zealand.  I've been loving them both.  The air ... I presume the quality is all about low population density and the extreme number of trees and plants, most especially as we have traveled through these massive national park areas.

The air is like air on steroids, good steroids.  And finally Gert understands why I struggle so much with his world in Antwerp.  He has seen me in the context of the place where I was born and grew.  But more than that, coming home after 8 years away, I am seeing myself in context too.  It's almost recommended ... that length of absence.

I finally understand why I like wandering so much. What it is about packing a car ... any old car, and just going.  And I see that I am a creature who works with her senses.  Here, where there is so much to see, smell and listen to, I feel like all of me is operational again.

Each region here in the South Island has its own scent.  Fiordland is mostly about the scent of water and intense beech forest-type vegetation, although the Cabbage Tree was in flower while we were there, and it sweetened the air in the most exquisite way.

Westland is more about mountains and forest, with huge sweet bursts of scent from the sea.  The coast here is owned by the Tasman Sea, where waves arrive from their beginnings hundreds of miles away.  Often the beaches are littered with huge pieces of driftwood and the trees on the coast bend inland, twisted by the powerful winds.

The sights ... Gert gets it now.  There is a visual smörgåsbord on offer out there.  We have stopped so many times along the way ... that mountain, this beach, those trees, that view.  I'm driving the little red car, the one that is happiest at 90kms but the days have been longer simply because there is so much to photograph ... not that you would know that, as I work through my fern stage.  I pull over whenever someone comes roaring up behind us.  Traffic is rare and I love having the whole road to myself.

The birdsong has stopped me in my tracks so many times.  There are the dawn choruses but then there are the Bellbird and Tui songs throughout the day.  And last night, here in Fox township, I heard the magnificent mountain parrots calling to each other ... the Keas.  They were about but I didn't manage to find them ... I was mostly too tired to try.

It has been the simplest and most basic of things that have made me happy here.  I loved those things before but now ... now it is more intense and I find myself wondering if I could give up Europe for home. 

That thought is quickly followed by the realisation that I probably couldn't afford to live here and that has been the most stunning thing.  New Zealand's current government has some disturbing policies  that seem incredibly shortsighted in terms of the future here, confirmed by conversations I've had with friends and locals along the way.  Some see it now, some don't but that's for another day. 

This morning it's about finding a good coffee.  I've been rapt with the coffee culture here.  It's an excellent one.  New Zealanders have always been wanderers on a major scale, as seen in our history, and it appears there are some who have gone out and brought back the gift of good coffee.

Anyway, a good morning from this wild coast in New Zealand.  I hope your day is a truly delightful one.

 

Seeing 'Home' in a New Way

I've come back to New Zealand, after 8 years away, clear on some of the things I need to see, do, and taste however there are other things ... things that have startled me as they have turned my head, again and again and again.

I've fallen for fern fronds in a fairly major way.  The hotel manager here in Fox Glacier just discovered me out in the front garden and introduced me to the hotel's private garden. 

It was grand out there ...

New Zealand's Dawn Chorus...an early morning recording

 

This morning, alarm set for 5.30, I woke at 5.25 and quickly dressed then set up the small video camera out on the verandah.  My voice recorder too.

Last night, Gert and I had prepared both pieces of equipment for this morning, wanting to capture something of New Zealand's dawn chorus on video and audio here in Manapouri, Fiordland.

I miss the birds in Belgium. I miss the Bellbirds and the Tuis. I miss the familiarity of the birdsongs I've grown up hearing, consciously or unconsciously, and I wanted to try recording something of them.

Gert offered up his video camera so that I would have a little bit more memory and it turns out that our cabin, here on Hunter and Clare's property in Fiordland, looks straight out across a tree-filled landscape and on out to the mountains in the distance.

I was hoping for a bit of a sunrise video too but that was a little problematic, as the early morning cloud didn't burn off till after 8am.

So there I was, siting out on the verandah, with the equipment (such as it is) as all those trees … the cabbage trees most specifically, quietly exploded with the sounds of 100s of bird voices welcoming the new day.

It was like a wall, or perhaps being enclosed in a bubble, of familiar sound … a sound that I love. 

And the air, have I written of the air here?

Fiordland's air is one of the sweetest in the world, to me. I sniff  it like a wine connoisseur might smell a wine.  It seems to be a mix of grass and stones, of the cabbage trees in flower, the beech forests that cover the land/  But more than that, here on the property, there are eucalyptus trees and all kinds of others too.

The most dominant scent out there was the sccent of water on river stones …or that was my interpretation. Over breakfast, just now, Clare explained that the watertable here is high and so perhaps I can smell the water just under the land I'm walking. 

But I love water.  New Zealand water, in all its forms.  The Tautuku bush walk after or during rain.  The smell of sun-warmed wet river stones.  The sea.  The torrential downpours that fall here in the South Island's rainforest country.

Then there's the quality of the light.  It has caught me this time.  Belgium has a high population density and the European traffic that flows through my adopted country means that I long for the sweet clean air of places like Fiordland … that place I spent two years living back in the 90s.

Gert and I squint when the sun is out. We are stunned by the light on these exquisite landscapes and, this morning, watching the morning light gently unfold … that has been something rather beautiful.

My senses are so enjoying this homecoming …

Tonight ...

I was going to sit downstairs here ... at the big outside table, near the forest, thinking I would attempt to capture the absolute joy that is living out here in the country but ... the table has these two lovely American girls talking of learning Nederlands and Italian, an Australian reading his book and smoking, trying not to annoy us with the smoke, and that dog ... the one that drops his tennis ball at our feet, waiting for us to throw it for him, again and again and again and again and again.

The church bells just rang, 7pm.

The air is warm.

It's good to be out of the city...