New Zealand ... and a dawn chorus

Last night, after an lovely afternoon and evening spent in the company of old friends, Gert and I fell down the rabbit hole into sleep.  It was 8pm, and it is probably more accurate to write, we plunged into sleep.

It's 4.30am as I begin this, here in New Zealand, sitting up in bed, laptop on my legs, typing as the Bellbirds begin the morning chorus ... I'm so glad to be home.  

Actually, if you select Dawn Chorus, on this page, you'll get a sense of what I am currently listening to, here in this city of just over 1 million people. It's a city like no other I've known.  There is always the sea and so much nature, in the most beautiful way. 

But I would say that, wouldn't I ... perhaps 'the most beautiful way' is going to be code for all that is familiar.

Yesterday, after our second long flight to the bottom of the world, Peter and Christine met us at the airport (with some mad Hobbit character, who I feared was an old friend in disguise - an exuberant character who would surely mortify me. He wasn't and didn't.) After the hugs and the tears (Christine and I) they introduced us to 'their' Auckland city on the drive home to Christine's parents.

Then came lunch on the balcony and it was no ordinary lunch ... it was a kiwi 'almost summertime' lunch, just like Nana and Mum used to make.

I, who rarely drinks tea now, had a big cup of tea in honour of those women I've lost.  There were the sandwiches filled up with fresh lettuce, hardboiled egg, tomato, and cold roast chicken, with options of cheese and of ham too.  And that big bowl of fruit and the sweet juicy delight of a fresh New Zealand orange.

It was bliss because it was familiar ... bliss because I was sitting there with old friends on the inside a New Zealand family again, bliss because the neighbours called in just as they always had back in my childhood home.

Late afternoon found me barefoot and in the sea, as captured by Gert back at the top of this post.  A mild sea, pale-turquoise and so inviting, writes this woman who forgot her swimsuit ... or togs, as we call them here in the land downunder.

Dinner was Snapper, fresh from yesterday's ocean, and exquisite, of course.  Followed by a huge bowl of  strawberries and ice cream.

And we were finished.  I was suddenly at a point of exhaustion where I completely undone.  Some deep  breathing got me to sleep, calming my senses and bringing me back from that place of complete overwhelm.

Our first day in New Zealand ... old friends who welcomed us in that kiwi way that is so familiar ... a mix of humour and tears, and so much kindness too.

Today we begin our roadtrip south with them.  Christine and Peter had long-ago suggested we fly in to Auckland and that they would drive us home to their place in Wellington, pointing out it would be a great way for Gert to get a taste of the North Island but erhemm, South Island girl that I am, I haven't done this drive either. 

We will be wandering off to Rotorua and Taupo today.  There may be one or two photographs taken along the way, much laughter, good food and some hours spent with some of the kindest kiwis I know.

Thank you to Christine and Peter Kirker, for that friendship you offered when I was a newby airforce officer's wife, for all those cups of tea and homemade baking in that sun-filled kitchen of yours on Base Woodbourne, and for keeping this friendship warm all of these years I've been gone.  It is so good to be back in your lives again.

Meanwhile the NZ seagull who shared his waters-edge with me yesterday.

 

Things Left Behind ... (written in 2006)

Thing: an object that one need not, cannot, or does not wish to give a specific name to. (things) personal belongings or clothing. 2. an inanimate material object, especially as distinct from a living sentient being.

This morning it occured to me that my life has been so much about leaving things behind ...

And it should go without saying  that I miss people more than I miss things ... mostly but today I was thinking of things missed.

I lived in one house until I was 20 and so nothing prepared me for the constant stream-lining of possessions that lay ahead of me. I moved house at least 11 times during my 14 year marriage to a high school teacher back home.  And then, 4 times after the divorce,  before leaving for Turkey.  There were two homes in Istanbul and now here I am, almost possessionless again here in Belgium.

I had so many books, over 400, a beautiful desk and chair, and a bed that I loved, back in New Zealand ... photo albums, a material history made up of precious things.

I left my winter clothing in Istanbul, with other things abandoned when my excess book luggage cost me a cool 240 euro.

I was flying back there in September 2005 anyway, on my way home to New Zealand but I haven't managed that yet.  The Belgian distracted me and here I am, still waiting to be legal.  Then legal to work.

Here, in this new life, I have two journals, a laptop full of photographs, my cds and dvds, my camera gear and my books.

The oddest things make me remember those things I've loved in other places.  Yesterday I bought a new cup. I love beautiful cups and this cup, its shape, its colour, how it fits in my hand ... it's perfect.

The new cup made me nostalgic for beautiful things left behind ... in Istanbul and in New Zealand.

Mostly I don't think of these things but sometimes, just sometimes, I miss them.

Past Lives and Memories

I struggled with how to title this post but I knew it had something to do with the nostalgia inspired by scent and a yearning for familiar things…

I woke early here in this Istanbul world and decided to get up. I’ve been alternatively working on photographs, with an occasional detour out into a new book I’m devouring but don’t have much time to read - The Attack by Yasmina Khadra, is worth checking out if you’re looking for an interesting fiction about suicide bombers.

It’s too early for anyone else and there is the promise of hot fresh borek if I’m patient, so I quietly found a banana to eat while my Turkish tea stewed in the top pot.

The banana was ripe and breaking it open delivered me back, just for a moment, to my childhood of bananas bruised by their trip to the river’s edge in our picnic box.

Savouring that scent here in Istanbul, so very far from the world I grew up in made me stop to think about the way that scent has been taking me ‘home’ lately ... the way that smell has become something akin to an album of memories I carry inside of me.

You see, there is a particular soap I use occasionally, it’s one that transports me directly back to a childhood of happy visits to Nana and Grandad’s Invercargill house. And a colleague of mine delights me by smoking the same cigarette brand that Nana once smoked, a long time ago. Gidon is less than excited by this fact that he reminds me of Nana ... as he is younger than me.

Shampoos and conditioners pick me up and transport me but they come from so many periods of this strange life of mine ... there were those childhood toiletries, then there is that one I used in America, another was discovered in Istanbul and they too offer a surprisingly powerful journey into memory.

It’s like that these days but the house is waking now - remembering took longer than I expected and my tea-glass needs refilled. Soon there will be piping hot borek in my tummy and here I am, creating a whole new set of memories in this different someplace else.