x365 Take Two

The year is drawing to a close – we have about 7 hours 25 minutes left of 2018 as I write this – and I have written in or thought about writing in this blog every day since this time last year. All of my fellow crew of daily bloggers and I have had ups and downs, moments when we have drawn a blank about what to post, or simply haven’t had the time or energy to do so, or when life has overwhelmed us. But it has been therapeutic for us too, perhaps when we’ve needed rescuing the most. And we’ve made it to the end.

So to my fellow bloggers – whilst I knew most of you before we began this venture, I didn’t know you all, and it has been an absolute pleasure getting to know you through the snippets of our daily blogs, learning about each other’s joys and fears, past and future, laughing together, and sometimes crying together too. It has indeed been a Happy Thing for me this year, and I will miss both writing and reading, and most importantly, I will miss the camaraderie of an intrepid few wonderful women who like writing enough to do it every day for a year.

Thanks.

And Happy New Year!

Distracted by the sheer enjoyment of my trip, this month’s blogging turned into a bit of a travelogue. I did have great intentions of writing posts about the simple things in life that make me happy. So, with this penultimate post of my daily 2018 blog challenge, it feels the right time for a list. This is what I might have written about if I hadn’t been indulging in the joys of travel in NZ.

• My house on a sunny day
• A walk
• Music that makes me want to dance
• Cooking
• Learning new things
• Crickets in summer
• Listening to inspirational interviews
• Eels in my friend’s stream
• A really nice hotel room
• The internet
• Coffee with friends
• Belly-laughing
• Love

There’s nothing quite like the feeling of arriving home from a trip and stretching out in my own bed. It was especially good this time, as about a month or so ago we got a new bed. And I knew I didn’t have to get up early in the morning. Ah, bliss.

I’ve written before that I enjoy going on ferries, and the Cook Strait Ferry is one of my favourites. The unglamorous part is waiting on the dock to board, especially at this time of the year as we slowly bake in the hot sun. But once we’re parked, and make our way upstairs, we can relax. It’s important to have things to amuse you on the ferry; although on or two of the ships have movie theatres, the one we boarded this day to travel home did not. So I had my camera, my iPad and phone, and a book.

The view from where we were sitting was perfect, straight out the window to the Marlborough Sounds stretching out before us.

The Sounds (fjords) were crisscrossed with pleasure boats and water taxis, people out enjoying this beautiful part of New Zealand on their summer holidays. The sky was blue and the sea was bluer. I snapped away, happily, making a couple of trips out to the deck to take photos, though the wind was a little chilly.

The sea was very calm, but as we got out into the strait, the north island ahead of me and the South Island slipping away behind us, and with a clear view down to the Antarctic, a very slight swell rocked the boat (and me) gently. Inevitably, I succumbed to my body’s need for a nap. Then I indulged in a pleasure that has been rare to me recently. I actually read a book. It was perfect – a comfortable chair, a view to look at from time to time, and a good story to keep me involved.

Another photo session outside, enjoying the low, late evening summer light, and soon we were in the harbour, our three-plus hour journey almost over. We were home within about five minutes of docking in Wellington.

On our last trip to the South Island, we had intended driving home up the east coast, but a huge 7.8 earthquake saw major slips destroy the coastal road that we had intended taking. This time last year, the road was finally opened, and this year, of course, we knew we had to stay in Kaikoura, support local businesses, and drive the new road, still not quite finished. The hillsides showed evidence of these enormous slips, and there were multiple stretches of completely new roads. When I booked several weeks ago, I got almost the last (affordable) room available, and so it was no surprise to see the town buzzing, the tourists and Kiwis returned. The day was bright and blue and warm, I’m sure the whales were out and performing for the whalewatch tourists (one day we’ll get around to going), and there was a healthy and happy feeling of rejuvenation in the town.

There’s something about the public holiday that is Boxing Day. The craziness of Christmas is over, and we can all relax. Some people head to the Boxing Day Sales, but not us. We were lucky this year, and my sister had acquired some whitebait, so we had that for brunch, and then in the afternoon, we all ventured into Caroline Bay’s annual Summer Carnival. Our parents had always taken us once a year, making what-seemed-to-be a major trip the 20 miles or so north, to have a swim in the Bay, eat fish and chips for dinner on the beach, and then watch the free concert (which in those days included beauty contests – including categories like Mother and Son, Miss Pre-Teen, etc – that are now long gone) at the sound shell, where we sat on tiered steps, or out on the grass where the dancers and uninhibited children performed impromptu to the music.

And then it was to the funfair, where the rides are only slightly more sophisticated than in the 1960s and 70s, where I still don’t win anything on the Chocolate Wheel (though my father’s number almost always came up, winning a box of biscuits or chocolates, a real treat to take home), and where they still sell hotdogs on sticks.

This year we went in during the afternoon, and Charlie and P had great fun on the rides, (though Charlie felt a little sick after her second ride on the Hurricane), none of us won anything on the Chocolate Wheel, the men (my niece’s fiance and her stepfather and uncles) all had fun on the bumper cars, and I took photos. The food offerings were more varied and more sophisticated than in the past (for example, a bao bun with pork belly and cucumber and lots of coriander that tasted of Vietnam) … as if any of us needed any more.

When my mother died three years ago, 11 years after my father, it would have been reasonable for my sisters and me to wonder what might bring us together again. After all, we live a long way from each other (in NZ terms).

Since then we’ve celebrated a major birthday for my elder sister, and today we are all together again, just to celebrate Christmas. And we’ve just received a wedding invitation that means it won’t be long until we are together again. That makes me happy.

I’m not someone who really likes playing cards, much to my husband’s disgust. But when we get together with my eldest sister, she digs out the Sequence game after dinner, we all pour ourselves a drink (sometimes wine, sometimes tea), and have a game, or three, or more. It’s men against women this year. Who will win?

Postscript: The 2018 winners were my sister and I. It was even over the first few nights, but we emerged victorious in a best-of-seven Final.

Even as a kid, I loved a road trip. Usually, it was because we were going somewhere that was more exciting than home! We would load the car with books ,take pen and paper to play battleships with my sister, and prepare for the adventure. The scenery was a bonus, but my father, the nature lover, would talk about it and point out features, or wildlife, that was interesting.

I’ve since road-tripped in many different countries,  and have always loved it. Places as varied as Jordan and Iceland and Thailand, in North America and Europe and Australia as well as here at home. I love the countryside, the farms and houses, the real places people live, the birds and animals. I love feeling part of the place as we drive through, the freedom to stop anywhere, to picnic wherever we want, to take our time or speed right through.

And so this last week or so, as we have taken a very circuitous route to get to my sister’s house on the east coast, has been an absolute pleasure.

Another day of reminiscing in the car, as we drove back to the ancestral home, over a beautiful, golden pass, caressed with snow tussock grasses, and into a river valley of hydro dams and resulting lakes, that become a haven for the thousands who arrive over the next week or two every year, to fish and swim and frolic on the lake on paddleboards and boats and waterskis. But this day there was a summery storm, and people huddled in their campervans and caravans and tents as the skies darkened, the heavens opened, and thunder cracked and lightening struck, so we drove on, past the spot where I caught my one and only fish (a brown trout), and across the new bridges at Kurow, lamenting the loss of the rickety old one-lane wooden bridges that always elicited a sense of danger, up the other side of the river through farmland and the gorge, and into my home town, or the nearest thing a farm kid has to one.

We had our second vineyard lunch of the week today. We drove over NZ’s highest pass, and I reminisced about a trip with my parents when I was a child, when the road was still unsealed, and the height of the fall from the road to the valley seemed impossibly high. We emerged into the Gibbston Valley, a mecca for Pinot Noir lovers, and tasted our way to Brennan Wines, where we sat in their garden and drank some more, nibbled cheeses and olives, and breathed in the fresh air. And when the rain came, we were safe under the huge sun umbrella to continue enjoying the peace and beauty of our location.

Is there anything better than a day that demands rest and relaxation, reading a good book, a snooze on the couch, maybe a walk in the rain so as not to feel too indulgent, and a nice meal at an Italian restaurant to end the day?

I like bad weather. I have no interest in living somewhere with warm/hot tempeatures all year round, with endless blue skies and sun. How extremely tedious that would be. No, weather is to be experienced. That way, nice days can be apprciated, and cold or wet or stormy days can be indulged in.

It is a little different when travelling. Fine days are easier to get around and focus on the scenery or sights. But bad weather days are oftn more memorable. On our southern sojourn, we have been lucky to have had four beautiful days that have shown off our stunning scenery. But this is New Zealand, and our weather is nothing if not changeable. So we were not surprised to wake up this morning and find the forecast rain was arriving on time. New Zealand, as a former prime minister once said, “is a very pluvial country.” Westland and Fiordland, where we were driving, are the most pluvial of all our provinces. The rain gives the West Coast its lush forest and ferns and green grass, so it seemed appropriate to be making our way through driving rain, with low clouds and mist obscuring our highest mountains. The reflective lakes had nothing to reflect this day, and the kahikatea forests were enveloped in mist, creating faded, eerie, ancient silhouettes. The waterfalls thundered into already swollen creeks and rivers, and we dashed through the silver beech forests to see them. We returned to our car, sodden, laughing, happy.

We are driving down the West Coast of the South Island, one of my favourite parts of the country. Whereas we usually make the six hour journey from Greymouth to Wanaka in one day, this time we’ve broken it up so that we can explore and generally potter around. And what a treat that has been. Even the weather has cooperated (although that is not set to continue).

Many years ago, before international tourism really took off here, there was a tourism ad that said, “don’t leave home till you’ve seen the country.” i don’t think it is an “either/or” situation. I think we should strive for both. And I’m happy doing that!

The silver fern is a symbol of NZ, and perhaps because of this, I have a particular fondness for the lush, green ferns that inhabit the NZ bush. Today we enjoyed a walk alongside a lake and river in the South Island’s Lake Brunner. The bush was tall and beautiful and primeval, the lake a deep blue, and even the area’s notorious sandflies stayed away. On a hot day the path was dry, the canopy kept the forest cool, and the light was pleasingly dappled. A happy thing indeed.

There’s nothing quite like the happy feeling of handwriting a list of happy things with a clean piece of paper and a good pen.

The criteria for a good vineyard lunch are as follows:

• Outside, preferably, but in the shade
• A good view of lots of vines, with a backdrop of hills
• Good wine, though it almost goes without saying
• A platter or something you can nibble on, and share, nothing too heavy
• A bit of peace and quiet – if it’s busy and noisy, what’s the point
• Plenty of time
• Good company

Hopefully, all these will come together today or maybe tomorrow.

We won’t have long to enjoy it, but I wanted my tree to be up for the Christmas visitors. I love almost all my decorations, but there are a few favourites that make me extra happy:

• My fat tuba-playing angels, bought in Thailand, never fail to make me smile
• The carousels, just the right size and shape
• Helen’s Christmas pickle
• My decoration that wishes you a Happy New Year in the Thai script
• The white angel bought in the US, made by a native American craftsperson
• The two little wooden violins from Vienna’s Christmas market, given to me by my nephew when he was only five because I expressed my admiration of them
• The pair of ice skates bought on the Amsterdam leg of the trip
• New ornaments from Estonia and Norway bought on our Northern Exposures trip last year – a transparent glass angel and a fat stone angel respectively
• My birds – a robin (very Northern Hemisphere but oh so cute), a little silver sparkly one, and two silver/grey birds with long feathery tails
• My felt and sequin strawberries which are festive red and green, and reflect the season in my part of the world perfectly

I could go on, but I don’t want to bore you.

1. It is beautiful, with varied scenery, and I get to see it at all times of the year.
2. We have a Goldilocks climate – not too hot, and not too cold.
3. We’re not yet over-populated, and it is possible to go to remote places and feel completely and utterly alone – in a good way.
4. It’s easy to drive here, and usually safe to stop on the side of the road to take photos.
5. We have social welfare and healthcare systems that, although they both have plenty of problems, are ultimately there to help us when vulnerable and in need.
6. Our electoral system isn’t driven by money, and our political representatives are diverse.
7. Our isolation and small size mean that we are interested in the rest of the world.
8. NZers are generally humble (except when writing this list).
9. We know how lucky we are.
10. We are not blind to our problems.

This is something that makes me happy.

Unfortunately, I’m not there yet.

My husband prefers sauvignon blanc over chardonnay and eats pasta somewhat begrudgingly. Whereas I enjoy the occasional chardonnay and think pasta is one of the great food inventions of the world. So once a week in the spring and summer, when my husband meets up with friends and plays twilight golf before they go out for dinner together, I get a solitary evening to indulge in my favourite foods. The decisions are happy ones – spaghetti, fettuccine, or penne (amongst others), tomato-based, cream, or pesto sauces (or all three or something completely different), commercial or home-made. I might open the chardonnay when I am cooking, or perhaps enjoy a glass earlier, with the birds outside, or with a good book, or both. It all equals simple contentment.

The markets are full of strawberries. I have a pot of basil sitting in my kitchen. And tonight we will enjoy a drink outside on our deck. I’ve sorted through my things for clothing appropriate to the weather, and have banished the others I have been wearing for the last six months or so. The sun is shining, and the skylight above my desk is open. Summer has arrived.

I recently cleaned out some of my late mother-in-law’s drawers, and found them lined with newspapers from 1967! The historian in me was delighted. They’re not the hard news pages, rather sports pages or TV reviews and either lighter subjects, and the Divorce page. A snapshot of times gone by, there was a page of divorce listings, complete with the “Grounds” for divorce, including the civilised separation agreements, desertion and of course, adultery. In cases of adultery, the “co-respondent” was also listed. I can imagine the citizens of the day poring over the listings and the whispering and gossip that would result if they recognised a name.

In these days before feminism, the men’s occupations are listed, and the women are recorded simply as being a “married woman.”

And finally, filling in the page was a large cigarette advertisement.

It is sometimes the best part of a planned event – the anticipation of travel, of a new place, of a show that should make us laugh. But I’m also very good at making it the worst part of a future event – imagining the worst, the unkind comments, the awkwardness, and all those things that can go wrong. Still, this afternoon I choose to enjoy the anticipation of this coming evening with friends, and Catherine Tate.

Last night, we caught up with another couple. We usually see them multiple times a year, but this year both couples have had pretty torrid times, including deaths in the family. We had drinks in a favourite cocktail bar, though my cocktail was disappointing, and then wandered down the street for dinner. We talked about family, about end-of-life issues, about work and lack of work, about travel past and future, gardens, projects, and our plans for Christmas and the summer. Best of all, we made firm plans to get together early in the New Year.

That makes me happy.

1. Ticking off chores, such as:

• • Make pre-Christmas appointments with doctor, and hairdresser.
  • Order new backup glasses, to replace the ones lost in Iceland last year in the Infamous Faceplant Incident.
  • Publish book.
  • Catch up on blog.
  • Make impulsive decision to relaunch Travel Unpackaged.
  • Finish Christmas shopping (or at least, make the decisions on what to get).

2. Beginning to feel relaxed, as the end of year and summer looms.

3. Making lists.

A couple of weeks ago, I was pottering around on my No Kidding blog and had an idea. Readers had commented from time to time that they wished they could print out or laminate some of the artwork (with quotes, or thoughts, or lists) to keep. “What if I put it together in a book or calendar?” I thought.

Three weeks later, I’ve published a book! I can’t quite believe it myself, but it was pretty easy to do online. Amazon self-publishing scared me off with requiring US tax numbers etc, even though I’m not a citizen, or resident, and wouldn’t be making anything from it. Likewise, a flipbook, which would have been the perfect format, wasn’t offered by many (I could only find one) self-publishing apps in the time frame. Likewise, I could have done a calendar, but as I won’t be here to organise postage and delivery pre-Christmas/New Year, it wasn’t really an option until next year. If only I had been inspired about six months ago before all hell broke loose!

Blurb was by far the easiest option for me, in the short time frame, and I’m thrilled their site was so easy to use. For a preview (or to buy it) you can click here or here for the e-book (and a longer preview there as well).

As a child, our farm was a long way from any native bush – 7-8 kms at least – and so we rarely saw native birds. The occasional fantail would visit, and give us a thrill. Then came years of studying and working in cities, and living overseas, where interesting birds were few and far between.

Then, in 1999, the establishment of a predator-free bird sanctuary in Wellington became possible, with the construction of a fence that prevented burrowing animals as well as anything jumping over the fence. Species rare to the region, and even some of which were previously absent from mainland New Zealand for over 100 years, were introduced to the sanctuary. It means that several of these are now common sights around my city.

I’ve written and posted about these elsewhere. But the tui, which was the first to flourish, have now been in our trees for years. Their sleek black and green plumage and small white wattles make them very distinctive. Pure, bell-like notes along with impossible-to-replicate clickety-clacking songs make me smile.

They are great mimics too. The last few days I’ve heard a bird-call that sounds exactly like a car alarm going off. I suspect that’s a tui. They are crazy, lazy flyers, flapping furiously, then gliding along, till they need to flap again. (They remind me of a Taiwanese taxi driver I had once, who constantly revved his car then took his foot off the accelerator. We were late for the airport, and I seriously contemplated asking him to pull over and let me drive.)

Even though tui are now a daily sight in our trees (though they frustrate me with their inability to pose nicely for photos), they never cease to make me happy. Here are some photos from a few years ago. I also have a video of one singing on Instagram here.