You know what I thought it looked like.
Lights, camera, action. This time though, to be fair, our bus passed a sign for
Hobbiton Set Tours, so technically, technically, I totally did a
drive-by through the Shire yesterday morning.
I arrived in Tauranga just before lunchtime, where my bonafide adopted Kiwi parent, Stewart, was waiting for me.
I've heard it said (many, many times) that Newfoundlanders are the
friendliest people you'll find in the world, and I don't doubt that a lot of
people from the Rock are pretty awesome. But we've got formidable competition
from another island, in the far distant antipodes. Stewart and his wife Jane
didn't know me, didn't even know what I looked like when he came to get me, but
through a family connection and a kinship with Newfoundland, we got in contact,
and in the midst of getting his own things together for a two month excursion
to the South Island, he drove me around the city, a perpetually sunny
settlement built onto the weaving inlets of one corner of the Bay of Plenty.
For a medium-sized city, there's a lot going on here, beneath the shade of
Mount Maunganui: beach tourism, logging, dairy, freight, cruise ships. The
dreary day turned into a hot, sunny day, and the crowds came out in droves.
We escaped the heaviest traffic by
retreating to their beautiful bungalow home near to Fergusson Park, kissing the
shores of the bay. Gooey homemade pizza, a side salad, fresh garden tomatoes,
and plump grapes decorated the table in the backyard, nestled in the thick of
flowers and several lemon trees. It felt a lot like summer again, the way it is
supposed to.
And then the phone rang.
Boating is a big thing over here; the marina
in Tauranga is chock full of yachts and launches, and everyone learns how to
skipper a vessel early on, or at least has a general idea of what to do on
board. On the one hand, I shouldn't be surprised that they would know someone
who has a brand new, 40-foot boat, not long back from an exotic fortnight
journey to Great Barrier Island. On the other hand, considering that they only
go onto the sea with these friends 2 or 3 times a year, it would take some sort
of uncanny, undeserved luck to get invited out that day, wouldn't it?
About an hour later, I was having afternoon
tea and homemade cookies on board a huge launch with its own bedroom, kitchen, and upstairs steering deck and lounge seats, bobbing up and down on the
same Pacific waters that I dipped my feet into. And the thing was, chatting
about how the Kiwi school system works, the public compensation system of the ACC,
and the work of the local Rotary Club, I felt like I was instantly part of this
place, a 180 degree shift from home. Not long after that, I was drinking New
Zealand sauvignon blanc and chocolatey Spreight's beer, pinching myself and
convinced that I only imagined that I was snowshoeing in Pasadena a week ago.
I haven't waken up yet.
After supper of sausages, avocados, fries,
salad, and prune chutney, we poured over a map of New Zealand, made plans for
the coming week, and as soon as the address book came out and Stewart started
ringing old friends who owned fruit orchards in Hawkes Bay, I tried to think
about the last stranger who did all this for me and had to admit that
Newfoundland doesn't have to give up its friendly crown – this kind of
treatment is in a class of its own.
This morning is another sunny day, with lots
more to see in the area and enough time to lose the lost tourist feeling and
embrace a sense of family and belonging. Over cereal and rhubarb from the
garden, myself and Stewart and Jane's grandson toured the area on Google Earth,
and I got a lesson on how boarding schools work – with their house cup
competitions and prefixes, my uncultured brain made an instant connection to Harry
Potter, but there's a major emphasis on athletics and practical skills
(part of their program sends them to an old logging camp near Lake Taupo for 6
months, where they cut firewood, cook meals, and hike mountains), which doesn't
necessarily lead to wizards, but it sure does churn out really rounded
individuals. I'm a bit jealous – but then again, there's a lot of day-to-day
things in New Zealand to be jealous of.
I saw some of the southern stars last night,
now that I'm outside of the light pollution of Auckland, but it was too cloudy
to get a good look. Fortunately, I've got a little bit of time in this tucked
away corner of Paradise to crane my neck into the spheres – hard to say what
I'll wish for if I happen to catch a glimpse of the first star, just the same.
Cheers,
rb
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