I do think, as it was explained to me from the outset, that I figured something out about myself, in the week I spent there. And it was counter-intuitive to what the meditations centre was all about. We spent long stretches of time closing our eyes, monitoring our breathing, and asking for some transcendent soul to reveal itself, in the hopes of achieving communal peace. And I discovered that I don't buy it, not entirely. I don't believe that inner peace is something that can lead to making this world, in all its flawed enormity, any bit of a better place – I think it's the other way around. You can't close yourself off from society and deal solely in the etheric – the world is out there, and it's only by getting yourself knee-deep in it, the good and the bad, that you can ever come to terms with it and, in the process, with yourself.
I'm grateful to the crowd at Christ College for having me spend a week there. I ate fantastic meals, learned how to build a chicken coop, and thought about things I'd never considered before, but this is not the way I could ever live my life, or even a longer portion. There's too much life to be lived, not contemplated in isolation.
I had already been awake for two hours when I drove down to Akaroa at 8:30 on Saturday morning. The weather had been gross from Sunday evening right through to Friday, which probably didn't help the sense of being cloistered, but it was gorgeous on the day I left. Back in 1838, French settlers set their eyes on the harbour at the tip of the Banks Peninsula, a rim of an ancient volcano that helped create the jutting ripple of land – the English got there before they had a chance to make any footholds though, declaring sovereignty with the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi, and so now Akaroa has just a petite amount of French-ness about it.
It does, however, have the salty smell of the sea, and some fish and chips that were the talk of the town. I walked along the walkway overlooking the rocky beach for a couple of minutes before I ran into Sam and Jonas, the two other guys who had been WWOOFing and meditating with me up the hill. Since it was too obnoxiously early to try the fish and chips, we went for a stroll through the town, past the lighthouse and up through a few steep sheep fields (possibly trespassing, the jury's still out) to get to a little grassy patch peering down on the small community.
High time for deep fried gurnard,
excessively salty kumara wedges (that's sweet potato, back home), and
a bottle of L&P soda. I worked it off by opting for the scenic
highway back across the volcanic peninsula, the wide mouth of Akaroa
on my left, the rolling hills dipping into the ocean on my right. In the right weather, it really is a great drive, and once the sinusoidal countryside settles on the flat, there's a panorama of the Southern Alps straight ahead.
I plunked my bags back in the loft in
Methven, joining the McGraths on a day trip to Christchurch. Peter
Pan was showing as the Sunday
family matinee, the playground was packed, the harboured nook of
Lyttelton at the other end of the tunnel (may I present the other
significant volcanic inlet on the Banks Peninsula) was in the same
dishevelled-striving-for-business-as-usual state as two months
earlier (the decades long earthquake repair is daunting – that
anyone stuck around is testament to the fact that this area is
important, and means
something to people), the view from the Christchurch gondola was
clear and beautiful (if windy), the Thai takeout was tasty, and the
full moon was a glowing orange on the lip of the horizon. A good day, in other
words.
On the
ride back over the dark, flat countryside, we got talking about food.
In particular, what's the typical meal back home?
I drew
a bit of a blank. Cod tongues, turrs, and seal flipper pie are part
of the local cuisine, but tough to say if they're typical. Then I
remembered a delicacy I haven't had in far too long: beans, fried
Maple Leaf bologna, toutons, and a tin of Pepsi. Substitute those
beans for Kraft Dinner and I'm in Heaven (bliss and coronary-wise).
I
didn't quite sell the car-full of CFAs that frying up some lumps of
dough on the outside and leaving the middle soft is delicious, so
this afternoon I ended up at the supermarket in Methven, picking up
vegetable shortening, flour, and a small log of ham and chicken
luncheon meat to substitute for the Newfoundland steak (it wasn't spot on, but it was pretty close). With a couple
of small hands to help me knead the mixture, the pan was sizzling
just in time for dinner.
It
tasted a lot like a weekend morning in Pasadena this evening – I
was nervous, since I'd never actually made touton dough before, never
mind the fact that you've got to get the lumps the right size, not
too small and not too big. Just the same, I think they earned their
hyped-up reputation (you time life events as either Before Toutons
and After Toutons) – granted, one of the youngsters ended up crying
mid-bite through one of the crispy golden cakes, but I blame the flu
that's going around, not my cultural culinary prowess.
About
twenty minutes outside of Methven, near to Rakaia, there's a family
farmhouse sitting empty for the next month or so. There's a lot to be
said about the friendliness of Kiwis – I met Cara's parents Ross and Averil only
twice, but it was enough for them to trust me with the keys for as
long as I'm in the area. There was a light skirmish of wet snow on
the ground tonight, so the wipers were flicking in time to Oasis as I
went down the lonely highway to the farm, where there's a bichon
asleep on my jacket in the corner, a fridge full of food, and a
glowing fire on the hearth – how do you go back to real life after
this?
The
reclusive nature of Christ College may have frustrated me, but that's precisely what this self-imposed retreat miles from anything is.
And yet, I can't wait to sleep in tomorrow morning, read a book, go for a
walk, try to cook some pumpkin soup, and nothing else – I haven't had that kind of luxury since
January sometime, and even though I've got a slew of things in the
works for the next little while, they can wait one day more.
Cheers,
rb
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