first the sun, then goodbye
October 25, 2005Onemana, New Zealand
9:45pm
First Tuesday sunrise in the world.
Nothing was stopping me from writing tonight, other than my desire to wait until tomorrow so I could; write the night before we leave here, summarizing my time here on the Coromandel Peninsula, and capture the journal writing wet dream of having dinner at the Germans for their son’s 5th birthday party.
But.
Tomorrow night will be hectic enough without me trying to squeeze some writing in and c’mon, once you have captured the dreamy moment of watching a husky fraulein being milked by her toddler son while her gap-toothed, I am faking not understanding you, pony-tailed husband stands, nods, and smiles, there is simply no where left to go, besides, the last three days is jammed enough to offer you, my loyal reader, and me, the loyal writer a couple of good paragraphs to entertain us both.
Sunday morning erupted here with a blaze of sun and a sky so blue and spread out you couldn’t imagine it raining anywhere else in the world. It was our Cathedral Cove day, and the weather offered us the perfect canvas in which to paint or family adventure. Cathedral Cove is a naturally formed cove right on the beach about an hour north of our home, and a solid 45-minute walk from the parking lot. A very full parking lot. A wait for someone to leave to get a spot parking lot. It was the Sunday of a long weekend here in NZ, their Labour Day, and the first dash of sunshine for the North Island in a long time. We knew that going in, we expected the crowds, and were not going to let it squish our day at all. So with blanket, a picnic lunch and an armful of blonde boy we made our way down the path that wove in and out, up and down a cliff to get to the Cove and the beach surrounding it. The sign said 45 minutes, but we know what that means with a now over-confident boy who shows his little truck to every single person within a ten foot diameter from Steph, and me, the balding pack mule with bags and blankets hanging off all appendages. Well. Not all.
So about 70 minutes later we reached the beach and Cove.
What can I say? The Cove was only kind of cool, an open cave that the surf broke right inside of, making it almost impossible to get to the less crowded beach during high tide. The tide was on its way out though, so we decided to go the crowded side, eat our sandwiches and contemplate the cross when the water receded. The crowded beach was still magic; huge boulders, a trickling of water down the cliff you could stand under (Hud did) and view of the ocean peppered with small islands as far as the dusty eye could see.
On crowded beaches, if you get a little spot, spread your shit out enough, it always feels not as crowded. Everyone knows everyone is trying to soak in the sand and sun and surf, so one gets in each other’s space too bad. Although after my exercise in drunken snide writing the previous night, my stomach was gurgling as each whiff of the group of Brits in front of us cigarette smoke drifted up my nostrils. But we accidentally chose a spot very close to the one bathroom, so all was good.
I went swimming. I was so happy. It’s been since the end of August in Waiheke that I last braved the about 65-67 degree water, only because the air was colder. With the sun shining high in the sky, I walked directly into a big wave, never once pausing to shiver or give my testicles a chance to talk me out of dunking them in, one by one by one.
We ate our lunch and Hud just whipped around, never once cowering in our legs or hiding his face as the smokers smiled with their googly eyes and tiny bikinis. Suddenly their was a murmur in the crowd down the beach, I looked up and out to the ocean and low and behold, there it was, a fucking killer whale, rolling in the water, about 40 ft off shore, showing both it’s dorsal fin and then it’s much bigger side fin.
Awesome. I quickly grabbed the camera and got some ok pictures of the pod of five killer whales swimming up the coast, emerging every ten seconds or so to give all us gawkers a story to tell. Add Orca to the list. Amazing.
After the whales, Steph and I woo hooed and high fived and agreed now was the time to try and cross to the less crowded side through the Cove. I went first with our crap, and timed it so water only went up to my thigh. Next up Hud. I put him on my shoulders and we emerged unscathed and unsoaked by the pounding surf on the other side. I placed Hud down and went back to check on Steph, who I thought was right behind me. Just as I approached the corner, here comes Steph, running when walking would do, and stepping into an underwater hole I kind of forgot to tell her about. She goes down. Knapsack gets soaked, pants in her hand drenched, but, and here is when it gets tragic, the Gucci sunglasses fall into the swirling white surf. Arrrgh!! Steph is devastated, because immediately it is hopeless, three foot high waves are crashing into the rocks, a small but steady rip pulling the water back into the ocean. Those pricey specs are long gone.
We start to get out of the water to get Hud, who is running around on the beach like an crab. Steph says one last look and wades out about ten more feet. She looks down, and in only the moment between wave and rip tide, she is able to dip her fingers in the four-foot of ocean and snatch out her now infamous glasses. You could not find a happier woman on that beach. The Gucci’s now have a story to tell.
After more swimming we left, the walk back to the car much quicker with a more determined son, who also rode my shoulders a bit of the way. Cathedral Cove. Check.
Sunday night was spent across the street for a BBQ and Ross and Sandy’s house, more retirees, but this time Tina, the daughter and her partner were there with their two kids, a five year old boy and a seven year old girl. It is difficult to say it was more pleasant then the previous night, but definitely more our speed, as both the older and younger generation were more our type of people. The only thing I mean when I say something like that is they get my jokes. You want to be a friend of mine for life? Get my jokes. Don’t just laugh at them. Get them. I know the difference and they are not that complicated. So the evening was full of fattening food and more bottles of wine. This time everyone at the table got a chance to tell a good story, not one of them just ignoring and waiting for their turn either. I can’t stand that. Everyone was polite and mildly charming and quirky enough to be interesting. Hud of course had a super time with the kids. Such a beam he has when mucking up with other kids, wrestling or jumping on beds. It’s like he is blushing because he is having too much fun.
Monday Morning. A pig farm. Yep. Pig Farm. This was Steph’s gig and I was coaxed out of bed to go much to my lazy reluctance. It was only a ten minute drive away but I thought it was just a coffee talk with Philippine woman and her 16 month old son. Steph got me to come because her husband Tony was there and would give us all a tour of the farm.
When we arrived, our host greeted us at the end of a circular drive, in front of her very nice bungalow style house. In back were wire fences, blocking off a narrow section of land. A medium sized group of barns sat lonely at the other end. Immediately I was led to the garage to meet Tony and a friend of his Mario, who was visiting to work out with Tony. So Tony and Mario are in the garage working out. You would think this was a gym at College and Clinton. But no, Tony was from NZ and Mario was from Slovakia. So my immediate mafia jokes were dashed and chucked to the back of the brain. But holy mother of god were this guys in good shape. Tony, who looks like actor John C. Reilly, looked as tight and hard as a lug wrench, biceps like two oranges trapped under his skin, and to top off the perfect image, a mouth full of gold teeth. He looked like the kind of guy that stands behind the boss punching his leather fist into his palm; making you weep like a sad little girl because you don’t have the money you owe him. Mario, is just under 6’5” and not as tight and hard, but pretty close. He has a round eastern European face with the slight trace of Mongol in the eyes. Basically he looks like a KGB drone that uses the same wire to cut his soft cheeses as he did to garrote prisoners refusing to accept communism as a way of life. They both shook my hand with a steely grip. I am a writer I managed to squeak out as I sucked my unsuckable stomach into my body. What are you writing they asked? How to not pee your pants in situations like this I thought.
I did tell them. They thought it was interesting and they were perfectly nice guys. Mario was training with Tony for fun, as he was actually a real estate agent. He even had the Mercedes with his name on the plate. I should have known he was in real estate. His success must strictly lie in the intimidation factor. I would have bought a castle from him if he wanted.
So before the pigs, we met the dogs. This included pig herding dogs, which our either bullies, or other breeds that can scare big pigs back to the stalls. The other dogs Tony had were pig hunting dogs. I had never even heard of such a breed. These dogs were a greyhound, pit bull something else cross which are specifically designed for the vetting out the wild pig scent, then chasing and pinning them until their owners arrive. They will follow and track a scent a kilometre away and one dog can hold down a 100 pound pig.
The key for the hunter, who hunts with a knife, is to get to the pig before the dog has completely maimed it. These dogs will kill the pigs, and I believe, sometimes, the pigs will kill the dogs. The pigs are dangerous with razor sharp tusks and bursts of speeds that rival horses. These men. These dogs. These pigs. Different worlds. Thank goodness for words.
The rest of the time was spent touring the farm and then sitting down for a coffee. Tony was pretty quiet. I asked him if he was raised on a farm, and he was not, raised in a city, but always wanted to be a farmer. Probably a pretty interesting dude. Said he hated killing the pigs he raised. Part of the job. Yet he hunted wild pigs and slit their throats with big knives. And I complain when my steak is too tough.
The rest of Monday was spent at Onemana Beach. Where me met up with the kids and the Sandy from the previous night’s dinner.
I swam there as the weather continued to be perfect. Dinner was peanut chicken and followed a solid sleep. Busy times again for us.
Today I went to play centre with Steph and Hud. It was great. The place is set up with between six and eight stations of fun. Painting, water play, bikes and trikes, swings, all with individual designs on helping and developing the mental and motor skills of kids ages 1-5. I was very impressed. It’s all run by the parents, with a small government subsidy, and donations and fundraisers adding wherever it can. It seems like a great alternative for preschool or day care. The mothers just have to be there, which is sometimes the problem for a lot of families.
Tonight we went for dinner at another couple that Steph met at play centre. They have three kids, including a three year old that plays with Hud very well. These are the type of people we would hang out if we lived here. Funny, beers and wines, good food, loved to play as much as they loved to work, and loved their kids with all their hearts. It was nice and we will try to hook up with them on the way back up to Northland, but it will never happen, but it was the right thing for everyone to say. We felt like friends immediately and already we are saying goodbye.
That is basically our mood about leaving here. Bittersweet. A community opened up to us and we jumped right in. Just like we wanted to. The experience we are seeking is not just looking at endless beaches and giant rock formations and hills and hills of green. It’s meeting all the different type of people that make a country what it is, gives it its flavour, whether it be a perfectly harmless chatterbox living next door, or a German woman who breastfeeds for her own comfort, or the buff guy who slits throats for food and fun, or the perfectly normal couple who could be us in a couple of years and a couple of kids.
A mix of the inane, the inappropriate, the insane and the inseparable.
Sure it’s like anywhere else in the world. But I am not anywhere else.
I am here. In New Zealand.
For real.
We are off line until at least November 3, after a week on a farm outside of Napier and then in Wellington for a couple of days.
I will keep writing and post large when I can.
Time to pack.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 3:38 AM
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