Water is the great leveller. It finds the balance, where it needs to be. Flying over Amsterdam I could see that the edge between land and water has been blurred. The distinction simply isn’t valid here. It makes a mockery of tides and of our fear of sea level rises, but I think the Dutch must be falling over themselves to avoid it. I flew over fields of colour while arriving in Holland, thinking about returning in some small way to my homeland (well - one of them, the most recent - my Irish, Scottish, English, Danish, French and German relatives arrived in New Zealand some 150-200 years ago). Here’s something I wrote a few months before departing on my travels: “Thinking about why I want to travel - it’s not about the beaches, we have them here. It’s culture. Ancient ruins, history, artefacts, art, and divinity. Why do I need that? Because in New Zealand we are still young, fresh, ignorant of our forebears, where we come from, and therefore, of what we are. I need to see, smell, t...
Coming home is indeed sweet. After a bout of homesickness in the last few days of my trip, I was ready to fly the dreaded 24 hour journey back to Wellington and see my family, cats, colleagues and friends. The flights were long but helped a little by having a man from Wellington seated next to me. We chatted a lot about Wellington, its troubles and its hopes. We went through security together and it was nice to have met someone who had also been travelling the last three weeks around Europe (and in his case, North Africa) and coming home the same day. I see him sometimes walking past my window and we’ve said hi on the street. I arrived home to a messy, overfilled house and cats who had missed me, and their routine. The kids came over a few hours later and it was back to busy life. This last post has been difficult to write because I have been getting straight back into everyday life, at work and at home, sorting out some logistics, and procrastinating also. I’ve needed some space from ...
I wake up early in Madrid. Potter awhile in the dark and cuddle one of the cats, Mae, the friendly one. Try to make a cup of tea but cannot for the life of me find the teaspoons or sugar so give up on that and come back upstairs to do some writing. After a shower, I dress in walking clothes and prepare to get a coffee and something sweet to eat before heading off for a big walk, such is my usual routine (10km a day has been my average). Ordering a sandwich and coffee should be easy enough but it takes quite an effort when I speak no Spanish. I know the word Chorizo so that’s what I get in my Bocatines (small sandwich). My coffee arrives as an espresso (pico) but in a regular sized cup and I’m relieved when the waiter pours hot milk through it at the table. He is annoyed with me for not speaking Spanish so I get no response to my hearty ‘grazias!’. It’s 8.40am and the workers are conversing over churros (sweet donut type things) and coffee. People are in and out...
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