Homeward

Well, this is a bittersweet entry to write.
I'm starting the trek back home tomorrow. Heading to Auckland on the Northern Explorer train to Auckland and the airport.
I'll get to meet up with a good friend in Auckland, and get to spend my last day or so with him and the good people he has as friends by the beach. So it's almost full circle, and an apt way to end this time in NZ.
Wellington has decided that I need to get used to the weather back home, and although she can't give me the cold that the UK has at the moment, she's giving me as much rain as she can.
It has given me the incentive to get on with packing though, and one lesson I've truly learnt is that unless you need kit for a specific purpose, and are guaranteed to do be doing that thing... Don't pack it.
Just don't.
I've realised that had I not packed some kit that I've bought over I could have made the trip with one backpack. Still, like I said, lesson learnt.

It's going to be odd getting back home, and really sad to be saying goodbye to my mate down here in Wellington. After not seeing each other for nigh on fifteen years, it was superb to be able to pick up as if we'd seen each other only the week before.
I guess that's what friendship's about at the end of the day.
We've had time to catch up, time to hit the road, and time to just kick back.
We've had some superb times and laughs, and some very difficult times, but I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.
I've met, and been introduced to some wonderful folks while i've been here, and have felt welcomed into the community where i've been based.
I couldn't give enough thanks to everyone for their warmth and hospitality.
There's going to be a lot i'm going to miss.

There's still a fair chunk of the country I have yet to see, but as I alluded to previously, situations got in the way. This time.
I'll be back at some point to finish this trip, that's for sure.

So it's time to move on, get back to the real world, get back into 'work' mode, and save some funds to head off again.
As a good man said to me not long after I arrived here, 'love your adventurous heart', and I know I'll need to hit the road again.

Home sweet home... soon.

Soon I will be heading home.

I’ve now had time to travel, to unwind, and to see more about myself than I could whilst I was wrapped up in the mire that was my day to day.

So I’m heading home. Where is it?

What is it?

What is home?

Fuck, I’m not an expert by any means, but….

Are far as I can tell from what I’ve experienced, it’s not the bricks and mortar, it’s the warmth that you feel when you are amongst your own, your friends, your family.

Home is anywhere and it’s everywhere.

It’s wherever you are among the people that matter to you. The people that don’t judge you.

The people that know you, and love you, because of, and despite of, who you are.

So I’m heading home. Home to those who matter, but with a heavy heart, away from others that also do, but my home will always be with all of them.

I hope for them it will also always be so, with me.

There is a big world out there, and I know with a smile that there are many homes out there and many friends.

I’ve learnt that I shouldn’t feel let down when my expectations of friendship are not achieved. Everyone has his or her own needs and wants. If they haven’t matched mine, then who am I to say that’s wrong?

How many times have I let people down despite not knowing what they expected? Who knows? Nobody can read the mind of others.

As the song says, my heart is like an open book, for the whole world to read.

There will always be those that can’t read between the lines, who just don’t get me, but I shall not miss them. It’s not for me to blame them either; all I can do is be me, and the best me I can. For there will always be those who can read between the lines of what makes me, and with them, I will always be home.

It's been a while..

Well it’s been a while since I updated anything on here. It’s been a busy, and also a quiet time for a few weeks here in Wellington.

I’ve not updated as the majority of things going on here have been related to supporting and helping a good friend as they went through a horrible messy court case with their ex.

It’s been up’s and downs, with the downs slightly outnumbering the up’s, as I would imagine is the norm in situations like this. Although I find it hard to see any normality in why people will use their own children as pawns and weapons against someone else, regardless of how acrimoniously their relationship ended.

In some ways it has made me thankful that I don’t have kids of my own.

I have nephews though, and a sworn duty to be their ‘idiot uncle’, and that’s good enough for me!

Anyway, it’s over now. The case was thrown out, and my friend is able to start breathing and living again.

I can’t begin to understand what they’ve been through over the last couple of years, but I’m glad that I could be here for them if only to offer what support I could or to be an amusing(?) distraction.

Not scooting around all the time has also given me time to kick back and reflect on a lot of things too. Time well spent.

As a Mr D.Adams put it “I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be”.

THE END.

(of that!)

I have managed to get out and about around the area in this time, the majority of the excursions have been scribbled about already on here, and I felt that I’ve put you through that once already…

I did discover a little gem of a place outside of Wellington called Carlucci Land.

Sat alongside Happy Valley Road (excellent road name!) and scattered across a hillside, is the most wonderful collection of ‘salvage’ art.

(If Tim Burton did attractions)

Sculptures and oddments constructed from scrap ships propellers, chains, tools and unidentifiable detritus. Cut, welded and imagined into the weird wonderful and quirky.

The best part for me though? Snaking through a section of the park is a lovely mini golf course. Mini golf as you may be aware, being the enlightened souls that I hope you are, is the only golf that I can consider fun.

‘Golf’ golf is not in the same league at all. Golf’ists’ seem to treat the game as either a way to grease their way up the corporate ladder, or as an escape from a mundane marriage, and on top of that have to make questionable fashion choices just to be allowed to play.

Retirees playing golf though? That’s ok; it keeps the pensioners off the streets and away from causing mayhem with drive by ‘tuttings’ and the such.

But mini golf? I can’t imagine anyone thinking they could impress a client while punting a small ball across astroturf, bouncing it into a clowns mouth to see if it will fall out of the aforementioned clowns bum hole into a different hole. Admittedly, if I were their client I would commend them on their thinking. Although if they then said that they always ‘thought outside of the box’ or some such buzz phrase.. I would then have to bludgeon them with the putter.

Carlucci land alas doesn’t have a pooping clown obstacle, but it does have a fun collection of Heath Robinson-esque contraptions to amuse and frustrate in equal measure.

Playing around (Playing ‘a’ round = Golf…. ‘Playing around’ = mini golf. SEE!) was as childish as I hoped it would be, with Marc and myself instantly dropping into abusing each others prowess with a putter, and while waiting for the next hole to be free we busied ourselves with finding more little welded people dotted around the course.

I could only have been happier had they had a bar and waitress service to the tee!

Wellington has a lot to offer, I dig this little city as I’ve said before, and as the weather is warming by the day, there will be more and more to do, and then the South Island will call…. It will…. I’m sure.

On the subject of the weather, I’m still getting a tad freaked out simply by walking around in boardies and a T-shirt while shops pump Christmas tunes into the street.

Yes yes, I know it’s nearly Christmas, but I’m not sure how to deal with Crimbo in the sun. I’m English dammit!

I’m used to drizzle, cold and fog for this time of year. I can’t say it’s a struggle to put up with, just odd, but I’ll try my best to get by.

At least that’s what I was thinking as I swam in the bay this afternoon…. in December…

Nope, it still feels weird, maybe wearing a Santa hat would help?

Maybe tomorrow….

On days like these.

With the sun shining and a barely noticeable breeze in the air it was decided that breakfast and a lazy cruise around Wellington was on the cards.

Food was duly served at a great little café on the Terrace, where we munched on their Hunters Breakfast while discussing the quintet of window cleaners, working and squeegy-ing their way down the glasswork of the office building opposite.

Plates cleared and coffee finished we headed off towards Oriental Bay to the east of the centre.

This was reversing the first route and views of Wellington I saw when Marc picked me up from the airport. Back just over a month ago, on that wet and windy afternoon.

Today, Oriental Bay, and the city itself were bathed in sunlight. The promenade dotted with runners, walkers and people sat in street side cafes enjoying the blue green hue of the bay, and it’s fountain.

With old Stones albums on the stereo and all the windows down we continued along the coastal road, through Evans and Scorching Bay.

Past the artists and small film studios and secluded rocky coves, too small to be named, out to Breaker and Tarakena Bays. Stopping frequently to walk on the foreshore, and marvel at the rugged beauty that was only minutes, yet a world away from the city centre.

This was a side of Wellington I had not seen, and a side I have fallen for. Everything you could want or need, twenty minutes or so away from tranquil meditative beauty.

After having spent a while clambering over the spit of land, and sitting on the rocks in the serenity of Moa Point we moved on.

Passing under the end of the airport runway, we emerged into the bustle of Lyall Bay. On one side the runway, and the planes carrying their travellers. On the other the sea, rolling into the Bay carrying the surfers on its crests in towards the wide dark sand beach. Watched over by a cluster of homes, businesses and restaurants hugging the beach road.

And out to Houghton Bay, stopping at the Headland Reserve to watch the tide push waves onto the spit of land from both west and east, and through the now familiar to me Island Bay until reaching the Bach Café.

That’s Bach, pronounced ‘Batch’; a Bach over here is a holiday/summer/retreat home, not a composer. Although looking at some of the Bach’s (Batches?), I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t live in them year round.

The café sat over the road from the sea, and we took our seats outside, cold ciders in hand, and settled back to absorb what was laid out in front of us. There was only the slightest of breezes, and it was the surge of the tides that pushed the swells into the shore, breaking the waves onto the rocks. The clearest of skies above us, and across the blue waters, the most wonderful view I have seen of the South Island as yet, and it’s snow-capped peaks rising above the horizon.

The South Island, how I long to get over there, and seeing the mountains across the strait, it seemed it was calling to me, teasing me. It will happen soon, but as I’m aware, plans can change with little if any notice, and the South Island adventure may have to be put back by a couple of weeks.

Until it does happen, at least I know a good spot to sit with a drink and watch the south from, and on days like these, that’s all I need.