The new financial year has ticked over, and autumn seems to
have arrived, causing me to pull out my warmer clothing.
We have not been entirely nailed to our abode, if one can be
so affixed to a mobile home. We have had some rain although very little until
the last couple of days; it is the solid
rain of these last few days that has driven me back to the computer to update
my blog.
In the interim we’ve seen a couple of movies, “Celia” and
“Daffodils”, both New Zealand productions and well worth the effort. We call in to visit my mother every couple of
days, or at least every third day to take our waste cassette to the dump in
town. We fetch our water in 10 litre
jerry cans on a daily basis. These gentle activities ensure we do venture out
occasionally.
A few days ago we pulled our kayak up out of its hiding
place in the scrub and attempted to wash eight years of grime away, no easy task when water is rationed by the
fact there is no water on site.
Last Sunday we called on our son and his family, to hear
about their very recent fortnight in California and to have him pull down the
kayaking paraphernalia from the rafters of his garage. So now we just need some
decent weather and convenient tides; our first re-entry will be in the arm of
the bay below our section. I am a little anxious as to my paddling prowess; it
is many years since we have been out and about on kayaking adventures.
Hopefully my next posting will be full of the renewed wonder of wandering about
the harbour, rather than stories of capsize and unscheduled dunking.
A couple of weeks ago we took the van down to Auckland, the
main purpose an attempt to catch up with my younger son and his partner. Alas I
have not seen him since my father’s funeral mid-December , and while I
acknowledge our children have busy working lives, I suspect he is putting his
efforts in to nurturing his new relationship and working through the hideous
tangle of separation from his last.
I was well aware that he might conveniently avoid a catch up
so we made plans so the weekend could be spent in a pleasant way even without
that reunion, and so it turned out. We had a fabulous time, travelling down on
the Friday, arriving early afternoon at the Tui Glen NZMCA park over property
to find great changes had been made since our last visit. While we have always
treasured this little club site because of its location, it was always terribly
pokey and members with too large vehicles would arrive and hog several spaces
with little consideration for others, although who is to say we wouldn’t do the
same if we had a rig the size of some of these. The area has recently been
extended, welcoming the smaller single axle vans to a spacious elevated area,
and this and the lower section are now marked out with white painted battens to
ensue everyone parks correctly. There is also a large jumbo bin for rubbish
now, which takes the stress of where to stuff one’s little bags of refuse.
We spent Friday afternoon wandering around Henderson, this
West Auckland suburb that has a varied and eclectic population and retailers as
varied as say Otahuhu in the south of the city. It’s a great place to buy a
sari or a mumu, although quite frankly whiteys like me look appalling in such
gorgeous garments. We checked out the restaurants and later after a bottle of
red in our own place, went out to a marvellous Indian restaurant which was
sadly very quiet; perhaps we were simply too early.
On Saturday morning we crossed the Henderson Creek, walked
up through the town to the railway station, to find that the western line was
closed for maintenance over the weekend. Instead we caught the replacement bus
which wound its way through all the little stations through to Britomart in the
centre of Auckland; Sunnyvale, Glen Eden, Fruitvale Road, New Lynn, Avondale,
Mt Albert, Kingsland, My Eden, Grafton, a long winded journey of an hour and a
half. But rather than sigh and lament the tedious length, we enjoyed the
journey, checking out the patchwork of suburbs, the volcanic cones, the massive
construction going on in Newmarket, and finally the buzz of downtown Auckland.
Arriving on the waterfront, we joined the hundreds and thousands
of tourists, many off the massive cruise ship tied up to the wharf, and walked
the length of the Viaduct Basin, as far as the Silos and to the wharves where
very impressive super yachts, encased in plastic, were berthed and undergoing
renovation. Here too is Heritage Landing where a selection of classic yachts
can be found bobbing about in the choppy harbour.
After lunching at Maccas, we walked up Queen Street, and the
wonderful quaint and narrower High Street to reach the Auckland Art Gallery and
then spent several hours there enjoying the exhibitions. We were fortunate
enough to catch a dance show put on by students from the Manukau Polytech; one group who danced in the style
of Tahiti and another more contemporary group including three very overt gays,
whose number started badly (in our opinion) with a collection of pretentious
tableaux before we did see something that my husband could only just label as
dance. Needless to say, I was more impressed with this show than my husband,
but only just so.
The art exhibitions were varied and vibrant, including two
particularly memorable ones: “ Pacific Sisters: He Toa Taera / Fashion
Activists” which was reminiscent of the WOW exhibition in Nelson but with a strictly Pacifica theme and” Guerrilla
Girls : Reinventing the “F” Word – Feminism”
– posters and the like by a very angry group of international women,
some witty, some confronting (I noticed that my husband did not linger too long
in these galleries).
Since our last visit, the administrators of the gallery have
seen fit to make it a user pay affair, unless you can prove you are a New
Zealand resident. For those who are not, i.e. international tourists, there is
a charge of $20 per head which I thought rather steep.
We walked back down to Britomart to enquire about a more
direct bus to Henderson, one that might take less than an hour and a half, and
were assured that there certainly was such a service, but we would need to walk
back up to Hobson Street to catch the correct bus. After a strenuous and
hurried climb, detouring about construction work and getting a little lost, we
encountered the right bus just as it pulled into the stop and were taken not
only back to Henderson in a timely manner, but right to the bus stop near the
Tui Glen Park.
The following day we had arranged to visit with our now
ex-daughter-in-law and the grandchildren at 10 am , and were asked if we could
sit with the children a couple of hours while their mother attended a tutorial
at the University. Their other grandmother who is normally on call had gone
away for the weekend, so it was a delight to have the opportunity to spend some
quality time with the two boys; or more correctly the younger one, the older one
finding his computer game and online buddies more attractive than his gypsy
grandparents. So we played a very modern version of Monopoly with electronic
money, sat and watched part of “Home Alone” and chopped firewood with young
Matthew and the resident Newfoundland, having
an excellent time. Jess was held up excessively, however her mother returned
from her weekend away and we left late afternoon and headed toward Whangarei,
reaching our destination beside the Hatea River before nightfall, and in time
to indulge in yet another Indian dinner out.
So what might have been considered an unsuccessful weekend,
turned out to be a most pleasurable one after all.
Last weekend I had an entirely different experience; one
that might be more common for your average woman, but alas my life is not the
“norm” whatever that be. I travelled up to the Kerikeri markets in The Old
Packhouse with my mother and sister; a thoroughly girlie thing to do, quite
outside my normal behaviour.
The market is held on both days of the weekend, and
certainly I can vouch that the Saturday market is immensely popular. This is
the one that my husband and I went looking for the weekend we stayed up at Kerikeri;
alas we were looking down in the main street where they used to be held.
Here there are approximately one hundred stalls selling
local produce, meats, seafood, deli lines, local wines and craft beer, baked
goods, natural skincare, plants, artisans’ products, arts and crafts and so on.
There is an in house bakery and two cafes. We bought ourselves morning coffee
and pastries and sat watching the crowds and listening to the excellent
musicians.
None of us had come with any intention of buying anything;
however I came away with a bunch of radishes and another of bok choy, and my
two companions bought other vegetables straining my little foldup shopping bag.
My sister had made a booking at The Pear Tree, a restaurant
known as The Landing in a previous life, situated down beside the Kerikeri River adjacent to the Old Stone Store, New Zealand's oldest stone building, for midday. We were the first in but
for one elderly lady eating alone, however were soon were joined by half a dozen other
parties, people like ourselves. Years ago I had come here with a young family
and joined others to dine in a noisy summer fashion; I had feared it might be
still like this. Thankfully it was not.
We had a delicious meal, Mediterranean omelettes for my
mother and I and a fulsome bowl of tagliatelle for my sister. Terribly sensibly, we drank water rather than
the wine on offer; it would have seemed unfair to have drunk of the grape while
my driving sister stayed sober.
