From tomorrow morning, this will be the view that will greet me and She Whom Must Be Obeyed each morning for the next week. After a family meal of chicken piri piri with our girls and a friend who will live with them for a week, we’re heading off to Aggie Grey’s Lagoon Resort in Samoa – most recently, the location for Survivor Samoa – for our first holiday without kids for 18 years. A bit of saving and a bit of a bonus and a bit of a travel agent discount have all been combined to make this happen so we’re planning to make the most of the break and really relax. As we have met and worked with a few Samoan folk in New Zealand, we are looking forward to seeing something of their homeland. Having booked this trip months back and collected the tickets on the morning of the recent tsunami, we were a little conflicted as to whether we should still take the holiday there with so many having lost so much on that day. However, the advice we have been given is that because tourism is a mainstay of the economy, just spending our tourist dollars will be of benefit. Be that as it may, we also hope to hook up with a local contact in Apia for a little mini-mission while we’re there. With that, I’m off for a plate of chicken piri piri.
Archive for the ‘Family & Friends’ Category
Talofa Samoa
Saturday, November 21st, 2009A nice day for a date
Saturday, October 31st, 2009
The Bridge Builders
Today, our youngest and I decided to grab a little one-on-one time together as we haven’t had a ‘date’ for a long time. Leaving the rest of the family to boring clothes shopping, we headed downtown to see the Da Vinci Machines exhibition. While a little smaller and a little more pricey/commercial than I was expecting, we spent an hour or so wandering round looking at and discussing the themed replica exhibits. These ranged from the well-known like the air screw, flying machine and tank to smaller explorations of engineering principles like the wormscrew, column-lifting machine and autolock mechanism.
We both won a bookmark (a.k.a. exhibition advert) by managing to replicating one of Da Vinci’s arched bridge designs from a pile of notched logs. Da Vinci created these designs for the Duke of Milan, Ludovico ‘Il Moro’ to facilitate rapid troop movements across rivers while carrying out surprise attacks. It took us four attempts to get the structure stable enough to bear our weight and one wonders how easy it would have been to build these bridges without access to both sides of the river or under a hail of arrows or flaming shot!
A little peckish from our bridge-building efforts, we crossed the street and wandered into the small, friendly and pleasingly un-commercial Auckland City Farmer’s Market. There we tried out various things to eat including the delicious pita bread cooked on site by the lovely folk at Abu-Melamed Bakery, poppy seed and Parmesan bagels from the bubbly peeps at the Bagel Love stall and great spicy hot dogs with smoky capsicum sauce from two ladies at an unnamed stall. Sharing a sunny table, we talked to a nice couple who came from Hawaii and Sydney (long distance love?) and took a photo for them – in return, they gave us both a big juicy strawberry! We shared a fruit smoothie while we walked over to the Maritime Museum where one of us got our face painted before we walked up and down Queen Street looking in bookshops and chatting. An ice cream in the sun topped off our trip and we slowly headed home for a cup of tea with big grins on our faces.
Friends Reunited
Monday, January 28th, 2008
Me (l), Wendy (c) Paul (r) and John (in coat)
Isle Of Dogs, UK in 1990
Folks in New Zealand look forward to the long weekends that the public holidays bring at this time of year. They offer a chance to pack in another day at the beach, have a longer break at the bach or just mooch around the house and section, doing as little as possible. Unless, that is, you are two old friends who worked together as lifeguards in the UK 25 years ago, last saw each other 16 years ago and discovered last week that you live just half an hour apart on the other side of the world. If that’s the case, then there’s a lot of catching up to do.
A month or so ago, for no reason I can fathom, I found myself thinking about John, one of a group of old friends with whom I’d spent the halcyon days of the early ’80s lifeguarding, going to parties and generally misbehaving. Vaguely recalling that he’d met an Aussie girl and headed down under, I searched the internet and soon found his picture and email address on a sports centre website in Sydney. After his initial surprise, John and I swapped a few emails and he sent me his family newsletter in time for Christmas.
During these exchanges it transpired that incredibly, while John and I were living across The Ditch from each other, another member of the group Paul was closer still, living right here in Auckland. I fired off a quick email and Paul flicked a reply saying he was busy elsewhere but would be in back Auckland in the New Year. We got back in contact last week and arranged to have a long lunch at our place and catch up on a decade and a half of news.
And so that’s how we – not to mention our understanding wives – ended up spending a long sunny Saturday afternoon talking through how they have travelled 12,000 miles from their roots over sixteen years to end up as near-neighbours on the other side of the world. While we feel lucky to have built a new life here and make new friendships and acquaintances, it is hard to describe just how great it is to find an old friend already settled here and another across The Ditch in Sydney.
Hopefully, over time and with understanding partners, the three of us can look forward to more lazy afternoons, telling tall stories, filling in the gaps and catching up on lost time.

Me, Paul, Yuko and Wendy
Huapai, NZ in 2008
Technorati Tags: Friends Reunited
Comings and goings
Monday, January 7th, 2008A year ago, I wrote a post called Homeward Bound about feelings we experienced seeing friends off at the airport. It fooled those who didn’t read it carefully enough into thinking we were heading back to England. That same trek out to the airport is one we now make regularly to collect and drop off friends and relatives and today was one of those days.
We were offered a sage piece of advice before we emigrated. The advice cautioned us to wait eighteen months before having close friends or relatives visit; the reasoning being that it would take that long to grow enough roots to withstand the homesickness and emotional tugging that such visits might occasion. I couldn’t vouch for whether this is true or not but since the eighteen months past, we have had visitors from Australia, the UK and America and haven’t felt the tug or desire to return to the UK.
As I have pondered here before, there might be any number of reasons for this. Perhaps the fact that we’re not from the closest of families or that we live in country in which we can live a lifestyle that is relaxed and fulfilling without costing the earth. There again, the internet does shrink the world to some degree and makes separations easier. I have a brother and sister who also live abroad so emails and digital photos have been our currency for a while. I have met and made good friends with folks whom I have never met, whether through writer’s groups or a shared love of technology and others I have only met because I moved to New Zealand.
Sitting in the arrivals lounge earlier, waiting for SWMBO’s cousin and her friends to emerge from the customs hall, I looked around and took in the variety of greetings and reunions taking place. Curt bows and handshakes for co-workers, barely perceptible nods between world-weary backpackers, shrieking children spotting a tired and tearful grandparent – a distinct and individual story for every passenger and greeter.
As we scooped up our visitors and turned for the car park, I couldn’t help smiling at the woman next to me at the barrier. In youthful middle age, she was was wearing a bright yellow wig, a bowler hat and a pair of fluffy monster feet slippers. She saw my puzzled look and held up a hand-drawn greeter’s banner that read “Welcome to The Ol’ Boy’ as if it explained everything. ‘I’m meeting my Dad’ she said when I still looked puzzled and then, skipping from foot to foot, added ‘I haven’t seen him for thirty-six years so I’m a bit excited’. I laughed out loud and we left her to her preparations, quietly hoping that her Dad’s heart would take the shock that awaited him beyond the Customs Hall.
Homeward bound
Saturday, December 30th, 2006Halfway down the departures board, I could see that Air New Zealand flight NZ39, bound for London via Hong Kong, was now open for check-in. The pit of my stomach was churning with unbidden feelings and the thought of twenty-four plus hours on a plane made me queasy. Not an hour previous, we’d all – friends and family – been sitting round the dinner table over steaming bowls of pasta and sauces, talking ten to the dozen about Christmas Eve barbecues on the beach, walks in the bush, surprise stockings on Christmas morning and how much wine we had drunk.
The easy friendship we had slipped out of focus, replaced by a stilted awkwardness and the quiet dread of parting that we had been carefully ignoring for days. The well-intentioned bonhomie of the greeting staff did nothing to lighten the mood. The baggage check-in was too quick to offer any delay of the inevitable moment. Tears, hugs, promises to write, more tears, make-sure-you-call-mes, hand-holding; the six of us taking turns, making sure we left no-one out. Then, moving quickly as if on an unspoken command, we walked away with pursed lips and lowered gazes, no-one daring to look around for that last glimpse.
Looking around, I checked the family were settled and made sure that, regardless of the tears, all had their belts fastened. Not one of us said a word, for there was really nothing to say; we knew that this situation could arise and now we faced it as best we could. Leaving good friends behind to head home was always going to be a factor but no amount of awareness prepared us for the heartache. With a deep breath, I looked over my shoulder one last time, pulled out into the traffic and headed home. In ten short days, we’d be back at the airport, standing in Arrivals, waiting to spot Granny and Grandad among the weary folks exiting the Customs Hall and starting the whole process all over again.
Job done – except for a door handle
Monday, November 20th, 2006I was going to close by saying that the only outstanding task on my list is to fit a door handle to the utility room door but, as is the way in this house, another job has just been added with SWMBO informing me that ‘the new fangled wifi-server-thingy’ is not working. If you are reading this, then you’ll know I have fixed it and am back to just the door handle.
Kapa Haka
Saturday, November 4th, 2006Kapa Haka is the term used for the traditional Maori performing arts. The term kapa haka derives its meaning from two words: kapa (to stand in rows) and haka (M?ori dance). Kapa haka requires the performers to sing, dance, have expression as well as movement and combine all these elements into each performed item. In this sense, kapa haka also acts as a sign language, as each action has a meaning that mirrors the spoken words.
Here, our youngest sprog is making the ‘wiri’ hand gesture. The wiri represents the world around us, from the shimmering of the waters of a bright sunny day, to the heat waves rising from the ground to the wind rustling the leaves of the trees.
The boys of the Taupaki School Kapa Haka group perform the ‘Ra! Hupane, Ka -upane!’ part of the Ka Mate haka, the original of the two haka used by the All Blacks before their rugby internationals.
The newer haka, “Kapa o Pango”, features the controversial throat-slitting gesture which has received so much criticism – usually from the national press of the opposing team! For more information on the kapa haka and Maori culture, try http://www.maori.org.nz
Our very own Swan
Monday, September 18th, 2006
No.3 took part in her first ever soccer tournament last week in the annual competition between the primary schools of Huapai and Taupaki. The fact that we live in Huapai and stood amongst neighbours cheering for Taupaki school made for tense moments on the touch line. Coming off the bench in the first half, No.3 played a crucial pivotal role midfield, tackling the opposition and playing the ball forward, playing her part in the eventual 5 – 3 win that saw her team take home the trophy for another year. Quite what the dance examiner who invigilated No.3’s ballet exam today will have made of the bruised and stud-marked legs I’m not sure but we’re proud to have a kid who is equally happy on the pitch or in the dance studio.
*The Swanz are the New Zealand women’s soccer team
Jessie
Tuesday, December 27th, 2005Earlier today we found our tortoiseshell cat Jessie, who had become another road toll statistic over Christmas. Sadly, we have been here before with Jasper. Always an independent, on her own terms cat, she would often join me on my late night online sessions by flaking out on top of my monitor. I don’t think she ever forgave my for getting a LCD flat screen. After I set it up, she leapt on top, not realising their was no ‘top’ any more and plummeted down the back of the desk, emerging in one piece but distinctly unamused.
You’ll be missed, Jess.
Missing Mog
Monday, December 26th, 2005One of the cats has been missing since Christmas Day morning. Whilst it is perhaps not too surprising as they have been uprooted and relocated twice in the last four months, it has brought a subdued mood to the house. Given that she is a town-raised cat in a rural setting, the possibilities are endless, for all the cats have gone into overdrive exploring their new and extensive territory. As well as the more usual getting stuck in a cupboard or locked in the shed, here we also have possibility of getting lost in the five acre maize field, being kicked by a bull or becoming trapped in the abattoir to factor in. Needless to say, no-one is wanting to even consider the State Highway at the bottom of the garden likelihood.

