It Feels Like Something

Walking the Remutaka Forest Park Rail Trail

The lady at the check-in desk asked me if I had a visa for New Zealand and an onward ticket. And I’m so organised these days that I knew exactly where to find these documents on my phone without getting flustered. Everything was in order. She also asked me if I’d been to China recently. She didn't ask about any other countries and I wondered, and worried, when places like Indonesia or the Philippines might start raising alarm bells. I also remembered how unwell I’d been when I arrived in Australia from the Philippines and was glad I hadn’t been aware of Coronavirus back then. I would have been absolutely certain my time was up.

Aside from worrying about the ramifications of Coronavirus, I’ve also been worrying about over-sharing in my last post. But the messages and virtual hugs I received in response, an eye-poppingly colourful Mardi Gras in Sydney, and time with my far-away son and his adorable friends, have all served as a re-set. I am lucky to have such wise and supportive friends and family. And because of them, those tumbled-up feelings evaporated almost as soon as I got to Kingsford North airport. I didn’t cry when the plane took off. I smiled. Broadly. And imagined adventures new.

An Australian stamp is the one that’s still missing from my passport though. Despite coming dangerously close just a few moments ago. As I walked up to the immigration desk, the official behind it was approached by another official who asked for her ink pad and stamp. My official said, Take it! I can’t seem to stop myself stamping everything put in front of me today! I told her that I’d missed out on an Australian stamp by coming through the e-passport channel on the way in. Both times. But by the time I’d finished telling her, the stamp was gone. Oh no! she said. And I really have been stamping everything put in front of me today! She looked almost as disappointed as I did. But I’ve no doubt that memories of back-stage passes and beach car-parks, and everything in between, will stay strong for a long while to come. No stamp needed.

So here I sit in seat 28C on board flight VA171 and just three hours away from Wellington, New Zealand. Which will be the furthest away I’ve ever been from home. The furthest away possible, in fact. Almost 12,000 miles. And very nearly six months. It’s something. I haven’t stopped and thought quite what it is. But it definitely feels like something.

As far as I can see, pretty much everyone on board this flight is wearing at least one item of technical clothing. Things like Gortex or rip-stop stuff. Goose-down too. And there’s a whole lot of rucksacks and hiking boots. Oh me. New Zealand is clearly very rugged and out-doorsy and although I think I’m pretty out-doorsy, I’m not sure how rugged I am. My suitcase is full of swimwear and shorts. And even as I write, I’m still in my flip-flops. I do have sneakers at the ready but who knows if they’ll cut it. Or if they’ll even get through. I’ve had to declare them on my customs form as I’ve been running and walking in some very mild wilds. Something to do with bio-security. My scuba mask and snorkel has to be declared too. And my tiny but very special Philippine shell.

I’ve arrived. Shoes, shell, mask and snorkel all through too. Bio guy asked me if I knew the difference between coral and a shell. Of course I do. I’m a diver. I did say that I thought that non-divers would know the difference too but bio guy said I’d be surprised. I was. He was friendly enough though and told me my ten-a-penny cowrie was fine but I should watch out for conches and nautiluses. I will.

And there was sweet Jimmy Dee bounding along the public pick-up pathway at Wellington International Airport to greet me. We have been friends since I was 16 years old and I haven’t seen him for 6 years. So it’s a joy and a rare treat to be spending this time with him and his dear husband, Ed. Jimmy and Ed live in a small and very picturesque village called Martinborough, just 80km east of Wellington. We’ve visited a local vineyard (there are many) for lunch and for wine and we have walked the Remutaka Rail Trail up to its summit. And so far, so very, very beautiful. I was told New Zealand looks like an oil painting and it does. There is something about the light here that gives everything a kind of high definition. The deep greens on the ranges and the golds of the fields are really quite stunning. And I know full well I haven’t seen the half of it yet.

So this is just the beginning of my NZ adventure. Tomorrow I’ll take a trip back into Wellington for a mosey around and then first thing on Friday I’m taking a ferry across the Cook Strait to the South Island town of Picton. From there I’ll take the train down to Christchurch and should be in town just before 9pm. I’m in for a very long and very scenic day.