By: Aimee B. Jones
The immense beauty of New Zealand is behind us, the rainforests, reefs, beaches and deserts of Australia are ahead of us, and the journey is now half over; this seems like the perfect time to reflect….. and where I may get a little wishy washy; hey, it’s our blog, we can write what we want.
I had a really hard time leaving New Zealand, for a multitude of reasons, but for one major reason; it was the first time in five years I felt at peace in my heart and head about myself and my life; New Zealand, therefore, has left an indelible mark on my heart for that reason alone. It’s like when you were a kid and you fell down and got hurt and ran to your mom, and she held you in her arms and consoled you; made it better. That was New Zealand for me.
The consolation this time was dancing and laughing all night to samba music, languishing under millions of stars and unfamiliar constellations, it was long, heartfelt talks below silvery, moonlit skies, in a natural hot spring tub, in vegetable gardens, flower gardens, and along white sand, black sand and golden sand beaches. It was a two hour barefoot hike through a wet, lush forest lined with cool, clear streams running with us along the way, it was unfathomable sunsets at a beach at the end of the world, it was exquisite naps on said beach in the middle of the day, complete and utter isolation for an entire week in the middle of a stunning national park, and non stop laughter between the two of us, for weeks on end.
It was also unbearably cute Canadians and Kiwis, and an adorable Italian with a beautiful heart (and accent) who helped me remember and resurface an innocence about myself that has been long forgotten and sorely missed. It was everything I needed, and much, much, MUCH more, and I couldn’t possibly express the avalanche of gratitude that I hold for having taken this journey, and with a friend who has become like family to me.
TWO.
If I weren’t so close with my own, dear family, and actually wanted to watch my nieces and impending nephew take their first steps and say their first words over Facebook (which I don’t) then I would without a doubt, in two shakes of a lambs tail, move to the area of New Zealand called Golden Bay.
Dave and I can both agree, I believe, that this was the region of New Zealand that we loved the most. It was, in fact, the reason why we never made it to the more drastic and stunning areas of the South Island, those with jaw dropping views of snow capped mountains lining mirrored, glassy lakes. Our friend, Stu, in Karamea (which was as far as we got on the South Island, which was about an eighth of the way down) put it this way; one evening as we watched an achingly beautiful sunset on the beach, Stu murmured under his breath, in his characteristic, raspy voice, and with a half smile, “This, is just an entree.”
Yet, the entire three weeks we spent dawdling in Golden Bay was worth every inch that we missed in the South Island. The moment we came down the winding, snakey road on Takaka Hill, which was a mountain of a hill with jack knife turns and resplendent views of the Bay (and calling it a hill is kind of like calling Mt. Rushmore a knickknack) I looked over at Dave in the bus seat near mine, eyes wide as saucers, and watched as he mouthed one word to me, “Wow.”
THREE.
Golden Bay is where a lot of the things happened that you might have read from the list in my last post, such as meeting Karlo the gypsy who taught me some guitar tricks, sleeping in a housetruck, Danny the English wwoofer and Michael the English sub-wwoofer, Diamond Steve and the worst nickname story…. EVER, Kirtan meditation at the ashram in the clouds, dancing all night at The Mussel, our yurt, sandflies, sunsets, and on and on……
I believe I wrote that list while staying at our pal Terry’s house in the Abel Tasman National Park…. which is also where I turned 34 and hiked barefoot for two hours to the Tasman Sea… and where I also pulled some bizarre New Zealand death-wasp from my foot, which was excruciatingly painful…. and also where one of my favorite quotes was born, which was, “I should have picked some sage when we were at Leatherface’s.” …..and also where we met one of our all time favorite people on this trip, Sandy, whose stories about living in Berkeley back in the 60’s, accidentally meeting the Manson family, and sailing around the world on a boat for twenty years, make my own stories go as limp as when Bugs Bunny tries to make a muscle and instead it hangs like a wet noodle….. and also “Yi.”, nashiquila, Rosy Glow, Nang, Te Koru, sweet as your nana, “Hold on, the shaman is banging the drum again and I can’t hear or tell what’s going on.”, and also, and also, and also……
These experiences that have shaped us, our perspectives, our perceptions, our entire lives, past, present and future, are absolutely endless, and even if I wrote a new blog post every, single day, I still couldn’t capture everything that Golden Bay, or even New Zealand, meant to us.
For me, it’s like trying to bottle the ocean; there’s just too much, and even if you could, what you have in the end is just a by product, or a version of something that is just too vast and too rich to be broken down into pieces and put on display. Sure, you can taste it and smell it and see it for what it’s worth, but it’s only a microcosm of something much more grand, and good luck trying to bottle that soundtrack.
FOUR.
Golden Bay is a particularly special place though, with or without those memories; and I don’t think it’s that I was seeing it through rose-colored, vacation goggles either, although I’m sure that played a part in it somewhat. There really is something unique about that tiny speck on the globe and the people who inhabit it, and they know it as well, and when you talk to them about it you can see and hear the gratitude they have for their community.
Here is what it isn’t; the small town where I grew up, called Pulaski, NY, population 2,000, and dwindling, which has one too many dollar stores for its population, not a single art gallery, and although the surrounding countryside is quite pretty, the town lost its charm long, long ago (no offense, Pulaskians.)*
Here is what it is: lying in a basin, at the foot of Takaka “Hill” (we talked about this “hill” business), surrounded by white sand beaches and the sparkling, aquamarine Tasman Sea, as well as miles and miles of rolling countryside adorned with cattle, palm trees and sheep…. lots and lots of sheep, Golden Bay houses an ashram in the clouds, an Inn that is recommended in the Lonely Planet guide for their award winning homebrews and live music (which comes highly recommended from firsthand experience), locally distilled kefir lime schnapps and honey whiskey made by our pal Terry, two, intentional, living communities (Rainbow and Tui), a mouthwatering chocolate shop that rivals Belgium alone, a beautiful harbor, a rock labyrinth, clothing shops, thrift shops, buskers (street musicians), a really cool and well designed bar called Roots that serves their own, delicious homebrews, and plays reggae on Friday nights (which we familiarized ourselves with quite well), restaurants and markets that sell superbly delicious organic, locally grown foods, and those are merely the highlights.
Also, everyone is barefoot; no shirt, no shoes, no service does not apply; you STILL get served, even if you have naked feet. Naked torsos? I didn’t test that one out; although my guess is that it probably could fly, as the town holds an annual Naked Bike Ride every year, which we missed due to a very long, memorable night at Roots. I was going to ride as Wonder Woman…. my costume mere body paint, which wouldn’t have been a first for me….but, I digress.
The crème de la crème of this quirky community? Multitudes of art galleries, everywhere; and in the stores and restaurants the walls are loaded with even more quality art made by even more talented, local artists, and not a stones throw away from one gallery is yet another artist** in his or her studio, painting or sculpting or carving or firing, and they are always willing to show you around, even if you’re just a curious traveler peeking inside. It’s my own little utopia.
So, can anyone tell me where, in the U.S., its clone may exist? Don’t forget the beaches, I need a beach; you know, for the naps.
Oh, but wait, I haven’t even told you one of the best parts yet…..
The people. From Lisa and Geoff, to Steve and Melissa, to Seb and Sam, to Nang, to Diamond Steve, to Melissa’s ex the reggae spinner, to Steve’s ex Haley, to Terry and Rachel, to Sandy, to Crazy Dave who turned out to be much more sane than his friend Crazy Steve, to Marina and Rianna, to Danni and Sue, to Eyebrows, to Ishka…Uschkae…Uieashkae….to Mr. Banasi the former Canadian who picked us up hitching one day and brought us to the gypsy fair, only to meet him again at his school, to the crew at the ashram, to Brett, to Roy….. the town is full of character, and characters. By the end of our three weeks in Golden Bay, we were practically locals, saying hello on the streets and in stores to our own group of regulars that we had familiarized ourselves with during our stay.
So what has drawn me most to that area probably has less to do with gypsys and housetrucks and dancing under the stars, but more to do with what is at the heart of this thriving little community of 3000 people, and that’s just it; community, and the immense support of local arts and artists.
*I will say, though, that my dad has more commitment to his community, in his pinky alone, than everyone in Golden Bay combined; which is saying more about my dad than Golden Bay. Ie. he’s a hero of mine.
**one should NEVER throw stones at an artist
FIVE.
Our entire experience in Golden Bay was nearly captured in one, lovely and memorable evening at Lisa and Geoff’s home, who were our very first wwoof hosts, in Takaka (one of the towns in GB) and were conveniently located 2k down the road from the infamous Mussel Inn. Oh Manuka brew, how I miss you so.
Lisa and Geoff embody nearly everything about Golden Bay that I love; first, their desire to live self sufficiently and respectfully from the land. Their meat comes from their sheep in their paddock, their eggs from their hens, their milk from their goat that they milk each and every morning, their veggies from their veg garden, their juice from their fruit, and they can pay for their land through the sale of the juice they process from the fruit in their orchards. They compost all of their food scraps, use rainwater for all of their H2O needs, utilize clotheslines instead of dryers, and take/use only what they need. Their home is simple and uncluttered, quaint and comfy, and if it does all come down around us in 2012, they can just sit back, relax, and live off their land… where they might find me standing, with one of those sacks hobos carry around that are tied to a stick, full of my belongings….. but I digress.
Secondly, their love for their culture, their country, and ultimately, their community; these were the folks that built themselves a two bedroom housetruck and lived in it for fifteen years, traveling around New Zealand, witnessing and learning about their country and culture as much as they could, selling homemade clothes and jewelry for money, while raising their two boys, AJ and Steve. The jewelry making that Geoff did on the road turned into his career off the road as well; he is now a very talented and well known jade carver in Golden Bay, and his studio and gallery, Te Koru Arts (which is Maori for something beautiful, but don’t ask me what) is right down the road from his home, where we dropped a coin or two at. Jade, or greenstone, is a really special stone to the Maori culture, and is incorporated into their creation myth; you’ll notice if you visit (which you should) that everywhere you go around New Zealand, people are selling, and wearing, jade carvings.
The lovely, memorable evening that I am getting at was their annual Harvest Party, or, Nashiquila Party. A nashi is basically an asian pear, and when Dave and I wwoofed for them, we helped (along with Danny, the English wwoofer) harvest nashi pears, apples and lemons. The entire organic crop was then sent to a local juicer and turned into a few hundred gallons of nashi pear/apple/lemon juice they will then sell in town at markets and stores, to help pay for their land. To celebrate the season, they invite their neighbors and friends to their home for a bbq, a “sing-song” around the fire, and serve the juice…. but for us it’s combined with tequila! Hence, nashiquila; GOOD stuff.
There were familiar faces at the party that we had already become well acquainted with (Marina and Rianna!) and new ones we would befriend throughout the evening (Danni and Sue!) and as people arrived they filled the dinner table filled with brightly colored salads and assorted, homemade foodstuffs, which we ate around the fire on bales of hay and old, dusty couches we dragged off the front porch.
But, the most endearing and unforgettable part of the evening happened before we dug into the beautiful spread from the table; Lisa and Geoff had us all gather around the fire so they could speak. They wanted to express their gratitude for all of our friendship, for the food, for Mother Nature, and for the community, and also to acknowledge the changes that are happening in the world (this was post-Christchurch and Japanese earthquake) and that no matter how separated people become from one another in the world, by greed or materialism or what, they felt fortunate to live in a community of people that looked after one another, and the land, and they wanted to express just how valuable that was to them. Then, Lisa sang a traditional Maori song, in the Maori language, which I posted the lyrics to below. It was an incredibly touching moment that really resonated with me, especially once I read the translation of the song.
As the night went on, the party dwindled down to only a handful of people, myself and Dave included (as always.) Guitars were brought out and silly, drunken versions of Moondance and Hotel California were sung, Lisa sang a few of her originals (one a remake she did of the Old Crow Medicine Show song, Wagon Wheel, and she inserted people and places around Golden Bay into the lyrics) and the last moments of the night were of Dave and I listening to the few that were left talk about the direction their country and culture was going; they were concerned, but hopeful, which is yet another reason why I love it there so much; they still have a lot of hope.
I cried pretty hard on our last day in NZ. Poor Gerar, who drove us from Karamea to Christchurch (where we flew out of, and were woken in the night by an aftershock from the earthquake they just had.) He appreciated and understood my tears, but my how a crying woman makes a man squirm!
When we flew over NZ to Australia we were able to view the mountains on the South Island that we missed seeing up close. I’m grateful that we got to see them either way, from the ground or the sky, and I didn’t view them begrudgingly, because I know in my heart that I’ll be back. Aroha nui, New Zealand; until we meet again…..
Purea Nei
Purea nei e te hau
Horoia e te ua
Whitiwhitia e te ra
Mahea ake nga poraruraru
Makere ana nga here.
E rere wairua, e rere
Ki nga ao o te rangi
Whitiwhitia e te ra
Mahea ake nga poraruraru
Makere ana nga here,
Makere ana nga here.
Scattered by the wind
washed by the rain
and transformed by the sun,
all doubts are swept away
and all restrains are cast down.
Fly O free spirit, fly
to the clouds in the heavens,
transformed by the sun,
with all doubts swept away
and all restrains cast down.
Yes, all restrains are cast down.
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