escape from the antipodes

We did it. we left New Zealand. And with our dignity more or less in tact. It was only gracious that we should leave with a little bit of sobbing and a lot more regret. We've been looked after so well by everyone, overstaying our welcome just about everywhere. We extended our two months to three and still, I don't think it was enough for Dan. We're still hatching far-fetched plans to get back some day.

It's been a warm and fuzzy few months, and a little bit productive too with a wagon painted and some stories written and those aforementioned ludicrous schemes. I never thought I'd find myself at home in New Zealand. I was convinced I was an old european and would starve for lack of culture or camembert. I thought I couldn't live without cheese and museums. That the petrol heads and sheep shearers and exiled European hippies of my overactive imagination would make the place hostile. Who was I kidding? It's difficult to express how important it was for us to go there, after the many years of Dan telling NZ stories, showing photos of friends. I was nervous about meeting everyone, about seeing these mythical places from Dan's past. Have I said this before? It was a bit of a preoccupation. But when I did meet everyone, I could see how terrible it was for Dan to have left ten years in between visits. On our last day at Old Man Mountain, we walked to the river, the river that ran past our bedroom and couldn't quite believe we'd made it there, and couldn't quite believe we were just about to leave.

The most painful thing that travelling gives you is a sore heart. You leave little bits of yourself here and there. I wonder if you can ever stay in one spot, contentedly, wholly so, having so enjoyed living in another place. Or several other places. I'm obviously completely obsessed with France as I spent all those years there as an impressionable teenager. Dan's obsessed with NZ. Not sure there's an obvious compromise there. I'm a little bit obsessed with NZ now. Are we obsessed with London anymore? Goodness knows how we'll feel when we get back. But, we are coming back. That's one thing settled.

So. We're in the final phase. After NZ, Fiji, and then San Fran (where we are now) and then Mexico. We spent last week recovering from the strain of leaving NZ loved ones on a Fijian beach. My first tropical paradise island with white sand and acqua seas and frangipani flowers in your hair. I celebrated the event by learning to snorkel. A minor miracle as I have always been under the illusion I couldn't breathe through my mouth without breathing through my nose as well. I am also secretly terrified of being in the sea with all its creatures. I have to swim with shoes on if I can't see the bottom.

My first snorkel was no doubt the classic first snorkel/dive experience where even the smallest fish look like jewels and you're pointing at everything that moves. I was so enchanted I forgot to be frightened of the neverending expanse of big blue and the fact that the jewel like fish might swim at me. The next few dives were brief, just long enough to see cuttlefish, parrot fish, angel fish and a giant clam before I panicked and headed for the shore. Someone mentioned the presence of a black tipped reef shark in the bay. Perfectly friendly, but perfectly shark-like. And we sometimes saw rays leaping out of the sea in the evenings. Someone said they only leap out of the water if something is chasing them. I wasn't comforted by this. But beauty and fear equals a sublime experience and that is definitely how I feel about snorkelling. Perhaps it's how I feel about travelling.