In a New Zealand Bed & Breakfast book I read in Norway, I fell for this homestay:
It looked great. It turned out to be even better!
OK, so maybe it
was the timing - me being the only guest.
Having the best room.
Maybe it was the company.
And the hosts. And the food, the fruit, the wine, the walks.
I suppose it may have been mere luck
But I doubt it.
So let's have a Gin Tonic before dinner!
Or would you allow me to start at the beginning? After I was invited to be the keynote speaker at a New Zealand conference.
Travelling to New Zealand is not a journey. Not really. If you see it as a journey, you'll be dying from impatience somewhere 30,000 feet over Uzbekistan. Flying to New Zealand is a life. Not a long life, not a life hereafter, but you simply have to appreciate that you're living, not travelling, in this Jumbo. Take your time. Read the paper. Have a drink. Start observing your neighbors. Have a drink. Have a bite. Have another go at reading the paper. When you've been flying for 6-7 hours, don't think you're halfway to your first destination. You're not. You're simply a person living in a metal tube 30.000 feet above Uzbekistan. And when you consider it, life is probably a lot better here than 30.000 feet below.
And just as you've managed to enter this state of laissez-fly - your Swedish neighbour spills his Gin Tonic in your lap. Cheers, mate - is what a Kiwi might say. Anything left in that glass?
Lower your expectations. Lower everything. Loosen your belt. Thai Air is expected to be very friendly, but they are humans, too, aren't they? PMS, warts and all. And when you've been sniffing the spicy smell of Thai cooking, have written an appetizing post card (the tear-off card which is part of the menu), and have brought everything within reach to a horizontal position - you realize that this was the smell of Business Class Cuisine. Relax. Business Class meals are among the most expensive in the world. You can stuff yourself with roasted chicken feet for a month in Bangkok for the money you've saved. Probably even more. More chicken feet.
Not a word here about the movies. Most of the in-flight movies were intended for 14-year olds. Not many of those on board. I noticed that I'd hopefully be watching Shrek somewhere over Indonesia, and Bridget Jones' Diary in the same area on my way back. Crocodile Dundee III is not my favourite movie.
Bangkok. Quantity beats quality. I'll write more about this later. The next time I'm there, maybe.
When in Bangkok airport, please try the foot massage. The 15 minute express foot massage. Your feet will remain forever grateful.
Everything is relative. When you've been flying for a day and a half, and you reach Sydney, you feel as if you've arrived. But not quite. Please leave the plane for an hour, wait for the delayed boarding, and return to your seat to find your magazines gone.
So - you finally arrive in New Zealand. Or I did, anyway. You're the prime object of sniffing, and in my case, my intention to speak at a technical writers' conference inspired the customs/sniffing/passport check person to start talking about how many instructions take too much for granted. I discreetly made him aware of the long queue behind me, consisting of people who may take for granted that this is not the place for smalltalk. But it supplied me with the first opportunity to sniff the Kiwi friendliness.
If someone's there to meet you at the airport, you'll find even more friendliness. And if your hosts take you out for dinner (for instance on the Auckland waterfront), just keep in mind that you're being treated to a major brainwash. The waitress is not necessarily the woman in your life. She just appears to be. They all do.
I tend to celebrate my misanthropy and prejudices, but in New Zealand, these things were inevitably reversed. Upside down, if you wish. I loved everything, everyone. By default. I hate prejudice.
My wonderful hostess, Ruth, originally comes from Britain. It seems they all do - at one time (or generation) or other. The kauri parts of her 1880s villa are almost worshipped after all my reading and researching. Chaaarming. Cats. Cool. Fireplace. Mmmmm. Good conversation, lots of laughs, a piano, people popping in. Ruth also turned out to be a librettist, among other things. (And this reminds me of one of the important questions in life - how do you quickly find out what strangers hare your interests? How can you avoid the 2 hour uninspired conversation about computing with a business relation, before it turns out that both of you love sitting by the piano in the evening with a glass of single malt whisky?)
I'd seen a bed & breakfast homestay in a book I ordered from Amazon.com in Norway. In Parua Bay outside of Whangarei. After a friendly exchange of e-mail messages and phone calls, I travel north from Auckland with Peter Heaslip. I'm in New Zealand to speak at a conference, he's just completed his own conference. I've done my research, and have several slides related to Chrsitine Rankin. Peter tells me he introduced his own presentation as "as long as Christine Rankin's skirt: short enough to be interesting, long enough to cover the important parts". You may think Peter has a sense of humor. And you may be right.
Peter is an academic who went to Britain to work for a year - and stayed there
for a quarter of a century. As a consequence, he (and Pat) is well travelled,
and has fresh views on certain aspects of New Zealand.
Now, at last, how about a little Gin Tonic before dinner!
