Season 3, Ep. 21

Last Friday evening, I was unexpectedly asked: “we are going to be mentioned in your blog, aren’t we?”. Before I even got the opportunity to process the question (I took some time to first feel flatter by it) someone else rapidly replied: “oh yes, she will definitely write about us!”. Lately, I seem to get this question whenever something worth telling forges itself into existence which is not a far-fetched assumption as  I now, almost automatically, tend to see the acts of my life through the lens of my camera and the keyboard of my laptop -‘this deserves a photo!’ or ‘I need to write about this!’ are recurring thoughts. Accordingly, I shall not disappoint both the fans of my (always at risk of cancellation) sitcom life and the guest starring actors of this particular episode. Hence, let me, indeed, write about it. And given that this is the twenty first post of the blog, a diary of my third endeavour living abroad where the in-between summers count as webisodes, I hereby present you with the script for Season 3, Episode 21 of the Nomad Life of Sofia (working title). 

It was a cold, pitch black night in a place lost between the corner of no and where in the south island of a country already geographically relegated to the outskirts of human civilization. Outside, horses, cows, sheep, chickens and dogs faced Mother Nature's dark and ruthless hours. Inside, a cat and five humans (a Portuguese, a German, a Chinese, a New Zealander, and an Irish) enjoyed the warmth of a fireplace and the modern comforts imposed to an old farm house. In such a recipe-for-disaster scenario, we were lucky enough to avoid being trapped and painfully murdered one by one by a redneck serial killer, kidnapped by aliens or, the one that I most feared, being caught in a zombie apocalypse (with those big glass windows we would be so, well, dead).

Everything went perfectly according to plan, which for this particular episode meant to bring the characters closer together, not to kill anybody off. The script called for a nice dinner followed by fireplace bounded intellectual discussions about Europe (Lecturers, PhD's students and Interns of a research centre on Europe, will, inevitably, discuss the old continent continuously) and late night glasses of wine (or Coke to undisclosed members of the cast) with alcohol soaking the conversation into more mundane (fun!) topics. The hours past and faster than the falling of Europe's southern nations into disgrace, I found myself sharing a heavenly cosy bed with a Hong Kong woman named Cher (one of those experiences I can now cross from my to-do list). The next morning, I was awaken by the good morning chantings of a Rooster outside my window, a two year old playing in the living room and an Irish breakfast of bacon and eggs in the kitchen.

However, the twist that made this a rewatchable episode was not the who, the where or the what. It was the why. My supervisor invited me and the other (now written off script) intern to spend the night at her farm as a sincere thank you for all the help. I'm still an unpaid intern but it helps to believe that some things in life are just priceless.


Next week we are filming on location. Stay tuned!

Sumner Sunny Sunday

Last January, on my flight from Sydney to Christchurch, I met Susan, a New Zealander woman physically in her sixties but with an attitude so larger than life that makes her spiritually ageless. She lives in one of the most beautiful areas of Christchurch but also one of the most affected by the February 2011 Earthquake - Sumner, a little seaside suburb with dozens of houses built in the hills where the sun rises every morning to incredible views of the Pacific Ocean. Nowadays, a great part of those houses are set for demolition while another part faces the need of major reconstruction, all in the mist of unwilling cooperation from insurance companies and the overall perception of deep incompetence by the Earthquake Commission.

Overviewing Sumner

As the plain landed, Susan gave me her contact and an open invitation to visit her and a tour of the destruction among those past heavenly mounts. I was immediately keen on the idea not because I have a morbid desire to see other people's misery but because Susan spoke with such optimism, conviction of the better days laying ahead and absolutely no desire of abandoning Christchurch, that I truly wanted to be a firsthand witness of someone's almost unbelievable resilience. Her glass was shattered but also more full than ever.

(Broken) Houses on the hill

A few days ago, a friend of mine arrived from Germany to visit me and having done and seen everything there is to do and see in Christchurch (translation: not much), I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to finally take on Susan's offer to spend a day in Sumner. Her reply to my message and personal re-encounter was a revival of the woman I briefly set next to, high above the Tasman Sea - a welcoming smile, a strong hug and a contagious energy.  

As we arrived at her home on a sunny Sunday, I felt myself entering the paradoxal reality that Sumner now is: an amazing house with a breathtaking view but with half of its walls destroyed and replaced by temporary wooden boards with a construction logo on it. But we didn't set down and grief, we laughed and shared stories. We told her how my friend and I got together one day in the Netherlands to make a decision about coming to New Zealand, in my case, and to Japan, in hers, even after the destruction caused by the earthquakes in both countries. While most people around us were advising us against it, we realize that we actually had no inner doubts about what to do. In return, Susan told us how she travelled the world, lived in Japan for more than a decade and enjoyed every step of the way as much as she could. Somehow, her laughs echoing in a greatly destroyed house that still felt like a home, didn't seem odd at all to us, they seemed familiar.

Dozens of containers along the road holding the hills

After driving us around the hills for about one hour, telling us what happened to this and that house, to this and that friend and to the community as a whole, she drop us off in one end of the beach long pedestrian walk (the dictionary tells me the word for this is 'esplanade') so we could enjoy the rest of that sunny day before heading back into the city. As we were about to leave the car, in the context of the goodbye she told us something about her life, I will never forget:

"I made the most of it and I have no regrets!" 

followed by a loud and sincere laugh. How many people are lucky enough to say the same?

Into the ocean

As we strolled down the esplanade with an ice cream in our hands, the sun above and the ocean besides us, we kept mentioning those words and being certain of one thing: one, ten or forty years from now, all we want is to look back and have that exact same reaction about our own life. Not everything will be good, not everything will work out but as long as we have the courage to try, everything will be worth it.

Make the most of it and have no regrets.

Happy Go Lucky

Luck. For the second time in a few months I felt this incredible feeling of being hit by a lightning full of luck right in my core. The first time was in Australia (which I am still owning my 3.5 readers a post about) and the mentioned second was last week on a short trip to Dunedin. Just like in the land of Oz, I was constantly mesmerized by how lucky I was for everything that was happening around me and involving me. For the lack of a better explanation, it seems like an involuntary stream of bliss you just need to appreciate and let yourself go with the flow. Happy go lucky.

Dunedin Railway Station

With my financial budget resembling the current status of a bankrupt southern European country, travelling must be an inventive economic process. Nevertheless, good things can actually come out of such restrictions. In that sense, the bible of any backpacker who 1) is on a budget, 2) loves to travel, 3) wants more of a town than partying hard and get laid on a hostel bunk bed, it’s called Couchsurfing. After such a great couch surfing experience in Sydney, I was eager to try it again and fortunately I did! Hence, our luck in Dunedin started from the very moment we set foot out of the bus. Our host, Phil, went to pick us up by car at the bus station and drove us to his place, where his girlfriend, Asia, welcomed us with a big hug. The best thing of being involved in couchsurfing is that, you will, for the most part, meet people who are genuinely good, generous and are keen to open their house to you. It is a community of people who share a passion for traveling and even when they are not traveling themselves they like to help and share experiences with those who are. More, not only were Phil and Asia wonderful hosts (including an amazing vegetarian dinner served with homemade beer. all to the sound of Deolinda) but their home was a cozy apartment right in the city centre with a fantastic view over the harbor. 

University of Otago

cute cafes all over town

And because being so lucky with our accomodation apparently wasn't enough to make this a fantastic trip, my partner in travel crime, Manu, received a call from a high school friend, Florian, saying that he was also arriving in Dunedin with is girlfriend, Chiara, the very same day as we were. This pure, and again very lucky, coincidence allowed us to go on a day trip to the Otago Peninsula with them on their car. As the back seats were transformed into a bed, I spend my day poppin in and out of a mattress and watching stunning scenery from a horizontal position. 

Otago Peninsula

Otago Peninsula - Sandfly Bay

By the end of the day, and keeping in touch with a backpacker's budgetary limitations, Florian decided that we should catch our own dinner. And by we I mean the Germans who went into the low tie to dig almost 200 muscles and the Portuguese who documented the moment for future reference. Cooking such dinner took a long, cold and rainy two hours in a parking lot by the beach and ended up being eaten in the parking lot of a supermarket in the city. Despite the challenges, we were happy and proud of our accomplishment. 

Catching dinner

Dinner!

To finalize the last night in Dunedin, after an exquisite meal homeless style, we met our hosts in the local Scottish pub to try and restore some blood circulation and have a goodbye drink. Even at the pub, what could have been a very awkward evening with people that have met each other in 48h, 12h and 30 minutes periods, turned out to be filled with mutual and sincere laughs.

Scottish Pub - Albar

As for Dunedin, it was the perfect background to such amazing times. Beautiful town full of life (it has the oldest University in New Zealand, University of Otago, with 24,000 students) and great little cafes. All of these within a 10 minutes car ride from the Otago Peninsula which is home to rare penguins and sea lions who like to hang out in the local beaches. We weren't lucky enough to see any but after four very nice days, I think Luck gave me more than enough.

Want/Need

February 21, 2012. In precisely three months, on May 21, 2012, I will be boarding a flight back to the root of all current financial crisis evil, Europe. More poetically, half of this chapter of my life is written and the second half will start being penned down today. The countdown has officially begun.

Which makes today the symbolically perfect day to share a thought that came to my mind the other day and has been stuck with me ever since. And no, I wasn’t breathing fresh air on the top of a mountain with a beautiful skyline in front of me when it hit me, I was just carrying bags full of groceries on my way from the supermarket back to my house (I’m sure Hollywood writers will prefer the first scenario once my life is set to become a fictional blockbuster). My first reaction was to remember it  for when I write the very last post of the blog. But why wait? It’s a feeling I have right now and it might change so let’s see if in three months time I still agree with my own mid-term assessment. Thus, I suddenly realize, while holding milk in one hand and bananas on the other, that New Zealand is all I wanted it to be. More, it is everything I needed it to be.

In the name of the Patron Saint of Unoriginality and Life Clichés, I admit that one of the main motivations to come so far away was to run from myself, to start over (Hollywood will keep this cheesy part, I’m sure). I wanted to be less of me, a better me, a different me. I wanted to live what I didn’t, to experience what I didn’t, to have the courage to put myself in the edge of a proverbial cliff and jump like I never did. In sum, to push my boundaries and see how far I was able to go. And so I did it. On all accounts. And every outcome proved to be a life lesson. Specially on two specific subjects.

First, the most obvious one. Being single, after seven years with someone, was a severe case of ‘now what?’. New Zealand promptly provided the answer to that question. Mostly, I crashed and burned but there are no regrets to be found in that pain. I pushed my emotional limitations to the edge, overcoming some and resigning myself to the fact that others will always be there. But now I know exactly how far can I go and most importantly, I know where I should go.

Second, money and all its friends. I crossed the world at the costs my own personal sacrifices – working hard, saving hard, asking my parents for support and spending as little as I can on trivial things while here. This means that sometimes (many times) I can’t go to the movies, paid events or to restaurants like everybody else. While most people understand and some even offer to help, asking nothing in return, others make a point of calling me cheap, make fun of my lack of money and simply excluding me from the get go. I won’t lie and say I’m above it. Being in a constant financial lockout is exhausting by itself, let alone with outspoken voices reminding me of it. Nevertheless, and despite the fact that dealing with it is not easy, I am glad for the thicker skin it is giving me. It is specially thickening the conviction that I will never let my birthplace determine where I am going no matter how much people who have it easy mock me for the priorities I need to impose myself in order to be able to get there.

So far, for all of the lessons learned in NZ, I got much more than I wanted, I got what I needed.

Radical Diplomacy

When I created this blog, I made a rule that references to two subjects would be kept to a minimum: work and boys. The first because discussing work is like throwing a boomerang that will inevitably bounce back to kick you in the ass and the second, well, because writing about my Mr. Big’s (or the lack of them) for the world to read wouldn’t be Carrie-Bradshaw-fabulous, it would be just be Sofia-Alves-uncomfortable. For me and for the world. 

Nevertheless, today I will open an exception to this rule on both subjects because I have the urge to brag a little bit about my week. At work, we received the visit of the Head of the European Union Representation to Australia & New Zealand. This might not seem like much to you but for those (read: me) emerged in everything with the word ‘Europe’ on it for the past year and half, this feels like meeting a rock star. Ok, maybe the drummer of an indie band only music nerds know about but still very exciting for such nerds (again, read: me).

And because my life tends to take eclectic turns, there’s nothing like going home after such a high ranked diplomatic encounter, take my executive chiq dress off and get ready for a birthday party at a house full of Brazilian radical sport athletes. (Granted, these things didn’t happen in the same day and most of the guys were away to participate in a downhill race but for the sake of the story, it has more literary impact if I describe it like this so bare with me.)

My point is, when I look back at this week, one thought comes to mind: sometimes my life doesn’t completely suck. On the one hand, I got to meet an EU Ambassador at my workplace and, on the other hand, I got to hang out with extremely-pleasant-on-the-eye-and-touch Brazilians. Regarding my interactions with such lovely gentlemen, I’ll include that in my future bestseller which I shall write while sitting by the window of my Manhattan apartment. Or I’ll just tell them to my coworkers when I’m back in Portugal, restocking shelves at a supermarket earning the minimum wage. Either way, a good week it was.

Roadtrip!

A few weeks ago, the German efficiency machine that is my fellow internship workmate came across the opportunity to relocate (meaning that the car company needs to move the cars/vans from one city to another so anyone willing to do it doesn't have to pay anything) a campervan from Christchurch to Queenstown.  Giving that convincing me to travel, especially if it is virtually for free, never takes more than 3.5 seconds, soon enough everything was booked and one week later we were hitting the road down south. Let me now take all of those km’s and putting them into words. 

 

the sweet ride!

 

Day 1: Christchurch – Timaru – Oamaru

 

Calling any allocation of people in New Zealand, with the exception of Auckland, Wellington and Chirstchurch, a city it’s an over stretch. There are, at the very most, towns. Ask any New Zealander what you should do in their country and the first thing they will say is ‘skip the towns’. Even the activities proposed by Lonely Planet for the towns themselves were certainly written just to fill what would otherwise be awkwardly blank pages. But I’ll be damn if I leave this country without a list of towns crossed off my to-do list! And so the first day was dedicated to two of the three main ones along the east coast south of Christchurch: Timaru and Oamaru. The third, Dunedin, will be targeted later this month on a weekend trip.

 

Timaru

Timaru

Oamaru

Oamaru

So, the towns. The formula seems to be the same anywhere: there’s an architectural mixture of pretty colonial British buildings with a central commercial street evoking the likes of small American towns. There’s maybe a beach, maybe some penguins and that is that. If you want to avoid death by boredom in a New Zealand town you need to a) go into the wild by yourself, b) pay a lot to enter the wild (tours, boat trips, skydiving, even hiking). But then again, it’s the country of Lord of the Rings, not the Matrix so it’s a known (and appreciated) fact that Nature rules over humans here. 

 

Sensitive Dunes in Timaru

Peguins have feelings too in Oamaru

 

In the evening, we drove to the free campsite located in Kakanui, a tiny town by the sea, south of Oamaru. It was a very pleasant small camping spot on a cliff of a beautiful beach, which made for an amazing waking-up in morning experience made of bright warm sun, the sound of waves and surfers hitting the water in the early hours of the day. One of those surfers was a Belgium young guy travelling by himself who played the guitar in our van the night before while it was pitch black and ruthlessly cold outside.  

 

Neighbours

 

Morning View

 Day 2: Danseys Pass – Omarama – Lindis Pass

 

The day looked promising with such a good start and, indeed, it was. With no “big” towns on the schedule, the plan was to drive through valleys and mountains and stop wherever Nature offered something cool to see or do. As a movie addict, the best way to describe this day for me is: something straight out of Hollywood blockbusters set in mystical lands. Morning session: The Chronicles of Narnia. As we drove into mainland near Duntroon, a sign pointing to a secondary road caught our attention – The Elephant Rocks. 

 

As we turned to check it out, I opened Lonely Planet to see if there was any mention of it and there was! The rocks, resembling elephants and lost in the middle of nowhere with just a sign indicating the way to find them, were feature in the Narnia movies. My travel partner couldn’t care less about this fact but I felt myself having a little geeky orgasm for being there. After leaving the Rocks, we stopped at Danseys Pass, by a river running through two mountains, where the weekend hobby for local men is to find gold (and they do!).

 

Narnia to the right

The Elephant Rocks

Danseys Pass

Part-Time Gold Digger

 

Next stop on the road was Kurow, a little town (population: 300) which made for the second movie location of the day: it seems like it was a recently built movie set of a tiny town of the American Midwest. Following Kurow, we headed to the water along the Waitaki River, Lake Waitaki, Lake Aviemore and Lake Benmore. The most incredible thing was seeing up-close the incredible Waitaki Hydro Dam. Oh, and just FYI, I was prohibited to publicly say that we stopped for a hike in one of the mountains next to the dam (“it is a WALK so don’t go say on your blog this is a HIKE”)  but as any step I take into nature seems very radical to me, I’ll call it just that, a hike. 

 

Kurow - just like a movie set

Waitaki Dam

Lake Waitaki

Walking Hiking!

 

Through the mentioned lakes and rivers, we finally arrived in Omarama (population: 230) where we were supposed to spend the night. However, after discovering that the free camping spot we were planning to stay in was beyond horrific, we only stayed there long enough to take a very cold bath in the near river (shampoo included) and to leave for the second option of free accommodation in Nature. With this decision we manage to change the plans of two german and two dutch girls who also didn’t want to stay in the place that Gandalf obviously destroyed in anger. 

 

 (sorry, no picture of me taking a shower will ever be available for public display)

Finding the second camping spot was, by itself, a whole adventure that led us to the third movie session of the day: Jurassic Park meets Lord of the Rings. While driving through cinematographic mountains, my mind kept wondering if I would be lucky enough to see Frodo being chased by a T-Rex. When we finally found the camping site, it was completely worth the time and fuel we spent on the search – a beautiful green grass place in a valley, surrounded by tall trees in the mist of the ruins of a hotel built during the gold rush era of the XIX century to serve miners, abandoned for many decades now. To end the journey, the theme of the day was kept and while the night fall outside, three germans and me set inside our campervan watching The Little Shop of Horrors (which reassured my deep hatred towards musicals and the whole 80's decade). 

 

Where's Frodo?

Finding the camping site

Lindis Pass Hotel at the Nine Mile Historic Reserve

 

 Day 3: Wanaka – Queenstown 

 

Day three was occupied with the main resort towns on the south island – Wanaka and Queenstown. We were welcomed by a sunny day in Wanaka, a town located at the southern end of a Lake with the same name. For most people that come here, New Zealand is about hiking and exploring nature to the fullest but, for me, the simple act of taking a swim in a lake of crystal clear water with mountain tops full of snow in the horizon is enough to have one of those moments that remind me why I came. To reach our finally destination, we drove by the breathtaking scenic Cardrona Valley Road, with those views where postcard pictures are born.  

Lake Wanaka

Cardrona Valley Road

And now a question to the audience: what’s the most stylish way to arrive in Queenstown? Walk the 10 km between the airport and the city center, of course. After dropping off the van at the airport we decided that the best use of our money would be to spend it in a well-deserved cappuccino and muffin and afterwards walk the trail by the river between Frankton and Queenstown. A decision not regretted. After slightly losing our sense of direction of how to get to town, we accidentally bumped into a jaw dropping view from the shore of Lake Wakatipu and we were lost no more. 

 

4km done, 6km to go!

 

First sight of Queenstown

 

After letting our eyes contemplate the views and our legs enjoy their accomplishment, we headed to the Hostel (chain hostel but very nice and very central: Base Queenstown), followed by watching the sunset at the beach (it's utter romantic if you do it with your better half, it's awesome if you do it with friends so win-win anyway), while holding what might just be the best burger I ever had – Fergburguer. After our cholesterol was fully satisfied, we 'hit the night scene' (whatever can be hit on a sunday night) in a very cool bar with good music just in time to catch the Australia Open final match (sorry Nadal). 

 

View from the Hostel room window

In the evening

 

Day 4: Queenstown – Lake Tekapo – Christchurch 

 

There’s not much to this day besides reporting that we caught a bus at 8 a.m. in Queenstown, stopped for lunch at Lake Tekapo and arrived back in Christchurch in late afternoon. Just a note of advise for those planning to travel with NakedBus – you can get very good deals with them (trips for 10$ or even 1$ and normal prices around 35$) but the buses are old with no suspension (prepare yourself to feel every bump in the road for 8 hours).

 

(Damn, it was more exhausting to write this post than the trip itself!)

Into the Night

In all honesty, the words you are about to read are not the first ones coming out of my keyboard for this post. I had already put together the story of how last weekend seemed to have been scripted by a Disney writer who dreamed of becoming the new Woody Allen only to be stuck with writing lines to the Hannah Montanas of this world. The result of that frustration is, as usual, just another episode of my life where tragic-comic elements meet teenage drama. That story describes how I was struck by a life epiphany in the dancefloor of a gay club, how I cuddled ponies on a mountain, how I met Prince Charming while dressed as a princess (well party princess, but still) and how an evil hobbit stole him from me. After writing all of that, I realized that if I published such fairy-screwed-up-tale, I’d get in trouble with people here in Middle Earth. Therefore, that story goes directly to my post-mortem heritage and I start from scratch a more adult and less compromising version of the facts. 

To begin, and given that the relevant events of the last days all happened after the sun went down, it is time to provide for some insights about kiwi night life. Going out in New Zealand its, for itself, a sociological phenomenon worthy of empirical field research and posterior theoretical analysis. The first thing you must know is: kiwis love to drink. A lot. Too much. Driving around at 22h30 (!) gives you the feeling of being in the middle of an apocalyptic zombie movie a) because parts of the city are, indeed, in a apocalyptic state and b) long before the clock ticks midnight, there are dozens of people (young and not so young) literally dragging their heavily intoxicated bodies through the streets after already leaving behind a collection of empty bottles at someone’s house, which makes them look like packs of zombies. The dress code is the second thing that strikes one’s attention. No matter how cold it is, and it’s always pretty cold, girls (young and not so young) dress like they are going to a cocktail party at a strip club with their fancy micro dresses. And, naturally, jackets are a thing for sober/uncool people. To avoid all of this there are two options: you go to a gay club or you party with your own well-behaved friends. Last weekend I did both.  

Night Out.  On Friday night I headed for the best place to go out in any town: a gay club. It just so happens that this simple truth – already known for a long while by gay people and their straight friends – has also been discovered by the general population of Christchurch. Never had I seen a gay club with so little, well, gays. Given that the earthquake destroyed nightclubs and churches in the same proportion, there are not many options left to pray or drink. People are not becoming more atheist by the lack of churches but they are, at least, becoming less homophobic just so they can enjoy their weekly doses of David Guetta anthems. 

Night In. Life is unpredictable. That’s the main thing I have to say about last Saturday night. When I go to a house party with work mates, including Interns and PhD's students of an already reasonable age, I expect a civilized and enjoyable time with people I see every day. What I don’t expect is that I'm going to start my night by screaming from the balcony with a bunch of people to the home alone guy in the apartment building in front of ours and that such a guy is not only willing to put his shoes on and join a party full of strangers but turns out to be the best live male specimen I ever encountered of what I always pictured my perfect guy to be like. Damn it, he actually exits.

The Twenties

Someone told me today that the twenties might just be the hardest period we need to go through in life. At the sound of these words, my first reaction was to vividly disagree – after all, it is the age when we are still young enough but no longer bound to adolescent stupidity and also the age when we can still enjoy life without too much ropes tying our wrists. Nonetheless, it was an arguable but valid point. 

Yes, teenage years are hard but you always have the comfort of knowing that your life still lies ahead in a (apparently) distant future and the thirties will bring you confidence (or regret) about the choices you made in the past. But the twenties are the present. It’s the decade when you make it or break it; when it’s now or probably never. All the dreams you had and all the things you always wanted to pursuit are finally in front of you to be taken or let go. The time when you need to have the courage to jump but also be aware where you are going to fall. When the roads you choose will, indeed, lead you somewhere (which may be no where at all). In no other period of you life is the pressure so high to build the foundations of what you will become.

In the end, I couldn't counter argue such statement because I relate to it. In my twenties I achieved the dreams I had since I was young and for that I am immensely proud of myself but I also feel constantly compelled to sort my life out and make the right decisions. I can hear the clock ticking. Loudly.

These are the twenties. Today will affect tomorrow. Do you agree?

New Zealand Reloaded

The clock was ticking past one in the morning of a Saturday night when the plain touched the ground but my body and mind were still unwilling to slow down as the adrenaline that rushed through my veins for seventeen days was still going strong. The next day, however, as I woke up, I wonder if I had actually slept on my bed or been a part of a hit and run. I could feel every muscle I own punching me and every cell of my brain screaming at me. That was Australia: an extremely intoxicating experience from which I was (finally) facing a massive hangover. Simply putting it, I was having a heavy redraw from a powerful drug.

Beyond the physical pain, I was also coping with a very strange mental adjustment. On the one hand, the feeling of utterly wanting to go back to  Australia and on the other hand, that strange sensation of going from perceiving New Zealand as a far away and exotic destination I would not visit in a near (or far away) future to calling it home. It always seemed a bit surreal whenever I said the words “I'm only in Australia for a short vacation, I'll return soon to New Zealand where I live”. But it really is the place where I live as I have a house, work, friends and routines to vouch for that (sometimes I need to say this to myself). Hence, I was trap between the unbelievably amazing two weeks I had in Australia and the unbelievable reality of calling New Zealand home. 

And perhaps out of jealously for my passionate affairs with Australia, New Zealand decided to make me a love declaration and reload our relationship – a Thursday afternoon off work to go to the beach, a Saturday day trip through mounts and valleys culminating in an amazingly beautiful beach, a lazy Sunday by the pool with a city skyline as background and catching up with friends over home cooked meals.

Australia is head over heels passion, New Zealand is steady love.

Blame it on Australia

It’s been three weeks since my last post and I figure that by now I have lost three quarters of my five and half faithful readers. For the remaining, I have a valid excuse for my blogosphere absence: Australia. Three states, three major cities, a Great Road by the Ocean, a National Park, the Tasman Sea, Christmas, New Years Eve, Australian beer and the best seventeen days of my life. But fear not for my lack of written words because during my time in the land of Oz, besides taking a total of 1036 photos, I religiously carried with me a little notebook which is now full of thoughts and key words I will soon(ish) turn into my Tales of Australia. That means that there will be a lot to read. ...Or not that much depending on the amount of events I should refrain from public knowledge. For now is back to reality (and reality is being back in New Zealand which after two months still seems a bit surreal to me). Stay tuned!