Me, Mum, & The World.

A final link

2009-04-16T03:05:00.001-07:00

Just to say that I have started to put a new blog together using Margan's account of her childhood and photos from her album circa 1920 in Yorkshire. Thank you Cherry for the typed version. It's great.

You can view it at

http://marganswords.blogspot.com/

With love

Me. Mum, and the World

The last post

2009-03-25T19:11:00.001-07:00

So here we are at the end of the journey.

A final day in Christchurch, packing bags down to fit the requirements; trying to prepare for the long long long haul flight ahead. We are going to be traveling for close to 30 hours. The final flight being some 25 hours. I have had to ring Qantas to try and get a seat near the loo. I am dreading the imprisonment.

In the square a man ascends a ladder and starts a kind of monologue which ranges over the role of Men and Women throughout history, with some kind of quirky philosophy thrown in.

"You can either have a short happy life or long miserable life!" He declares with one hand raised. "Have a short happy life picking through the rubbish od Mombai, or long miserable life in a developed contry"

I particularly liked his slightly ecclesiastical costume; and I have to say if I had such a costume I would wear it when I'm teaching. In fact I liked his style. He semed slightly familiar to me.

So what will I do when I get home?

I'll tell you what I'll do.

I'm going to make a large lime jelly which is green and cold and quivers; and I'm going to eat it with cold red grapes and some plain yhogurt.

I'm going to get the mower out of the shed and I am going to mow the lawn, carfully, neatly, slowly.

I'm going to play the piano when the house is empty; I shall sing at the top of my voice.

I will fiddle around with the pond and maybe add a few more bedding plants round the edge; get the fountain going, watch the water drops make patterns on the surface of the pond. Maybe there will be a frog.

I will go to the gym and have a swim and long hot sweat in tha sauna; sweat out the dust of the journey.

Oh yes . . . I must make an appointment to see the doctor as well.
Here's an old old lyric for you - one of my favourites ever since I was a teenager:

"I carry the dust of a journey
That cannot be shaken away,
Yet it lives deep within me,
For I breathed it in everyday"

(Emerson Lake and Palmer - Pictures at an exhibition)

And so gentle reader, until we meet again - with love

Me
Mum
& the world

The road to Akaroa (Let the pictures do the talking)

2009-03-24T21:19:00.002-07:00

Via Geraldine to Akaroa on the Banks peninsula. A drive like no other.

Tomorrow packing and organising.

With love

Me
Mum
& The World

Akaroa (Let the pictures do the talking)

2009-03-24T21:19:00.001-07:00

Doyles

2009-03-24T18:47:00.000-07:00

The road to Ruapuna was a lovely drive. I had the impression I was in somewhere like the midwest. Long straight roads, and flat lands. The instructions given to us by Adrienne where pinpoint accurate and by mid afternoon we were in the land that Margan came from.

And what an incredible place to look at. A large flat plain which ends at the foot of Mount Peel. Mount peel with slightly misty shadows in purples, dark brown, blacks and nearly a blue colour. Slightly shrouded in a thin mist. Absolutely incredible.

I could so easily imagine a young Margan on a pony making her way down a track, dust kicked up by the hooves. Behind us as we drove a plume of white dust thrown up from the unmade road by our wheels seemed to echo that thought.

We came to Ruapuna mid afternoon, which seemed to consist of a cross roads with a small church a hall, plus one homestead. We took a few pictures and then - being slightly too early, checked their driveway, and moved on. Driving empty dusty roads that stretched for ever.

You have to actually experience this place to get any sense of it; such apparently endless roads; huge fields with big piles of stones gathered together in them in large mounds. Massive irrigation machines stretching thier matallic wings over the fields of - what was it? Kale? Maybe. A place of a different scale and space than I have ever seen before.

Eventually we drove down the long drive to Neil and Adrienne's homestead. Rang the brass bell that hung outside the door.

Adrienne came to the door, an elegant smiling lady, very smartly dressed. Then Neil thin, red faced, with some kind of mischivious twinkle in his eye. I had the feeling that we were going to get on well straight away. And we did.

I was installed in a what Neil described as the "The dog box" - actually a rather nice little room (en suite) off the garage.

We had a few drinks and nibbles on a verandah and I marvelled at the Garden which sported a pond to make mine at home look like a puddle, a white sculpture nestling in a shaped border, lovely trees.

This was the house where Grandma Doyle lived, (that's my Great Grandmother - I think). Neil is Mum's second cousin (again I think). The family tree came out - (the one drawn in a criclular fashion) and although I could see myself and Geg on the map - I couldn't quite work out the relationships bewtween people I didn't know. I have a copy of this at home, and when I get back I will post it up here for general presusal. I expect a lot of you will know it.

Neil, was self effacing, but it transpired had been a racing driver. The following potted biography is from Adriene:

"He raced for about 8 years starting with saloon cars - originally just one, a highly modified Anglia, to which he had fitted a corvette motor and it went like a robber's dog! He had quite a bit of success in that and then he moved onto single seater race cars, namely a Begg Formula 5000 and then, while he was in England bought John Surtee's Formula one car and had quite a bit of success with that in New Zealand also.

He gave up once we were married to concentrate on farming, anyway he could not afford both race cars and me!!!! Just for the record, we have 2 sons, one married and running the farm and the other a helicopter pilot in Australia. Neil could now be best described as semi retired from the farm as James is pretty much the manager."

After a lovely evening drinking wine and eating local mutton, an evening laced with laughter and fun I retired to bed very peacefully.

In the morning we were taken by Neil to a house down the road and (as I understand it) this is where Margan lived as little girl. It belonged to Edward. It's now lived in by a woman called (approriatley) Liz, and the Garden has been worked on and cultivated into a labarynthian set of lawns and trees with borders all around. Lovely.
Again I could imagine Margan wondering around (not the same gardens - they are later) here, sitting under the porch, I could really imagine it.
So it was a really good meeting and I felt that it was the drawing together of the journey, and as we left the Doyle's and headed west back towards the sea I was so glad we had come all this way.

Hondo and Sachmo

2009-03-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

One day we decided to walk to a bar that Mum had read about in The Lonely Planet, it is apparently called "Sachmo's" and on a Sunday afternoon they have music and do gourmet pizzas. What a good combination.

So despite the rather long walk we set off with hope in a=our hearts and knowing that there was a good sit-down and food at the end of it.

The walk took us along the Avon river northwest out of town. It was a beautiful walk with lovely weeping trees bending over the river in dignified silence. Reflected in the shimmering water.

When we had walked the whole length of this particular road with no sign of Sachmo's we found a coffee shop staffed by a young blonde woman who looked at us askance when I asked about where Sachmo's was. We were not the kind of people she expected to go there perhaps?

"Git a lung wark" she said

(Note about the NZ accent: The word "desk" is prounonced "Disk" the word "Lid" is pronouned a little like "led" crossed with "lud")

Anyway we walked back along the road still couldn't find it. Eventually we went into an Asian shop to ask if they had heard of it. There were three chineese men in there and they all whipped out maps and started to look at them and discuss in hurried Chinese our request. This went on for a long time and mainly I could only see the tops of there heads (balding mostly).

One of the men seized the Lonely Planet book and deciphering the text announced: "I find" and marched out of the shop with the book and and therefore us following. We knew the address and had been up and down the street ourselves, but in his opinion we just had not looked hard enough. We arrived in the street and he stood there lookingat the numbers and then said

"Maybe it this one?" pointing at what was clearly a domestic house.
"No I don't think it is" I said "Its the wrong number anyway."
"I ask" he crossed the road into another domestic garden where a man was minding his own business smoking a ciggerette.
"Never 'erd of it mite" the book was put closer to the man's eyes and the question was asked again.
"No Mite. . ."

Undeterred the man walked further along the street. I asked him his name "Hondo" he said, and what was he doing here? "PHD in agriculture" and with that he was up another driveway to knock on a door. This man was not giving up!

After a long conversation with a confused man at the door of his house he came out of the Garden again "Maybe this?" he indicated a Garden Centre.

It took me sometime to get the Lonely Planet back off him and then we walked back to town quite exhausted.

I feel it's safe to say this man WILL get his PHD and is probably still enquiring up and down the street in search of Sachmo's

The Gondola (Cable car)

2009-03-20T20:53:00.001-07:00

We took a couple of buses to a cable car which took us up to 500m (1500ft) above sea level over the 945 meters. On a clear day there would have been 360° views extending over Pegasus Bay and the Pacific Ocean towards Kaikoura; as well as over the Banks Peninsula. Below nestles Lake Ellesmere and Lyttleton Harbour.

One of the main reasons we went there is that in reading Margan's account of her childhood in New Zealand she describes how they left NZ from Lyttleton harbour. As the ship set sail and left the shore they realised that they had left all their trunks and cases on the bank. Margan's Dad was outraged and an angry but there was nothing they could do. So on the voyage, Mum says, the other passengers went through thier belongings and found material and made them a new set of rather peculiar clothes.

It reminds me of "The Hunting Of The Snark" by Lewis Carrol

There was one who was famed for the number of things
He forgot when he entered the ship:

His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings,

And the clothes he had bought for the trip.

He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed,

With his name painted clearly on each:

But, since he omitted to mention the fact,

They were all left behind on the beach.

The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because

He had seven coats on when he came,

With three pairs of boots - but the worst of it was,

He had wholly forgotten his name.

(This interface won't let me get the spacing right!)

At the top of ride as well as the usual visitor centre selling plastic Tikis, All Black Rugby shirts, and stuffed Kiwi toys, it was possible to go out and walk around a path.

It took me a while to realise the scale of what I was looking at. The whole lake / sea when you look down on the harbour is in fact a huge crator from a massive ancient erruption that threw up the hills around the water. Where the water is the hole that was left by the erruption. To appreciate the size that this must have been yu have to actually be there. It staggers belief.

Mum

& The World

The dyslexia exhibit

2009-03-20T20:45:00.001-07:00

We were walkng round Christchurch and came across this intresting and unusual thing; an open air sculptural garden to promote understanding of dyslexia. The sculpture in the photograph says "The boy who could do better" which is more or less what all my school reports said. There are some seats; and when you sit on them an audio system is triggered and you get information about dyslexia.

The figure is reading a book, and the words flow out of the book and around the garden. The words themselves are crammed together and almost overlap. You can read it but its a bit confusing at the same time. It's outside the New Zealand institute for Dyslexia.

Christchurch and Sumner Bay

2009-03-18T17:02:00.001-07:00

Where we are staying is a quiet little place on the southern edge of Christchurch called Sumner Bay. It's quiet, sunny, there are a few restaurants, and a bar called "The Thirsty Mariner" of which I've already written. They bay is full of surfers and the water glistens in the sunlight silver and blue and green. The Surfers look like seals as they paddle out into the waves, sometimes lost completely from view in the dip between thew waves, then suddenly appearing from the waves as if they are sea nymphs. Very cool.

Yesterday we met someone I used to teech called Emily. She has moved out here, and coincidentally lives in Sumner Bay, we arranged to meet in town and sat on the street tables of a cafe. She is about to be 24, she tells us, and she describes how she's working with video and photography and doing a lot of surfing. I try to imagine what it would be like to be 24, taking pictures, surfing, living in a house overlooking the ocean. I can't do it. When I was 24 the world looked very different to me. Good for Emily!

This morning we walked along the Esplanade in Sumner, watching the surfers, and eating ice creams. Now I've come into town on my own to sort out a car rental, organise the weekend, and mooch about. Mum is back in Sumner Bay, making a parcel of bits and pieces to send back to UK to try and cut down on luggage. I think she's happy and OK, but today as I left for the bus I had sudden doubt that she might not be.

So I'm here in the Cathedral Square of Christchurch, it's busy in a gentle sunny way, people are puzzling over their next move in public chess games, there are people eating hot dogs and pastries, and drinking cappucinos. Seagulls and sparrows edge cautiously closer hoping for crumbs, a busker sings a range of well known songs ("Wish you were here", "Dirty Old Town" "Father and Son") as well as some of his own. There's a street entertainer (a Glaswegian) being tied up in a straight jacket and over head I hear the raw of a jet taking off; where in the world are they going in that thin cigar tube?

Soon we will be doing just that, and I realise that we are already nearing the end of the journey. It's in our minds - that's why Mum is making a parcel, and why I am aware of the jet.

The sun warms the slabs beneath my feet, and the world keeps turning.

To Christchurch

2009-03-17T18:15:00.001-07:00

We caught the train down to Christchurch, the one that goes along the coast. The landscape changed again as we went inland; reminiscent of a European agricultural landscape. Another spectacular ride.

Christchurch itself had a wide airy feel, as we drove through th streets in the early evening towards our hotel for the night.

The Windsor Hotel is an interesting rather Victorian looking building, with very substantial woodwork and rather grand banisters. The was an extrmely friendly and bustling man called Donald who bustled us up to our room, after a very swift briefing on the downstairs facilities.

We shard the room, and had were issued with white bath robes and slippers to skuttle along the corridor to the facilities in. We went out for an Indian meal, and as I sat there I had a portent of misgiving about the choice of cuisine.

Anyway back to the Hotel and I went out looking for a bar. I found a place specialising in Belgian beer. But I didn't get to drink much of it. My gut got me and I was back to the hotel for total immersion.

Not good.

Next morning we went round the Christchurch Arts Centre which is an interesting new building with curving glass walls and sculptures. We saw some work ny the famous NZ artist Rita Angus see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rita_Angus which I enjoyed a lot - particularly her later water colours.

The next day we moved down to the Sumner Bay Motel where we arrived tired and sleepy. I cooked in our rather small apartment. Later I went out and in an irish bar I was beckoned over by a group of oldish and rather drunk people who took my appearance as being quite Irish enough for me to join them in their St Patrick Day's celebration. There was a couple with quite a lot of tension going on between them and when thy left I found myself talking to a man who used to be a vet, a drummer, and had a degree in theology. A good bloke.

I have written some emails to people who are related to the family and still live in the area Margan grew up in. They have asked me to phone them - so I will and that will lead us to another chapeter.

With love

Me
Mum
& The World.

What a ride

2009-03-16T02:35:00.001-07:00

We had planned to go whale watching by boat yesterday but the trip was cancelled due to bad weather. BUT . .

This morning . . . well as you can see . . . we had the fantastic and magical experience of a helicopter (helix [hele] wing [copter]) ride over the Pacific ocean to see Whales and Dolphins. I was doubly transported. It was like being on a magic carpet. I have been in helicopters before but never sitting right next to the pilot and always before to do with filming. To just sit there and watch was fantastic. That man has the best job in the world. And he knew it. I have (I;m sorry about this being a bit nerdy) read about helicopter flying and I was intrigued to see what the pilot was doing as much as the whales.

The sea floor drops dramatically down only about 1 km off Kaikoura to a depth of around 1Km, so the Whales can consequently come very close to shore, allowing us humans to get to see them relatively quickly. The ones we saw were sperm whales. He told us that these toothed whales can actually swallow a small shark whole! Can you believe this? They send out a very loud "click" and this wave of sound (as well as providing echo location) is so powerful that it can temorarily stun the victim and give the whale time to to accelerate into the kill.

The feeling of hanging in the air in this most improbable of machines watching the most incredible of creatures was just brilliant. I felt so calm and happy. Happy at the beauty of nature and the creative inventiveness of humans.

I just had to tell you that before I go to bed. Now I must go and get the washing.

Me
Mum
&
The World.

Train to Kaikoura (plus corrections - more time on computer)

2009-03-13T20:26:00.001-07:00

The train from Picton to Kaikoura was not what I had expected. I suppose I had the idea that a pioneering country - so rugged and new, would have some massive trains with big powerful engines and oversized wheels. But no - it was quite a narrow gauge, and the train was much smaller in proportion to a human being than a British train. In fact I would go as har as to say cramped. I was also surprised at the number of announcements and safety cards. Perhaps they wished they were operating an airoplane.

There was an observation car at the rear of the train, which had no sides and which was exhilratingly windy and wild. I managed to get few snaps of people on the beach walking on the edge of the Pacific, and even some people surfing. (Not easy at that speed, and in that wind)

In between times we sat quite companiobly together. Sharing headphobnes at one point to listen to some Finnish music I had on my mp3, and looking at each others photos.

It was a lovely ride.

I noticed this bloke with a wide variety of lenses, and camera alternatives snapping away, and discovered that he was from Helsinki, so we had some conversation. He had come via South America. When he left Helsinki it was - 30!

"And now . . .look at this - " he pointed to the world around him, bathed in warm misty blue air.

The Panorama Hotel is on the southern edge of the bay quite a walk away from the town (about the distance from Weavers to Dursely- have I already told you that?), but near the seal colony. So the next morning we walked up to the point, and there sleeping in the grass, or on the rocks loads of seals. It was amazing to be so close to real live seals - sometimes less than 10 meters away.

Mum walked with her stick and took lots of photos as well. It was a very happy and relaxed morning, which left us tired but happy by the time we got back to the Motel.

After a little sleep, we went a similar distance the other way into town and did some shopping, and Mum went back to the motel.

ONE WAY TICKET

You can only

Make your own journey

Once

What is yours

Is only and inevitably

Yours

The texture and

Touch the colour is

All.

This ticket this

Life is not transferable

Breathe

Until we meet again. . .

Me, Mum & The World

Picton 2

2009-03-13T20:13:00.000-07:00

Picton lies at the end of the Queen Charlotte sound, an amazing twisting and turning route picked out by the ferry at the nothern tip of South Island.

Picton itself was originally a whaling station - little more, and it's still pretty small. Infact it's probably not much bigger than Dursely, yet it is a nodal point in NZ. The railway starts here and heads south, rolling stock coming off the ferry as well as people and cars.

We were there for two nights and it was a welcome relief to stop and do nothing for a while after all that relentless driving. A chance to catch up on the laundry and diaries and stuff.

To be honest we didn't do some of the things we could. like going on cruises and swimming with dolphins (not quite sure about that myself) but it was great jut to walk around looking at the place.

The next evening I went to an Irish bar, and there was proper irish music going on (a fiddle and a mandolin) and (not very irish but fun anyway) some morris dancing. I enjoyed that a ot, and I got talking to a group of young travellers. An Australian, an American and a Italian who were going south to Blenhiem to work on a vinyard. It was really nice to talk to complete strangers for a short while.

But soon it was time to move on

Me Mum & The World

Picton Ferry

2009-03-11T15:38:00.001-07:00

The task of getting up dropping off the car and getting to the ferry terminal seemed a daunting one especially at that hour of the day (0600) but we got there OK and after a brief sprint to the loo we were checked in and ready to go.

I looked at the water in the shallows over the fence. It was really clear.You could see muscles under the water attached to the rocks. Then the water started to hypnotise me. it was so gleaming and clear and abstract. I got quite mesmerised by it.

The ferry - The Interislander line was lovely. I do like ferries. the route between Wellington and picton is quite interesting.

http://www.tripwiser.com/trip_thing_to_do-InterIslander_Ferry_Wellington_Picton_Wellington_New_Zealand?itiNodeId=8a8c80fe165ecfa101166258ed003355&eType=activity

Picton itself is a little place at the end of Queen Charlotte sound. Ferries come and go, and there is the train south that we will get tomorrow.

last night I left Mum and went out to see if there was an interestying bar. There's a place called The Flying Haggis. But it was not really my cup of tea.

The place we are staying was full up so we were offered "the house next door" which turns out to be massive. We have a surfiet of bedrooms, and the rooms are large enough to hold a reception.

It's rather overcast and cold today and we have heard there is snow further south. It's good to have a day to stop and do nothing.

Napier - Wellington

2009-03-11T15:21:00.001-07:00

We headed out of Napier in Egbert with music and hope. Another long drive ahead - in fact the longest we had done yet. The scenery seemed less variable than the day before, but it was still really interesting. Mum seemed a little tired and nearly fell asleep in the car. I said why don't you justsleep whilewe are going along, but she tried to stay awake. We stopped at a place for lunch which looked like something from a road movie. All day breakfasts.

There was a group of men huddled over bacon and eggs and tea, a very basic loo with a lockless door, and a rather unispiring selection of tat for presents.

We had to cross the mountainous spine towards Wellington and suddenly it was if we were in the Alps with tightly twisting turns, hairpins that made you dizzy, and long snaking views. I loved that bit although you had to really concentrate on the driving. No room for error.

After that once we hit a place called Masterton we were down to 50 KPH much of the time, and it seemed to take an age to get anywhere. I started to think come on lets ge there. Unlike anywhere else we's seen Wellington was a long sprawling place which starts with upper and lower Hutt and drivels on an on seeming to take an age to get to Wellington itself.

We eventually got there and next had the task of locating the City Life hotel. It was a cruel twist that it was at this point that my gut decided to threaten me. But there was NOWHERE to stop, no sign of a cafe or bar, just closed shops and concrete. I was driving like a woman in labour breathing deeply and sweating. Mum was damming the place. Eventually I swerved somewhat illegally into the railway station and legged it for the Loo.

True relief is a beautiful thing. A million times better. Then I found a man in a parcel office who showed me a map and explained the incredibly complex one way system. And that was another million times better.

The City Life Hotel was SWISH. We had a kitchen two bedrooms, TV and lounge area. It was (after that drive) very heaven. Breakfast was early - we were up at six and on our way to the ferry to Picton.

Heading south

2009-03-11T14:52:00.000-07:00

The next day we packed up Egbert (the car) and set off south to Napier, a beautiful bay on the other side of the world.

I bought a CD of world music and played it as we drove. I love the driving here, it's really easy and stress free. You feel free and easy.

Every time you head over another hilltop you confronted by yet another landscape which seems so different from that which you have just left. At one time you could be in Finland with acres of forest, at another point maybe the mid west of America, then big flat fields with sheep and cattel, then vinyards. It truly suprises you at every moment. We stopped briefly at a place called Taupo for coffee and tea, it nestlesd on the edge of a huge lake (Lake Taupo).

We arrived at Napier and had a late lunch. Napier is rather elegant with a lot of Art deco buildings. It too had been earthquaked and when they came to rebuilding Art deco was the thing. Here's a question though - if a place is levelled to the ground by an earthquake how sensible is it to rebuild in exactly the same spot? Just a question.

It's a beautiful place though with a beach that stretches for miles; mainly black pebbles rather than sand. There's a promanade that runs along for miles. Absolutely beautiful. The sea was an endless blue horizon, and white surf zig zagged along against the black pebbles like lace. I loved it. I picked up a white shell and put it in my pocket. A shell from the other end of the world.

The place we had booked into was an interesting place run by a very careful man whose face did not seem to have any expression at all. He was pleasant and frinedly but extremely enigmatic. The place had about 8 rooms and looked out over the sea. Free tea and Coffee, unsophisticat4ed but comfortablke rooms and cheap as well.

We walked to a park which had palm trees and fountains, and shade, and benches. I sat on a bench whil Mum wrestled with a phone box.

I could see how if things were different - like if you had no family connections, no roots anywhere this would be a very attractive place to stay. To live.

We had a kind of picnic in my room, and then wandered along the be=each in the dark. I was unable to recognose any of the stars or contellations except Orion. The rest was a mystery.

Back to Pinehaven for a long sleep. I was tired after all that driving.

Rotorua

2009-03-11T14:29:00.000-07:00

The smell of Rotorua is quite breathtaking, it catches you in the back of the throat; sluphurous and thick. This is a place full of thermal springs and geysers. People come here to bathe in the waters which are supposed to contain beneficial properties.

After WW1 soldiers were sent here to recuperate and to take mud baths and treatments that included sitting in a bath with an electric current going through it! I'm not sure how conducive to recovery that would be.

The bath house itself is incredible to look at with it's elegeant lawns, beatiful woodwork, and fantastic roof. There's a viewing platform on the roof with amazing views. More interesting in fact than the exhibits about the baths. The place suffered a huge earthquaque in 18something or other. and this has completely reshaped the place. There is a geological fault that runs right down through here.

Later we went to see the famous geezer called Pohutu. How human that it has had a big fence built round it and you have to pay to see it. But I suppose it's good to pay into the local economy. There's a lovely forested pathway to the geezer which sits at the centre of a large rocky area which is whitened by the mineral residue that lands on it. As we approached two men were walking away looking alittle underwhelemed.

"A bit like an old man's ejaculation" said one to the other.

Nevertheless we were still keen to see what happened. There was quite a crowd of people there standing waiting with cameras poised and expectation in thier faces.

Nothing really happened for quite a long time and people were drifting away. It starts like a kettle slowly coming to the boil with a similar noise but much deeper and louder. It builds up and builds up untill the hieght of the geyser is about 15 feet. The place is thick with spray and steam and the sulphurous smell.

I though it was quite a good display myself.

Notes:

It turns out that in this part of the woirld you say GUYser not GEEzer.

How do geysers work? http://www.uweb.ucsb.edu/~glennon/geysers/

Lter that day we went back to the Ambassador Thermal Hotel and had a swim as well as a good long bubble in the spa. Very relaxing. So despite the nasty niff

Rotorua turned out OK

The road to Rotorua

2009-03-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

We started driving south along Route 1. It was great driving and the radio was throwing up all these tunes from the past. "Sundown" by Gordon Lightfoot, "If not for you" Olivia Newton John, and god knows what else. It was great.

The roads here seem really new and clean and bright. It seems like a country that has just been built. In some cases the roads were so new that they had not finished cutting through the rock and we were down to 30 KPH.

We stopped in search of a loo and cafe in this odd little place. It was like a little ghost town in a western, a truck across the road was being unloaded of boxes by a man and a boy. I spotted a sign for a loo. The loo itself was a fully automatic "Exeloo" I pressed the button and entered.

"Welcome to exeloo, the door will now close and lock. It will open again after ten minutes." Then Jazzy music the tune - "Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near . . ."

The interior was stainless steel and non vandalizable. When you finished you started washing your hands and this automatically flushed the loo. Then I pressed the button to open the door.

"Thank you for using "Exeloo"

We stopped in another place called Cambridge which seemed to have a lot of race courses and race horses. Verty opulant. Byt Rotorua still seemed an age away. Would we ever get there.

Off we set again, and then

Disaster . . . a 40 second warning and then a sudden and full scale gut attack. I had slam on the anchors and hit the hazzard lights and get out of the car in a flash. Just in the nick of time too. Poor mum didn't know where to look. I was just glad to get away with it.

I felt dpressed afterwards but in the end we got to the Ambassador Thermal Hotel in Rotorua. The whole place smelt of sulphur. But we were there.

WEe signed in and and zoned out in opur separate rooms, showers, bed, tea. What a relief.

More tomorrow.

I think of you.

With Love

Devonport

2009-03-07T19:35:00.000-08:00

Devonport

A busy morning leaving Aukland.

I had located a laundrette on a map, and Mum went to have her nails done. I lugged all our washing downtown and found trhis lovely restful place staffed by very calm smiling oriental women.

The washing in, I hurried back across town to help Mum check out, then it was back to the laundrette to put the clothes in the dryer . . but they were ahead of me and everything was tumbling away hypnotically. So I had a pot of tea in a pub and went into a dream.

The washing safely reclaimed and packed I went back to the hotel and couldn't find Mum, so the doorman put all the bags in the car and I found Mum. Then we sat in the car and prepared to depart. But the engine would not start. Whatever I did with the imobiliser, or what secret buttons I looked for I could NOT make it work \\I had to get the doorman to have a look.

He casually informed me you have to have your foot on the clutch to start the engine . . . well of course!

We drove North over the harbour bridge and soon we were in Lovely Devonport. We both fell in love with the place in an instant. The fact that its a working ferry / port with naval ships using it is great. The water45 was a beautiful colour, and reminded of Venice, it was misty and Aikland was barely visible like a memory just ghosting through.

We had a picnic at the waters edge watched by agulls and sparrows. There was a tree with a stone laid underneath it, it was in memory of the fact that on this spot a certain day in the past nothing happened.

The we drove to Karin's Garden Villa which I had booked over the internet. Such is the strangeness of this brave new world that on turning into Sinclair Ave, I imediately recognised it from Google Earth because I had in effect alreadyt been there. I secognised the house instantly.

Karin came to the door and spoke in a German accent. She had brown skin, grey hair and kind brown eyes. There was something about her I liked instantly. She had been expecting us the day before. That's happened again I thought. How odd. Then she said that this happens often with Europeans. I was a day out.

Damm! that neans I was wrong with the next booking and the one after that. I borrowed a phone from her and rang ahead. I explained the problem

"Your Kidding Me!" the voice on the other end of the line said irritably. I apologised and we got it sorted it out.

Then we had a lovely evening on Karin's veranda with a bottle of wine and some dips and snacks.

As the evening fell and it darkened we both felt more relaxed. Occasionallt a pear (about the size of a coconut) would fall from the tree. It was great.

In the morning at Breakfast we met another guest, an old old man who had moved to NZ from UK because his son had moved there. His wife had died a few yeares ago, and now recently so had his son.

"Just me the cat and the dog now" Mum asked if would go back to England, "Never" he said can't stand the place.

We left later that day for Rotorua.

With love.

Me
Mum
&
The World.

Day 2 - Aukland

2009-03-07T19:15:00.001-08:00

Mum and I head out of our hotel looking for breakfast on the streets of Aukland rather than the bland euro-brek the Hotel offers. We want to walk around and look at the place. Experience life outside the "any place everywhere"

We settle in a Caff and order "too safe away waffu" (2 savoury waffles) tea and Coffee. It's seems to be run by Polynesians and it's busy with people coming and goining. I like it.

Later we split up for a while and go and do our own thing - the plan is to meet at 3.00pm. I ook my camera and walked down along the harbour, I really wanted to see the boats and the bridgesd. There is something great about the bustle of boats. It's full yachts as they are gearing up for a major boat show. Masts and hulls snap and jostle together in the choppy water.

I waled to the end of a kind of pier thing and the wind was fantasdtic. It was really difficult to stand up, and it bufetted my strongly. I love this. I walk leaning into the deafening wind. It feels like an old friend slapping you on the back hard. Shoving me playfully in the chest, Throwing me off my equuilibbrium. Fabtastic.

I am alive in the wind. The wind flies me like a kite.

Then I waondered round town taking photos, and eventually went to the car hire place to sort out the car. I was surprised when they said they were expecting me a day ago. But it's no problem and I arrange to pick it up the next day for the drive to Rotorua.

Back at the hotel it turns out Mum has been down there too, she;s been to the maritime museum and she's really enjoyed thwe guided tour. She ended up talking a to a woman of a similar age who had come to see a friend but the friend was moving house or something. I imagnined them talking away

I think it's great that Mum has come to the other side of the worls and is doing her own thing.

Later

We are having agternoon tea. Mum mstarts speaking about Dad. Suddenly - her thoughts suddenly spoken

"The day before Dad dieid I went to see himm and he looked terrible. YTou see they don't treat the whole man, they have experts in the heart or the diabetes but no one looks after the whole person. He hated that. Anyway . . " she pauses for a moment . .

"anyway I suddenly saw this energy come out of him . . ."

"Where did it go?" I ask

"Into me!" for a moment I thought she might cry but she didn't.

That evening Mum and I had a drink in the "Bar3" and a chinese buffet dinner. Mum retired and I went round town looking for a bar. I found an "Irish Pub" where there was a man playng the piano and singing. He was a little off with his fingers and his lyrics, but the crowd whooped him on. It was quite a loud pub so I left and went back to my room and slept.

Me
Mum
And The World

SYD-AUK

2009-03-04T20:41:00.000-08:00

What a different feeling! What a short flight - a mere two and a half hours - its like popping to the shops! The plane was an older design and even though the film was projected on a screen at the front of the cabin (no interactive LED super fun entertainment centre in your seat) it was a much more comfortable plane. There was room for my legs and the stewards were great. Genuine. Friendly.

As we were coming into land Mum said

"I think its rather fitting we should land in Aukland on Dad's anniversary."

"God! Is it - I forgot!"

"Its OK you don't have to . . ."

"I know but . . ."

Her hand flutters for a moment on my arm.

Five years ago today. Later that evening we toast Dad.

The taxi to the Skyhotel took us through wide open streets with aplm trees along the side and low wooden houses painted white and cream. kid on a skateboard freewheeled down the hill.

The kyhotel itself is an amazing structure, (the tallest in the southern hemisphere it turns out) one of those towers with a revolving restaurant and an observation deck from which (should you have lost reason) you can bunjee jump. 220 meters!

Aukland centre is gleaming and modern, and reminds me a little of a version of Hong Kong crossed with London. There's a lot of building going on too.

In the evening we went looking for a bit of an exploration. I was taking pictures as we went and Mum was looking in shop windows. She wanted to get a take away and bring it back to the hotel.

We found a restaurant and take-away and while it was being cooked we had a beer at the bar. That's when we drank to Dad. The manager / owner was very smiley and and he had the time to listen to Mums story of Margan leaving NZ.

We left to bows and smiles. Beautiful people.

We ate in my room, well I didn't eat much but just picked. We talked about tomorrow. Mum retired to bed.

I went across the road to a bar which had about 3 people in it and had a beer. Sitting at the window watching the world go by.

Me
Mum
and
The World

A Lunch for Lindy

2009-03-04T20:26:00.000-08:00

Lindy is 30 and a big lunch is laid on for her.

Playful babies

Bright people
Fine food
Delicious wine
Dogs on the lawn - lots of them
Sunshine
A lovely afternoon.
Thank you

Louis in his Den

2009-03-04T20:08:00.000-08:00

Just to skip back in time for a moment to JHB. On the Sunday when preparations were underway for Lindys birthday party Louis suddenly showed me a bottle of German wine

What do you think of that? He asked me (this keyboard has no inverted commas)

Never seen it before. I said

Follow me he said, and I did. He took me into his study, a beautifully cluttered room strewn with boxes and fishing rods and books. He pulled back a daoor to reveal an extensive wine collection.

They have to give me a year before I die to drink this bloody stuff. He said.

There was all sorts there inclluding single malts (Talisker no less) and Cognac. Next he showed me some legal books on copyright which was his thing I think. He starts showing me the regulations concerning obviousness. He explains that in order to get protection of the law your idea nust not be bloody obvious.

Then its a leather case for carrying a shotgun, the leather is as hard as wood and polished and smooth. Then its pictures on the wall, then its books - an ecclectic mixture of Punch, Floubert, TS Elliot, Legal stuff, everything.

I am quite overcome by this glimpse into his world.

When all you will is unknown, and only what you can will now is what you are, and when you are not who you really are...

To know that your purse is empty and contains no currency anymore - just old reciepts- To know you are something important but are not quite certain what . . .

To have only this cluttered room and to experiebnce the slow erasure of your own force. To think of yourself in the past . . .

Its hard to imagine what it could be like.

The next day as we are leaving he is standing by the car to see us off

Im sure you can teach me something - jut not sure what he says.

To Louis

JHB - SYD

2009-03-03T03:29:00.000-08:00

We were dropped off by the lovely Chookie at JHB, and we continued on our way.

I have to say that frankly Quantas is NOT British Airways, I was underwhelemd by the experience and the size of the seat. Also the staff were a little team of their own and we (the cattle in the seats) were something of an obstacle for the conitinuation of their banter. Hmmph!

We got to Sydney and we were imeadiately taken for a ride by a man with a limo - but that was OK it was a nice car - and we got to the hotel OK

After showers and and calming down a bit we went to a place called "the Three Aces Sports Bar" which looked to me like a betting shop where you could drink as well.

After doing a bit of a launderette thing (in which I did not initially wash my clothes I simply tumble dried them dirt and all - but soon rectified) I found a . . .

Fantastic bar called Macquarie Hotel across the road where there was a fantastic jazz band (young chaps in modern shirts) playing a really good set in front of a suitable dinjy red vlevet curtain and a small but very appreciative audiance. I was in heaven.

The keyboard was a proper Hammond EK3, and was connected (how brilliant) to a proper lesley speaker. (Look itl up Gabriel - electronica of legend).

I suddenly felt very carefree and happy.

Tomorrow we have an alarm call at 0600 local time for a shuttle to the airport, and onwards to Aukland.

When we get there I will upload more pictures and furnish you with more deatails.

I think of you all the time and even though it's a great experinece I look forward to seeing you all again.

Love is life

Me
Mum
&
The world.

Moving on (New picture added)

2009-03-02T01:40:00.001-08:00

General synopsis issued at 11.45 am on Monday 2nd march 2009:

A jet stream will move us easterly at approximatly 600 mph at a hieght of 36000 feet to eastern Australia in 11 hours 45 minutes of flying time. Local time there will 14.30

Mum: Good, packing, moderate to fair, looking forward.
Roger: Calm to moderate, looking forward.
Guts: Occasional squally showers. looking forward

Roger and Out

16 March- I have added a picture of Peter who was great. He helped me mend thwe zip of my suitcase, and kept everything spick and span. He came from Mozambique and lives with Chookie and Louis, and looks after the house, mows the grass, and a million other things. A very nice man. Thank you Peter.

KLAKIPHONI

2009-03-01T03:05:00.000-08:00

It’s a new day and Chookie has us in the car for a tour of Johannesburg centre. As we drive her commentary continues, pointing out buildings and places, in this city that seems to me to be in constant change.

There is a road block, and Police are hauling cars over. Chookie is pulled. A black policeman with an accent so thick I can’t understand him leans into the car, gun on his hip. She shows her driving licence, he asks where we are going, and has she got any outstanding fines? Apparently if you have, they take you out of the car, stick you in kind of cell in a big van there and then. run your details through every database they’ve got, afinally they make you pay your fine before you can go. Wow! Makes Josh’s red light ticket seem so genteel.

We are now entering the University Campus, there is a big control gate and a sign that forbids guns etc. We are going to the Origin Museum at the university which charts the origin of man. The bit I found most interesting was the invention of the spirit world, and the shamans channeling forces from the energy of the animals they had hunted. After a quick refreshment, and a stroll round the campus, we narrowly avoid being in a really heavy down pour.

We were off on a drive round Central Johannesburg. The windows streaked with rain, so that I can hardly see where we are going. Chookie’s commentary is in full swing and her finger taps on the glass as she drives pointing out items of interest. . .

“ . . .and up there one of our top top boarding schools for girls . . . and here . . . you see here the old South African Berewey . . .” We are approaching a new modern bridge, I ask if it goes over a river.

“we don’t have a river here, the river is in the mines . . . a river of gold and minerals . .” The bridge goes over the main railway.

“Now we’ll go to the Harlem of Johannesburg . . .” and we drive into this morass of cars and people.

Morass is not the word, it needs a new word it is a “KLAKIPHONI” it absolute chaos there are only centimteres between cars, there is absolutly no rule of the road, there are people squeezing impossibly between cars as they move; how they don’t get squashed I don’t know. It is where the third world meets the first world. It is an unholy confluence of people and noise and cars and squalor. No.. . it needs new words . . .

The streets are SHLITTULLS which BLAWLK and CHLOOT humanity along in a tight heaving KLUDD. It’s hell on earth. Chookie tells us how she used to be a police reservist. “. . .we were at this ladida party and everyone was sitting around saying how terrible the country was . . .so I said well why don’t you get off your backsides and do something about it . . “ so she joined the Police Reservists.

A man in a black leather hat has suddenly appeared in the SHLITT and is banging his hand on a minicab wing and shouting furiously and pointing and flapping his hand, he is now off to another vehicle and splattering them with words and gestures, banging on the sides of the cars, and to my amazement little by little he manages to slightly ease the blockage.

The buildings around which this KLAKIPHONI is flowing are tall and run down with broken windows and clothes and sheets hung over the balconies. Apparently there are a lot of Zimbabwean refugees, (Zimbos) messed in with the rest of the huge hungry mass of humanity corwding into this place in search of a better life . . . or maybe just life.

KLAKIPHONI

Another Day

2009-03-01T02:37:00.000-08:00

After a nice slow start, I’m wandering around the garden in the early morning taking pictures with my pinhole camera. I meet Chookie who has been swimming.

She asks me what I think about it so far, and I tell her about the way I felt strange the day before in the car. We talk about perceptions a bit. Chookie tells me how when, many years ago as a teenager, she went to Britain and was surprised to see white men cleaning floors and digging roads. As I said we don’t see our own culture. We don’t blink at the idea.

She tells me how she used to protest against apartheid when she was a student, and how she railed against the machinery of apartheid. Now that apartheid has gone it is only the beginning of a new process. A process of adjustment and re-positioning.

Perhaps it’s a bit like a plumbed system that has been blocked for years with huge pressures building up over the years. The release of the blockage causes waves of high and low pressure all over the system which will take years to equalize.

Chookie talks about education, and how the big mass of the population needs to be educated and skillful and thinking. Now she is telling me about corruption the political system in South Africa, and it’s hard for me to keep up with all the names and parties and factions. I can tell she is not happy with the way things are. Aniother country in search of CHANGE.

I have seen on the internet that there is an exhibition called TRANSIT and the Goethe Institute, so we decide to go and see, stopping off at a gallery on the way. No Louis today, just Me, Mum and Chookie.

The gallery is really beautifully done, the building is airy and has windows in the ceiling letting in light. The trees grow out of the floor and up through openings in the building, very beautiful slim trees with bark that flakes of to make a beautiful pattern of light and dark brown.

One painting grabs me, but I’m afraid I can’t remember the name of the artist. It showed in the background a kind of mining scene with a tower and sand etc, but this was all very out of focus as if it was a memory, the edges of the picture had a kind of vignette of darker paint as if we were looking back through time. The foreground showed old photos in frames (although of course they were painted) beautifully indistinct and yet believable; a face or a couple or similar, there was also a kind of calendar emerging from the past. There was some kind of switch thing which I couldn’t work out. Maybe it was a timer for blasting or something. . . I don’t know.

There was some very fine sculpture as well. Mum and I were both taken be two figures who wer e reaching out to each other, but in each case the body had been sliced into sections. One section would be realistically and perfectly rendered muscle and flesh and the next section would be rough sharp jagged stone. But each figure was the inverse of the other so where one would have a perfect head the other would have a sharp rough stony head.

Then we drive to the Transit exhibition which showed photos produced by a photographic workshop in Johannesburg; It showed women in transition, bearing the brunt of change, carrying huge burdens on their heads as big fast machines blur past them on the road. Or crowded trains with people huddled together on a long journey from somewhere to somewhere else.
We were on route for another museum, and it was lunch time. Chookie suddenly stopped and changed her mind – we could have lunch here in this park that we were passing. In this very laid back restaurant called Moyu (I think). It suddenly felt more relaxed and easy. Things seemed to free up. Chookie had a flower painted on her forhead, and a beautiful woman washed our hands and sang a song before we ate.

In the evening we went to a restaurant and theatre combined experience. The restaurant was lovely with fantastically friendly waiter, he was a Zulu, and we had a kind of share / pick selection of African dishes and dips and rice. Fantastic.
The show was an African music / dance journey through the ages in South Africa from the traditional (and powerfully primal) drumming and song, through urbanization and ending up in a heady mix of hip hop rap crossed with a beautiful hypnotic set of ryhtms that could come from nowhere else. Amazing dancing as well. I was blown away.
We drive home in the dark and I am still feeling tired, a lot of experiences in one day to process. I could feel my eyes closing in the dark as we drove.
Back in my little cottage, I close the door, set the alarm, close my eyes and think of you. Thousands of miles away, having that life that, doing those things, switching off TVs, loading dishwashers, making tea. I feel a lump in my throat. How will I go to sleep? How will I stay awake? I remember the same feeling when I lay in bed at night art boarding school.
Get out my MP3 player plug it in and fall asleep.

So . . .

2009-02-28T04:37:00.000-08:00

So far:

Mum and I have travelled to Johannesburg, from London, on our trip to trace Mum’s roots back to her mother’s origin in New Zealand. We are met by Chookie (Mum’s cousin) at the airport.

Chookie is one of those people that grabs your attention; fast talking, quick thinking, elegant, assured. She drives us through the pulsing aggression of the JHB rush hour. She punctuates her commentary on the city, and her life there, with curses aimed at the badly driven taxis and minicabs. Everything is weaving, everything is changing. We are in transit again. There is something slightly impetuous about her driving. . . a kind of excited impatience. How lovely.

Let me take a moment out of the story to say that what is important here is not the order of events but their relationship and connection. This whole trip, and therefore this blog is about connection. It is not a litany of events, it’s more complex than that.

I have been assigned the “cottage” – a self contained dwelling that nestles in the corner of the garden amongst trees and shrubs. So if you will excuse me while I lie in a bath which soaks away the endless, gut churning, fear soaked, anxiety of the past weeks I will fast forward you to . . .

A peaceful quiet as I explored the garden with my camera; a large lawn with swirling beds cut into it, filled with interesting shrubs and trees. The lawn is cared for, there’s a swimming pool. . .

. . .To meeting Louis – Chookie’s husband. She has told us that he has Alzheimer’s. He is a small neat man with glasses and a beard. Behind there glasses there is an intelligent slightly naughty gleam, crossed with a watchful quiet. He was a top man in the legal profession of JHB. . .

To when we sit around a beautifully presented breakfast table, on the patio. Paw-Paw and lime, tea and toast; and coffee. . . .

Chookie asks Mum to push down the plunger of the cafitierre .

“But don’t push too hard or it will splootle”

I enjoy this word and I ask if it is a proper word round here or one she has made up. Soon I’m telling her about some of the words I’ve made up:

“Faddle” : To fiddle / adjust something quite large into position.

“Smiddle” To delicately adjust by a small amount on a delicate piece of apparatus.

Louis is enjoying this word play and rolls his eyes, saying “I can never understand what she’s talking about”

We are now on “Squittle” which I suggest is the action taken by a taxi when cutting in front of you in the traffic. Chookie says it’s what is happening in my guts.

I bring up “Faddle Mandering” (the sudden and inconclusive stop of a hesitant person at a nodal point like a doorway or entrance.)

Louis picks up this word and agrees on how it works. There is something very charming and playful about him as he chucks little sotto voce asides under Chookie’s words. . .

But the order of events is unclear so . . . Back in time to when I get out of the bath, and I feel better. So much better.

Then I fall into a short but profound sleep.

Later:

It’s time to go shopping, Chookie ushers the dogs out of the kitchen then users Louis out.

“I am not a dog” he says in a rather pooh like way as wanders out into the yard. I stand with him and talk. He is not sure that we will all fit in the little car, he shows me his Land Rover, and talks about what a marvelous machine it is for camping in this country. Then he lifts the corner of a protective cover over a small vehicle to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of a metallic blue mini. We have a bit of a “Car Conversation” – the first car I had was a Mini. In fact I was given it by Margan – my grandmother, the woman whose roots we are chasing.

After a Laurel and Hardy style embarkation (mainly involving a miscomprehension of seat belts) into the small car, and slip through the electric gates and out into the world. We are going to buy some walking boots for Mum so she can walk in NZ and I’m looking for a present for Josh.

I’m in the front looking from the window. It really is another country here. It feels so different. I fact it’s making feel slightly odd. Your own culture is hard to see, as invisible to us as the air we breath, but suddenly immersed in another culture the flavour and appearance of that culture is strongly flavoured and shocks you – surprise and naivety blended together.

BUT as an observer you must remember that what you see is in turn moderated by your own culture, a distorting lens fitted over your own perception; it is very difficult to know what you are seeing.

I am a white man in a car, and I’m struck by that fact that as far as I can see all the people walking are black. They are walking along the pavement carrying plastic bags. They sit on the edge of the kerb wearing overalls and work clothes, They are the people walking in that concrete world out there. At traffic lights they get from within the cars are habitual dismissal; but their smile remains perfect as they move on to the next car, showing boxes of fruit or drinks, or newspapers, or signs asking for money and work. Coming from the comfort of Britian it is a disturbing experience. I’m not used to it.

They are at every red light, and every serviced door.

We go to a shopping centre and we track down a rather fashionable designer-shop EBOKA that sells shirts worn by the new modern chic of Johannesburg. It is in here that I buy a fantastic shirt for Josh’s birthday. “How big is he?” she asks. I explain he’s my height but thinner, so I try on the shirt and she makes adjustments with pins. We will return the next day to pick it up. I can’t reveal the price (discretion Josh) but it is a handsome sum for a handsome shirt.

Chookie then takes us to a hotel called GRACE which is very elegant and refined and has some interesting paintings displayed. Some show mining landscapes and beautiful but to my eye rather daunting wildernesses. Then we go on a strange tour in the lift, looking at some really large paintings of rather grand places in Johannesburg. One paining shows a massive house with formal gardens.

“That is where I received my first kiss” she tells us.

We all clamber back into the car quite exhausted and she drives us back to the house. The electric gates swing open at her command, the dogs run to sniff the car.

“Hello my doggies” Says Louis – who is clearly in love with them.

An evening meal is served, in a very elegant room, at a round old table with intricate decoration around the edge. It is a rather formal kind of dinner in a way. It revolves around conversation and good food.

The subject turns to politics and soon Mum and Chookie are setting the world to rights. I feel a bit uncomfortable about this as I really don’t know anything about anything in that respect. But Mum and Chookie know what they think and they are enjoying the converdation.

In between courses I find myself alone with Louis and I ask him about his family background.

He looks away into the corner of the room and starts on a story: Once upon a time there was a diplomat (his father) who was posted to London, and he – Louis grew up there as an English boy. He went to school in London and sat the Common Entrance exam (which would give you access to a British public school) . He starts to talk about Trafalgar square and then starts to slow. Then he starts to clear his throat and cough.

“Excuse me” he says

Chookie enters the room, and reads the situation in an instant “What are you talking about, my sweet?” He hesitates again and looks at her. Starts to clear his throat.

“Was it about your Pa?” She is on the ball. She tells his history.

Everything is more complex, so tender and harsh.

More later

Mum

The World

26 Feb 2009

2009-02-26T00:34:00.000-08:00

From this autumn
To your spring
From the Kalahari of my soul
and the other end of my soul
From beyond Addis Ababa
And from the southern hemisphere
Of my heart

From beyond the Sahara
And the shores of North Africa
From the sky over my head
To where you sleep in your bed
From the squeel of the wheel on the runway

From the moment that we said goodbye
To my hand on your shoulder again

Happy Birthday Josh
With love

Me
Mum
&
The World

BA55 to JHB

2009-02-25T02:28:00.000-08:00

We arrive at the baggage drop in Terminal 5, and feeling strangely lost, try to check our bags in . . . but there is a problem -Mum's got one bag too many, and will cost an extra 90 UKP to include it. We retreat to private corner and start to try and collapse the extra bag and contents into the right number of bags. We are tugging at zips and locks in an exctasy of fumbling when the nice lady at the check in comes over and says she can slide it through as containing essential medical items. Hurrah for the pharmacy!

T5, despite it's bad publicity on opening, is actually really spacous and efficient. It seemd that very soon we were on board, and I have to say feeling alot better about the whole prospect.

The entertainment system on the front of the seat was very advanced and Mum's fingers pecked in flurries at the menu. "Oh . . . I didn't meant that to happen"

The food arrives and I gingerly start to eat, remembering my motto "An empty bottle cannot spill" but damit I am hungry! And yes it comforts me too.

Mum starts to talk about Michael and Tessa, who are very old friineds, that are both slowly dying. She says it might be quite nice to die more or less together . . . I try to imagine how strange that would feel. Inevitably we talk about Dad, and how it is very hard to adjust to a solo life after such a long time. "I think your'e doing really well Mum"

Soon she is back on the in flight entertainment again, and flicking through countless menus. Her face concentrating on the little screen. Eventually, after a little help from each other, we are both hooked up to films of our choice.

There's a scrolling map we can track our progress with. We cross the eqautor over MBANDAKA and the scrolling map shows me that it lies on a river but the river isn't named. I try and imagine what is there 35000 feet below. Next I see there is a place called BANDUNDU and we are pointing towards JHB and the Kalahari desert.

I found a really lovely CD called "Beyond the Horizon" which was excellent world music presented by Charlie Gillet, I drowsed to its hypnotic beats. Then I discovered an album by Carla Bruni "Comme si de rien n'etait" and I was quite hypnotised by it. Finally the brilliant Rura And The April Fishes album "Extrodinary Rendition" which was just that.

So piece by peace I am letting it all subside, Turning of the static in my head, trying to recallibrate my compass and leave anxiety behind. Temporarily put aside the boxes of mental junk and leave them on the shores of Britain.

The jet is an incredible thing; it's like a needle that pulls us like a thread through the fabric of time and experience for us to emerge on the other side of the world. How strange.

Mum tells me how her G G Grandfather went to NZ in 18 whatever it was. Angry and in a rage. It took him 6 weeks on a boat. There was a woman called Polly who was to join him there. Alas he must fallen for someone else or gone off the idea, because he sent a tellegram back to his sister in England

"STOP POLLY STOP"

We zoom through the dark at 600 MPH

Chookie is waiting for us at the arrival gate, amoungst a lot of drivers and reps silently holding up the names of the people they are to meet. "It seems a very silent protest they'e golding there . . . what do you think they are angry about?" Says Mum as she pulls her bag past them.

And now quite suddenly it is quiet. I am here in this amazing and lovely house, the sun is shining on the imaculate garden, and I can hear Peter in his khaki uniform hoovering in a distant room.
Mum's asleep. Chookie has gone shopping

I have survived the flight.

Me
Mum
&
The World

It Is Written

2009-02-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

Time will pass, I know;
The ink is drying on the map,
But the story that it traces
Has not been written yet.

What perspective lies beyond
The runway and departure lounge?
What silence there might be
After the screaming of the jet.

2009-02-23T03:44:00.000-08:00

T minus 1

Its 0430, and I have awoken to a silent house again. Josh and Clare are in Cornwall, Josh has an interview tomorrow. Wonder round the house a bit.

Back to bed. . . then at 7.30 woke and tapped on G’s door to encourage him out of bed and off to 6th form.

I reralise that one of the objects of this blog is to talk about UC. It’s not something people are going to want to admit to or talk about. I don’t want to either in a way.

I read on the internet somewhere that smoking and nicotine can help with UC. Then I had a brainwave . . . nicotine gum! Patches! A new weapon in my arsenal (bad choice of word) so I went to and bought some lovely mint flavoured nicotine gum.

I stood outside in the street and chomped on a stick. About 5 minutes later I was sweating like a sausage in a pan, and then suddenly my insides were out.

God, I can’t tell you how awful that is.

So if you too have UC, and are tempted to try nicotine. . . . think very carefully before you go ahead.

I’ve done all the packing now, I’ve insured all my cards, I’ve booked everything, even a car in NZ, later on tonight Mum will arrive and tomorrow its going to be . . .

Me
Mum
&
The world

2009-02-22T02:29:00.000-08:00

T minus 2

Still at home in Nottingham; Mum in Gloucestershire. I’m awoken by the wrench of my gut and sprint to the Loo. With some concern I note that, as usual, my gut is firing up at around the time we will be coming into land at JHB. This is my biggest fear.

The house is quiet, my teenage boys will not stir for hours and C sleeps on.

I really must start actually packing. Actually putting things in the suitcase. There is a theory that I am avoiding packing, and that this links back to going to boarding school. I can see that this could be true. It could be.

Things I feel I must do today: Get a lens cloth, sort out my MP3 player with new podcasts (radio 4 comedy, From our own correspondent, Thinking Aloud), get a document folder and gather everything together - there will be comfort in that.

Must do that meditation /relaxation exercise. (I went to see a hypnotherapist to try and calm my gut) I must do the routine often.

. . . Try to feel positive excited, whereas actually I feel rather than like a man with his clothing caught in a piece of machinery, aware that the ON switch is about to be depressed.

The plan

2009-02-21T06:17:00.000-08:00

My mum and I are about to embark on a journey that will close circles and cause new ripples. Her mum (Margan) lived in New Zealand as a little girl in 18 Blurty something, and Mum wants to go and see where she came from.

Dad died in 2004, and so I am going with her on this journey. . .

Mum takes a cornucopia of pills eaveryday, and I too have to take a small pharmacy with me. Mum's health is pretty much under control, I am having a flare up of UC (Ulcerative Colitis)

So this blog is about our journey . . .

Me
Mum
&
The World