On Arriving in New Zealand ... this happened

On arriving in New Zealand, I was greeted by a character from Lord of the Rings. 

I was discombobulated for sure.

The creature knew my name.  He was shouting it, welcoming me, dancing around ... or that's how I remember it.

My friend, Christine, could see that I was not quite on the planet after 40 hours spent crossing the world ... she shouted, 'You don't know him!  Don't worry!' 

I appreciated that because I had no idea but felt it was entirely possible that one of my old friends, 8 years unseen, might have been messing with me. 

I had warned Gert that, in some instances, being loved by New Zealanders was a little like being loved by bears.  They're rough, it may hurt as they verbally sting you, and you might feel attacked but mostly it's love. 

And Peter, well there he was, behind-the-scenes, photographing that startlingly unusual welcoming committee.

On Returning to Belgium ...

People keep asking me how the return to Belgium is going ... what can I say?

We have been pleasantly surprised by the 9 celsius temperatures we've had since returning but the grey grey days are testing me.  It's winter, I know, but Belgium does grey in a way that is unlike any other place I have known.  My tan will surely be leached out of me ... perhaps within days.

I miss New Zealand food.  I went to a Delhaize supermarket yesterday and came away sad over not finding anything nice, then realised I was searching for New Zealand food.  Just that.  Nothing else would do.

We are still tired after 60 hours mostly awake as we crossed the world, and in crazy-making ways.  Yesterday we set up my work station here at the desk and later, as we failed in so many ways at the supermarket, we realised that we had potentially used up our daily quota of intelligence on the work station.  The intricacies of supermarket shopping were all but beyond us.

Last night, coming home from a new year party, Gert kept nodding off on the tram.  He had to be quicker in recovering than me, as he has already had two days back at work ... but there was a price it seems.

I miss the freedom of driving long distances through beautiful scenery on almost empty roads.  I miss the little red car.  I miss mountains and rivers, endless coastlines, and the variations of forest and bush.  The smell of the air.  I miss sunshine, family and friends.  I miss a lot of things but I'm almost sure it will be okay fitting back into life here. 

I'm not going to ruin my life with all that I miss.  After all, it's as Justine Musk recently wrote, it is time for you to go on an adventure. 

Here's to some good adventures in 2013 ... for all of us.

 

Riding the Waimakariri River with Waimak Alpine Jetboat Company

My cousin Tania, and her husband Al, had gifted both Gert and I a ride on a Waimak Alpine Jetboat however Gert's inner ear problem meant that he couldn't risk coming with us.  He stayed behind on the sun-drenched bank of the Waimakariri River as photographer and sun-worshipper.

It was bliss out there in that world only accessible by boat and Greg, our driver, was simply superb.  At some point on the journey I became fascinated by his instinctive reading of the river and asked him if it was anything like riding a horse.  I was trying to get a sense of how it was to ride a river, jetboat-style.

I could see that the jetboat wasn't like a conventional boat.  It didn't have a propeller that hung down in the water, and so we were screaming over incredibly shallow areas of river at times. Not only that, we were flying past river canyon walls with very little room for error, and the 360º spins were breathtakingly excellent.

They explain on their website:  Invented in New Zealand by William Hamilton in 1954, the jet boat has an impeller [propeller] that is encased in a cylinder [stator] to protect it from hitting stones or the bed of the river. Unlike conventional propeller driven boats the jet boat's unit is above the water line enabling it to travel through extremely shallow water (3" or 75mm).

But still, there was more to it ... watching Gregwas like watching a photographer instinctively seeking light for an image.  There was what was known, the rules ... river level, weather, and the state of the bends and then there was the rest.   The instinctive knowing.

It seemed like that was the place where a 360º spin could happen, and knowing the precise moment when to head towards the rockface and miss it.  How fast that corner could be taken at.

It seemed like a cross between art and science. 

It was bliss.