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July 30, 2020, Journal
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July 30, 2020, AirBnB reviews
My AirBnB review for the Regent, as a host:
This place is fantastic! It has a peaceful, comfortable vibe, and you’re minutes away from several beaches. The Regent is a perfect host: considerate, helpful, and knowledgeable. The place is very clean, comfortable, and warm. Nice kitchen with everything you need. Do yourself a favor and stay here! It’s a home away from home.
The Regent’s AirBnB review for me, as a guest:
Warm friendly person, clear communication, clean and tidy. I recommend X and I would be pleased to host her again.
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July 27, 2020, Journal
A hole carved into a hillside caught my attention as I was driving down route 6 for my usual morning adventure. This scrubby, sunny spot was far from human habitation, and I was joyously alone. The Regent doesn’t seem to have an occupation that might shift his focus from me.
Carmen bumbled to a halt on the side of the empty road, and I crossed over. The soil in this part of the West Coast reminds me of the dense red clays of the Appalachian lowlands. There, the flat clay particles stack together and form an impenetrable mass that might as well be rock. Nutrients are locked away to all but the most pernicious roots, so the land is both barren and overgrown with useless weeds. Here, the land belongs to itself, graciously excusing itself from usefulness.
It was probably a lot of fun for some fellow and his mattock to come out here and chip away at this remote bit of the South Island. The hillside crumbled easily, but it was hard enough to hold the vague shape of stairs leading up to a small tunnel. Hoisting myself up the sketchy stairs, I found myself in a vaguely symmetrical hole, about four feet tall and two feet wide. The floor was packed down quite well, but New Zealand couldn’t help but cover the damp walls with lashings of moss and a festive fern or two.
I stumped, huddled, through the tunnel, only to find that it was no more than thirty feet long. The opposite end was obscured by the desiccated skirt of a tree fern. Long layers of dry leaves shook like the roof of a tiki bar when I pushed them aside.
There was nowhere to go but straight down. I clung to the outer edge of the hole, finding a ledge that led to a knot of roots to the left. From there, I could see the tiny, steep-walled valley clearly. It was all dense brush and thick, dark leaves that could have been easily accessed from the road, had anyone wanted dangerous footing and lacerated shins. Nothing else, not even a hint of ancient castles or burial sites or even rare, exotic flora.
The tunnel has absolutely no purpose. It goes from nowhere to nowhere, like 18th century follies in English gardens. It tunneled solely for the sake of tunneling. Fucking adorable New Zealand.
It encouraged me to sit right there in the present moment. I shuffled around, settling myself and my backpack until the tunnel’s view was framed perfectly in its front doorway. Maybe this was the whole point: the view.
Yin and yang swirled around each other in the tunnel’s arched frame: ocean filling the shore, vegetation slipping down the hills, and land cupping the river-like road. It sorted itself out as I smoked a morning joint and meditated, the long winter shadows drawing the bright landscape straight like the teeth of a comb.
If only the future could keep its distance… if only it wasn’t so cold, I’d stay here in this mossy birth canal forever and refuse the right of re-entry into the harsh world from which I emerged.
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July 26, 2020, Journal
I entangled myself in the exposed roots of a tree that lay bleached and heavy on Carter’s Beach. It was an easy walk along its trunk to get there; head to toe. I felt light and peaceful, so I meditated a little.
Along came a fellow (don’t they all?) to puncture my peace. He was gray and leathery with small yellow eyes and several missing teeth. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t take his eyes off my face, and he approached steadily.
“Hiya!” His speech was an uncomfortable grumble, as though multi-syllable words had dislodged from his mouth along with his peg-like teeth. “Where ya from?”
He thought I said Canada, and I thought he asked if it was warm in Canada.
“Yes,” I replied, “It’s summer in Canada now.”
“Nah, nah, is thare wimmen in Canada?” He clarified. “Cuz I’m gonna go get me one.”
I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. He was so eager to explain his maleness! Is this inarticulate mess also the Divine Masculine yearning for the Divine Feminine? A fish spewing his sperm into an ovum-laced river is more elegant.
“Wanna have some fun?” he asked.
Although his directness was satisfying, I told him that I was having fun right where I was, thanks. Falling silent, I relaxed against the tree and let my gaze settle peacefully onto the ocean. The rickety fellow eventually left.
When I was in Nimbin, Australia, back in early February, I asked my lover, Mark, what the New Zealand accent was like. He couldn’t really pin down what made their accent different from an Australian accent, but it was, and Mark said that I’d see for myself that all Kiwis are a little weird.
He’s right – they are.
It’s the grandness of the Land of the Long White Cloud1 coupled with a sparse population. There’s air in everything: caught between the snowy alpine peaks, leaking from the crystal-clear night sky, blowing over flat farmland, and bustling in the overly-manicured hedgerows2.
This is what gives Kiwis clarity of perception and an open heart. Air is the element of the heart chakra3.
An excess of the element of air is in their speech, too. Vowels are pronounced differently out of economy: they flatten the ‘e’ and cup their ‘i’ into a ‘u’ to avoid cracking their wind-chapped lips… ‘fush and chups’… Their words are lighter, yet more precise than an Australian’s. Like the Kiwi bird, they are comfortable probing from a distance: to them, space is a tool, not a barrier to intimacy.
Perhaps because people are more rare here, they are more precious. A Kiwi seems weird to a foreigner because Kiwis will make and hold eye contact without hesitation. They skip right over small talk to bravely face uncomfortable emotions and raw truths. Like the wild birds that dominate the animal kingdom here, they don’t know what it’s like to be hunted, so they go where they will (in conversation and in motion) with complete ease and self-confidence. If you find a bird crossing the street in New Zealand, and a car comes speeding towards it, you’ll see that the bird walks to safety at the edge of the road; it does not fly. It’s not worried. It has no fear.
That’s it. That’s what differentiates New Zealanders from the rest of humanity, and that’s why they’re weird. They are beautifully unafraid.
My suspicion is that it’s nature, not nurture. Just imagine being able to stride confidently through long grass without fearing an infectious tick bite, or scaling a cliffside without fearing a hidden rattler in the rocks. There are no snakes, no wolves howling in the night, and no poisonous creatures lurking in dark holes; no lions, tigers, or bears. Kiwis spend their summers shoeless and connected to the Earth: there’s no foot and mouth disease or rabies4 to scare them into sole(soul)-destroying shoes.
If the opposite of fear is love, then the generous New Zealand social system must be a natural extension of their strong sense of security. It’s the safest, kindest, and most honest country in the world, and that’s why it’s so difficult and expensive to achieve residency here.
Kiwis are damn lucky to be born into this majestic land that knows more of love than of fear. I’m lucky to have a chance to experience this authentic, open-hearted way of life. The Regent is the first proper Kiwi that I’ve really gotten to know.
1 https://teara.govt.nz/en/1966/aotearoa
2 Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXQUu5Dti4g
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July 25, 2020, Journal
The Regent bought an aluminum contraption at the grocery store that would serve as a disposable grill at our beach barbecue. We had an array of veggies to share and skewers of meat for him. While we were shopping, I found a kilo baggie of small, waxy tubers in dreamy sunset colors labeled ‘yams’ that woke my passion for culinary adventure.
“Nah, yeah, those are good.” the Regent was happy to introduce me to this edible member of the oxalis family. “Traditional Kiwi veges. Just like potatoes, you know? You roast them up and they’re sweet as.”
“We have yams, too, only they’re sweet potatoes; what you call kumaras. These are something new and fabulous! I must try them!” Squirreling them into our shopping basket, I was nearly giddy with the pleasure of sharing a grocery run with someone. I made sure to pay for the yams and the Regent insisted on purchasing the rest.
Before we left, I asked the Regent to walk me through the process of buying a lottery ticket. I’d only done that once or twice back home, and the whole idea was foreign to me. To me, playing the lottery is literally throwing money away on a scrap of paper, but my mother had gone to great lengths in her last email to tell me that the stars were aligned for me to have a huge financial windfall. I’d regret it if I didn’t listen to her and take this gift from heaven. I couldn’t tell if the Regent found my mother’s assertions intriguing or off-putting, but he ended up buying a lottery ticket for himself as well.
Our destination, Omau Cliffs beach, was on the way to Cape Foulwind. It was nice to enjoy the roadside scenery as a passenger. We played tourist and tour guide again, talking about my favorite subject; New Zealand, as she casually angled the long blades of flax that flanked us to catch the piercing rays of the now resplendent sun. Winking like flashbulbs, the spiky plants led us to a pebbly cove where obstinate cliffs suffered the onslaught of the relentless sea. The wide beach was joyfully wild, with massive driftwood logs set in a pristine canvas of unblemished sand. Brackish tidemarks patterned the shore.
“Wow.” I was grateful for the salty crash of ocean and the appetizing winter breeze. “Thanks, Regent. This is a gorgeous spot for a picnic.”
“Yeah, nah, I thought you’d like it. One of the best beaches around here.”
“Absolutely. I want to get in the water so badly!”
“Yeah, go for it.”
“It’s cold. It’s winter. I’d be crazy.”
“Nah, it’s good. Up to you.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Don’t need one here. It’s New Zealand.”
“I’ll do it,” I threatened. Half of my cells were already pulling towards the ocean. The other half were quite cozy under my winter coat and possum sweater. “Seriously. You won’t think I’m nuts?”
The Regent shrugged noncommittally, lifting his hands and eyebrows to relinquish my story back to its origin. After a few furtive glances around the empty beach, I shucked my layers. The West Coast air was cold, but it didn’t carry the bite of snow like winters back home. Nevertheless, the fine grains of sand felt like crushed ice beneath my bare feet. A long, sloppy shelf of sand kept the depths far from the comfortable length of driftwood where we’d set our bags.
It was all at once or not at all. I plowed steadily into the cold, frothy waves until they pounded at belly and breasts. The water had an inky quality, and as I dove under to wet my head (once, twice, thrice), I felt how darkness could be perfectly clear and clean and revitalizing.
Shuddering, I returned to our driftwood campsite and quickly dried my frigid skin. I dressed quickly as well, pretending that the Regent’s pretense of ignoring me was genuine. He was carefully setting up our tinfoil barbecue.
“How’s it going?” I asked him as he poked at the small supply of coals that came with the kit.
“Great. We’ll just get it lit, and then we wait for a wee bit to get the coals going.” His round face was shuttered against the sun’s rays. “How was your swim?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” I felt fresh and sparkly from my recent scouring in the sea. “I love it here! Well, can I help with lunch at all? Maybe cut up some veggies?”
“Nah, we’ll just throw some oil on these yams, and the meat already has spices. It’ll be a while, though. Maybe half an hour, 40 minutes, until everything’s cooked.”
“Cool! Ok, sounds like a perfect time for some yoga! Want to join me?”
“Yeah, nah, I’ll stay here and watch the barbecue.” The Regent waved me away. “Have fun with your yoga.”
I did enjoy a short yoga practice. The barbecued veggies made a delicious lunch, but the yams were slow to soften and crisp. After much poking, we decided to leave well enough alone and let the tinfoil fire pour out its remaining energy in a protected hollow in the sand, hoping that it would be sufficient to cook the waxy yams.
In that time, I learned about the Regent’s family in Hokitika. His family holds significant power in that region, and they own land on the thick river that serves the town. They’d fought hard to win the rights to their native land and the rich resources of the river. The Regent tried to stifle his tribal pride, and it was adorable. The story had a fairy-tale quality, rich with the treasure of Pounamu1 and rife with British colonialism. It had come down to legal battles: fighting on enemy turf. The Regent’s family had a splendidly long and prestigious Whakapapa.2 They were warriors that kept winning, generation after generation. They were the history-writers of Hokitika, and they conquered the courtroom with the same fierce determination that won them these islands seven hundred years ago.
Like the other potentially powerful Maori boys of his generation, the Regent had been sent to the best schools in New Zealand so that he could learn the enemy’s tactics. He’d attended a military school in Wellington and later moved to Sydney for several years in some sort of rite of passage.
It is common for freshly-graduated Kiwis to try to find their fortunes in Australia. New Zealand is simply too small for big dreams. Not only is the cost of living cheaper across the Tasman Sea, but the wages are higher and the opportunities more abundant. Kiwis eagerly sow their wild oats in Australia’s expanse. Some stay, but most return when they realized that New Zealand’s lushness is far better at balancing out the harsh southern sun than volatile deserts, impersonal cities, and a pandering parliament. The Maori, especially, were inevitably drawn back to their tribes. The outside world is no place for a warrior.
The Regent failed to mention why he’d ended up alone in Westport, but he intimated that he was an emissary of his family in some capacity. It’s not my place to pry.
Yam-scented plumes of smoke eventually stopped floating towards our driftwood chairs. The coals were growing cold, and the warm golden yams were succulent and salty in our eager mouths.
1 https://hakatours.com/blog/pounamu-the-story-behind-new-zealand-greenstone/
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July 21, 2020, Journal
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July 15, 2020, Journal
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July 13, Correspondence
Texts between the Mormon and I
On July 13, at 11:44am, the Mormon wrote:
got there ok? How are you getting on?
3:57pm – Hi! Yeah, all good, thanks.
I had the chance to visit with one of my lockdown friends!
It was so good to see her again!
But she says there are no jobs around here.
Think I might head north tomorrow.
How are you?
Texts between Drew the Drug Dealer and I
On July 13, at 7:04pm, I wrote:
Hi Drew! We met maybe a month ago and the Mormon gave me your number.
I’m traveling up your way again, and I was wondering if you could hook me up?
If not, no worries – I know this is kinda out of nowhere.
7:06 – Give me a holla when you’re in town and I’ll see what I can do
7:06 – Sweet! thanks
Emails between Sister and I
On July 1, 2020, at 7:35am, Sister wrote:
Hi Sister? Did you feel the earthquake in NZ? Are you still there?
The European Union banned travelers coming from USA. Travelers from New Zealand are allowed.
Anyway I hope you are ok
On July 9, 2020, at 4:09pm, I wrote:
Hi Sister! I hope the kids have a wonderful vacation, even though things are still upside down. They look happy!
I still don’t have a good plan. I would love to visit – thank you so much for that joyous possibility! But I checked out the travel restrictions, and they say only EU citizens are allowed to travel to France right now. I saw that they would accept more people (just health workers and students though?) after July 10, including New Zealand citizens – would I count? I wrote an email to French Foreign Affairs, and we shall see what they say! I would probably need to do 2 weeks of quarantine anyway.
The Mormon is gone, finally. He was lazy and a nudnik, and I’m pretty sure that all the good guys are taken. There’s no good reason to be here. Sorry, I wish I had some news. I didn’t even feel the earthquake! Mama is pushing me to stay here. I’ve been able to delay my taxes and yearly eye exam, so I might as well stay for another few weeks. But I truly have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ll be headed out of the Otago area (where the Mormon lives) towards Christchurch again this weekend. The Mormon was right – this place will suck you in. I think some locations are like that – our hometown, too. It’s often seemed like a black hole to me. We both escaped!!
Anyway, this hotel is nice, and i’ve been able to heal a lot in the past week or so. My back and right hip and ankle are bothering me from driving or from the cold – I am so old! Mama was right – arthritis is no good! But they have a good bed and hot showers here. I’m enjoying healthy food and a good sleep schedule and I feel better than I’ve felt in weeks. Can I blame the Mormon? Probably not.
How does the summer feel? Are people relaxing finally? I guess if hotels are closed, there are still no tourists? I finally got a haircut last week and it feels so good! I got rid of 4 or 5 inches of dead stuff. And a few days later, one Mormon.
I miss him a little. But this short and ungraceful relationship is giving me a lot to write about, so I’m so grateful for all of my experiences here. So, my days are writing and yoga and cooking now, hopefully to be repeated in several choice locations around this sweet island for a little longer!
I’ll let you know when I get a response from the French Foreign Affairs office. I’ll be going to the American Embassy in Christchurch on Monday to try and figure out a plan of sorts. I hope all is well. Sometimes I imagine that, by the time I leave NZ, the whole world will have already gotten the coronavirus, and I’ll have to contract it anyway just to be a part of society once I’m off this island. Maybe it’s best just to catch it and survive it?
I love you and thank you and wish you and the family a happy Bastille Day!
On July 10, 2020, at 10:30am, Sister wrote:
X? you are alive! It so nice to hear from you! I did not realize my last email was so cold and rigid. Sorry about that!
What guy exists that is NOT lazy and a nudnik? All the ones I’ve ever met are! Did you have to develop arthritis in those freezing conditions in the van? That is too much!
We are getting old, eh? What was that you said?
Here are some news updates that accumulated while you were cloistered up as a hermit (but not too crabby… gosh, my sense of humor is getting progressively stale as the years go by).
They voted green in my city! Our mayor is an ecologist. She is going to develop the parks and maybe make tram free for all children under 18 and other people too. That will make it easier for me – i won’t have to do all that extra multiplication in my head every time the children ask to go to Orangerie! We actually just walked there the last 2 times. It was a disaster. The eldest stepped on a bee the last time… we had to walk all the way home. Luckily a handy banana peel soothed her foot temporarily… until it kept slipping out of her sandal. Poor girl.
On Monday, the synogogue gave the children gifts, as usual at the end of the year. Hebrew books mostly… but the eldest got a surprise gift, some kind of blue-tooth earphones. The children were so excited with it; it worked with my phone. But the fourth child did not go to Hebrew school, so she had no gift. She cried in the secretary’s office – but a cute, quiet crying, she had tears in her eyes, “why don’t I have a gift, too?” so the secretary found some sticker book and gave it to her. Then she was happy.
The eldest with her new headphones forced me to figure out what the heck is bluetooth. I felt like some primitive caveman with all my lack of knowledge. She’s already better than me with my own phone! (she’s giving me lessons on it) How embarrassing!
The eldest actually says she remembers Grandma (our mother) and trying to repeat some Russian words after her… and you! She remembers stuff I already forgot, like when Auntie slammed the door after she was playing with your bra?? There were other instances… it all seems funny now (at least to me…) when you were angry because of a pipi the second child did on the floor? The eldest actually dreamed about you a week or two ago. She said we were all in a haunted house (dirty, no light at all) and then you prayed in her dream (yes! Auntie X in the eldest’s dream was praying), and the whole house was filled with light. I hope things are OK over there! You’re so far away from everyone!
I better go! Sorry for babbling away as we Geminis sometimes tend to do! Love, Sister
Emails between Mother and I:
On July 8, 2020, at 2:35pm, Mother wrote:
Today, as never before, please, stay put where are you! Read the news from the Babel, the USA. I do not see any improvement, not in the COVID-19 numbers, not in the political shifts.
The head of the country – is stupid. His policies are harmful to the country, for our lives, health, business, promised happiness. Money for the people and unemployment lost in Kushner’s and Trump’s many companies’ deep pockets. The unemployment rate is growing, as is homelessness, the random crime and racism. I do not believe I am living in this kind of time, I thought they were finished and past away in my Grandparents’ lives.
Please, my Darling X! Do everything which is in your power and what is LEGAL to stay in New Zealand, appeal to the right instances, people, offices. I know how much you hate bureaucracy and meaningless running from one to another but no one could do it for you today, just you. Please, be kind to yourself and stay there now. Wait for the changes in this country. Hopefully for good. You know. You know the rest. Love my precious daughter with all of my heart, Mother.
On July 12, 2020, at 7:36am, Mother wrote:
Hello, X! Shabbat Shalom to you! I hope you are alright.
I saw your pictures on Instagram. Such beautiful places. Please, be safe, keep yourself healthy, write to me if you need help. Help me help you. But stay there as long as you may do so!
I saw another article today: they want to free 8,000 criminals in in California because of the corona. You are so much safer there, so much more! Ain li milim! I am speechless! I miss you. I wish I could hug you and hide you. But it is so much better for you to be in NEW ZEALAND today than in the USA. People are crazy, dying like flys and still do not wear the masks! Some Karma is boomeranging the USA for all the racism and hypocracy they did to me, to you, to blacks and to native Americans. I do not know other interpretation for all this. Love, Mother.
On July 13, 2020, at 6:19am, Mother wrote:
How right you were!
On July 13, 2020, at 6:31pm, I wrote:
Hi Mama,
Of course I’m right – I’m YOUR daughter!
Ha! I knew a nonviolent revolution could succeed! Tell me, how did they pull it off? Did the rebels band together and march on the White House? Was it an internet coup?
I hope you are doing well? I guess I will stay here for 3 more weeks, at least. I seem to say that every 3 weeks! I’m back in the north part of the south island for the warmer weather. I still don’t know what to do or where to go. I hoped there would be more clarity after Mercury went out of retrograde, but there isn’t, and I’ve had delays in my travels. I think I can put off my life in the US a little longer. I am not sure that I can afford a life here, but so far I am ok, I think. I need to figure out how to check my savings account, and then I can tell you whether or not I have a money problem.
Thanks so much for offering to help! But I do feel guilty – the money is yours and I am wasting time here. I need to find a solution where I don’t have to take from you.
I heard that some states are closing again. Are you ok? I hope that you are enjoying the summer a little? It must be so nice and warm there!
I know it’s been a while since I wrote, but there’s not much news. I’m still floating around the country… You’ve seen the pictures! I’m in a town called Geraldine, for another night anyway, and then maybe I will go find a warm beach further north. Not that warm, though! It really is winter here.
I bought a space heater at a thrift store, and I’ve been taking it into all my hostel rooms because they are stingy with heat here. This room doesn’t even have a heater! And it’s a nice place, too – you would like the chandelier in the bathroom. Thank you for your letters! I love to read them, even if I am lazy on responding. It is good to know what’s going on over there, and I’m glad you think I’m in the right place for now. The tourist visa that I got when I arrived is good for 2 years, actually. I’m just not supposed to earn money. Well, these poor Kiwis are trying to restart the tourism business here with no tourists, so I guess I am helping their economy as much as I can with my American dollars. At least I’m doing one productive thing here!
I love you very very very much!!
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