Invasion By Duckling ...

I was reading, quietly, alone on a blanket beside a lake near Queenstown.

I became aware of sound of many little birds, peeping. I looked up, there were 10 little ducklings, running up the small hill towards me.

It was a true invasion. Before I could even reach out to call to them, they were all over my picnic blanket, all over me. Their little cold wet webbed feet tickling my bare arms. Peeping around me, climbing up on my backpack, checking out my camera.

They swarmed me. I didn’t feed them. I looked up at their mother, standing off to the side. I said, ‘Is this okay?’

She looked at me, as if to say, ‘Sure, I’ve got 10. What can I do?’

I was alone there. I took as many photographs as I could manage while giggling over their antics. They’re not brilliant photographs, just my phone but I think they capture the moment. There’s one with a little duckling, out of focus, near the camera. She had just pecked it, as I took photographs.

They were hilarious.

Eventually they ran off, like a gaggle of hyper-active happy small children.

Two returned, and hung round for a while, so I walked them back to the lake edge, where the others were waiting.

Diego, an Italian guy from Verona, walked by with his partner, Macarena. I heard him speak Italian and called out a greeting. (Yes, I am that bad. I adore meeting up with Italians, back here in New Zealand)

We ended up chatting a while, it turned out that Macarena came from Chile. They had only just married, a few weeks earlier. Helen returned from her walk around the lake. I was telling them my improbable story of the ducklings, when the ‘team’ turned up again. Delighting us all.

This new Queenstown life is like that. Something beautiful happens most days, and I’m left pinching myself, not sure it can be real.

But the ducklings. Meet my new friends, the Duck Family.

Some Mornings ...

Some mornings, I wake at 5am and there’s no going back to sleep.

And so I read. I caught up on the world, old worlds that I haven’t made time for in a long time.

I quietly made breakfast in this huge house I’ve moved to. I’m now located in one of the most beautiful regions in New Zealand, sharing this space with 3 other remarkable souls. The view out of my bedroom window is of the Remarkables mountain range.

Each day seems to bring some new gift I need to say a quiet ‘thank you’ for. And I love the tiny bed I have here in my little room. My landlord tells me it was his grandma’s, and that every person who has slept in it has commented on how comfortable it is.

Sunday found me revisiting New Zealand’s literary scene, after 2 decades of absence. Witi Ihimaera was speaking at the Queenstown Writers Festival. ‘One of Aotearoa’s greatest storytellers was talking about an extraordinary life and a career in writing that spans half a century.

In the early 1970s Gisborne-born Witi Ihimaera became the first Māori to publish a collection of short stories (Pounamu Pounamu) and a novel (Tangi). He has gone on to become one of the world’s most important indigenous writers with such highly regarded novels as The Matriarch, The Whale Rider and Bulibasha.

His memoirs Māori Boy (2015) and Native Son (2019) will soon be joined by a third. His retelling of Māori creation myths, Navigating the Stars, comes out this year. In fact, he launched there in Queenstown.

Witi Ihimaera is a master story weaver who brings his reader home to a place that transcends space, time and culture – while remaining unambiguously here, now, and Māori.

Quiet tears slipped down my face, and the faces of many others I suspect, as Witi sang for us, and read from his book, and talked of a life-shattering event too. His songs were so powerful, and he returned to it as his story-telling vehicle, repeatedly.

He is an extraordinary story-teller. I am so glad I attended.

I paid a small fee, and joined the local bookclub, and became a member of the cinema too. I was rapt to then receive an invitation to the members-only screening of Made in Italy. It stars one of my favourite actors, Liam Neeson, who stars alongside his son, Micheál Richardson.

Life often seems quite extraordinarily beautiful here. Joy has returned.

It’s as if all that I have loved in the world can be found here. From New Zealand literature, to a vibrant arts and culture scene. Solitude in Nature, but the most remarkable gathering of interesting people in any one place I’ve ever lived. Good coffee, fabulous cafes, and then Fat Badger’s have the best pizza I have eaten outside of Italy. There is a French bakery, with French staff, and an Italian restaurant, with a Genovese chef. He’s a little gruff, in the tradition of the sons of Zena, however perhaps he will soften.

There are, at least, two Bellbirds in the new garden, and rabbits too. I’m living out of Queenstown, in the countryside and yet not too far from the centre.

The cost is about the same as living in Manapouri, that small village of 200 … And it was also loved by me but lacked the breadth and depth I find here. However it’s only 2 hours down the road, through some mountains so I’ll go back when I need some big deep lungfuls of Beech forests on massive mountains, next to deep and moody lakes.

Life moves on. I’ve moved home, again. And my work plans are exciting but involve more than a few hours, as I establish myself. The journey has begun. All is good.

Some Small But (mostly) Beautiful Stories.

Sometimes I open a page here, to write a new blog post then sit, trying to find beautiful things to share with you.

I have this idea that we need so much beauty in these days.

I did find this beautiful story, told by Laurie Anderson, talking about the love she shared with Lou Reed, in Rolling Stone Magazine:

‘Lou and I played music together, became best friends and then soul mates, traveled, listened to and criticized each other’s work, studied things together (butterfly hunting, meditation, kayaking). We made up ridiculous jokes; stopped smoking 20 times; fought; learned to hold our breath underwater; went to Africa; sang opera in elevators; made friends with unlikely people; followed each other on tour when we could; got a sweet piano-playing dog; shared a house that was separate from our own places; protected and loved each other. We were always seeing a lot of art and music and plays and shows, and I watched as he loved and appreciated other artists and musicians. He was always so generous. He knew how hard it was to do. We loved our life in the West Village and our friends; and in all, we did the best we could do.’

And the marvellous Maria Popova wrote: ‘14. Choose joy. Choose it like a child chooses the shoe to put on the right foot, the crayon to paint a sky. Choose it at first consciously, effortfully, pressing against the weight of a world heavy with reasons for sorrow, restless with need for action. Feel the sorrow, take the action, but keep pressing the weight of joy against it all, until it becomes mindless, automated, like gravity pulling the stream down its course; until it becomes an inner law of nature.

If Viktor Frankl can exclaim “yes to life, in spite of everything!” — and what an everything he lived through — then so can any one of us amid the rubble of our plans, so trifling by comparison. Joy is not a function of a life free of friction and frustration, but a function of focus — an inner elevation by the fulcrum of choice. So often, it is a matter of attending to what Hermann Hesse called, as the world was about to come unworlded by its first global war, “the little joys”; so often, those are the slender threads of which we weave the lifeline that saves us.’

Then someone called by, at this Manapouri house where I live, and after picking up the fridge Helen was giving away, he pulled a huge Rainbow Trout out of his backpack. It was in there with a Brown Trout too. He had caught 5. And so, that was my Labour Day Monday, seeing just how much I recalled of the Australian fly fisherman’s trout gutting and cooking lesson.

It worked. It is divine. I do love trout, baked - stuffed with onion and tomato, creating a divine juiceness.

Thank you for teaching me how to gut and cook trout, Rob Nabben.

And I dug out my French Laguiole pocket knife, from Thiers, France. Bought back in those days when the Belgian bloke and I were summer-holidaying there (in that town where they were making swords for knights 700 years ago). It turns out it is useful beyond the wine corkscrew option. It’s incredibly sharp, and quite a special little art work.

In other news, I recently joined the rest of the world, and discovered the music of Snow Patrol. I play them … a lot. Those who have lived with me, know what ‘a lot’ means. ‘More than most’ really. My favourite collection, currently, is Snow Patrol: LIve & Strpped Back at Porchester Hall.

I particularly love the way the lead singer, Gary Lightbody, says what he says in his story - beginning at about 3.10 minutes. I feel this could be a useful response to some of the silly people I find myself to listening to sometimes :-)

Much is happening, down here, in the south-west corner of New Zealand. Most particularly in my life. News will follow. I am currently caught up in chasing my own tail, and turning in giddy circles. Joy has been much more of a thing in my day-to-day life, and I believe I can claim I am heading towards the next grand adventure.

I think this is it for now,. New Zealand’s election went well, and we have Jacinda Adern, and the Labour party, in power. I am happy with this, as I see some of my most favourite folk going back into lockdown as Europe battles a resurgence of covid-19. My heart goes out to you all.

Much love from down here xx

Weaving A New Life ...

This morning, I set out walking along the riverbank, continuing on, to the edge of Lake Manapouri. Alone, as always. The village only has a population of 200, and it was 8am, on a Friday.

Although a stranger did pass me by, as I sat on a high wooden bench, legs swinging, unable to touch the ground. His dog, Ruby, was joy-filled to find me … and up she hopped, onto the seat, next to me. And I laughed, matching her panting, licking, wriggling joy more sedately.

I am transition, again. But so many transitions that I am a little giddy, as people and places weave together in the most beautiful ways. Although, to be honest, there are also the moments, in the small hours of the night, when I worry myself into wondering if I can pull Every Single Thread together.

This time though, I’m not moving countries.

And this time, I have Snow Patrol for company.

I didn’t even think to dream the life that is coming together., here in New Zealand. I almost had it in Italy but always compromised by basing myself in Belgium, and living my life around a man who needed to stand still, to live in a particular way. And much as I loved him, for a while, we were impossible He knew it before I did.

There is so much news to follow …

Meanwhile, I am savoring the abundant beauty, so freely available, down here in the south-west corner of New Zealand.

La Vita è Bella!!

A small Italian boy reached up to touch the crystal droplets, just as I was taking the photograph, and I felt his curious little hand, so delicately exploring the chandelier we had both found at the Genovese Antiques Market, perfectly captured the wonder and curiousity I was feeling.

Life is becoming beautiful again. There has been a long period of sadness and struggle, possibly beginning when New Zealand went into Level 4 Lockdown, and life dragged me down low and into a sadness that was threatening to drown me

There were so many factors, since returning to New Zealand, and I was unable to save myself until, one day I did …

The story of self-rescue didn’t begin & end with one single action but with a series of actions. Finally I have arrived in a beautiful place, with the loveliest people, and have begun to unfurl.

Rain because there has been a magnificent Fiordland downpour going on all day. They were talking of 30-40mm but I’m thinking that perhaps there has been more. And it’s still falling.

Tonight, we found a new pub … a new gathering place, full of good people. At one point, we were there chatting, two Kiwis, 2 Brits, an Irish woman, an Italian and a South African. I loved it, of course.

La vita è bella! It is all unfolding in the loveliest ways.

A Handful of Books I Have Loved ...

Discovered in the Centro Storico, Genova. Italy.

I have always been an avid reader. I love the places book take me, and I have always loved escaping into other worlds.

A friend asked me to recommend a few.

Here’s the list I made for Jonė.

Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels

Dinner with Edward: A Story of an Unexpected Friendship Vincent, Isabel

Running in the Family - Michael Ondaatje (his magical realism bio)

Love That Moves the Sun: Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo Buonarroti - Linda Cardillo

A Fortune-Teller Told Me: Earthbound Travels in the Far East - Tiziano Terzani

I Saw Ramallah - Mourid Barghouti

What Remains - Denise Leith

In Xanadu - a Quest - William Dalrymple

The Journey is the Destination - Dan Eldon

Veronika Decidies to Die - Paulo Coelho

Nomad's Hotel - travels in time and space - Cees  Nooteboom

Travels with Herododus -  Ryszard  Kapuściński

Blindness -   José Saramago

The Way of Herodotus: Travels With the Man Who Invented History - Justin Marozzi

 When Nietzsche Wept - Irvin D.  Yalom

Mornings in Jenin - Susan  Abulhawa

Knulp - Hermann Hesse

The Truth About Lou -  Angela von der Lippe

Under The Wire - Paul Conroy