Nobody could tell us to stay.
For those of you who are going to go "lol, tl; dr" at this post, I shall sum up: I remain stubbornly pale due to SPF 50 sunscreen, despite spending the week on a "farm" with a private beach and rolling green hills right out of Lord of the Rings. I miss California, I am covered in bug bites, I somehow manage to keep injuring my left foot the past 2 days despite not doing anything more strenuous than wandering around in flip-flops, my uncut hair is longer than it's been in six years, and I've just hit the 6-week mark in my trip. I have been massively homesick and yet also more exhilirated than I think I have ever been in my life.
This past week, I got up early to let the farm dogs out so we could walk down and feed the chickens; I helped paint the entirety of the farm house; I watered the vegetable garden and raked leaves and hauled debris in a giant Land Rover to a massive leaf pile in one of the further fields. We puncuated these pleasantly pastoral experiences with trips down to beaches so empty and pristine that Jack Sparrow would be jealous--beaches that you could see from the window of where I slept each night.
On Monday, Annika and I went downtown to the Vulcan Lane Cafe, where we first went out to breakfast together. We had coffee and then said good-bye, and then I dragged all my things down to the bus stop and got on a large inter-city bus to head out east, into New Zealand's Coromandel peninsula. I mention the bus largely because the bus had internet, and it was notable for being the best internet I've had access to since I left Auckland. You don't realize what a luxury it is being able to load MSNBC for news until doing so eats your entire allotment of internet in five minutes flat.
I arrived at Te Ananui, the farm on the Coromandel Peninsula, and whatever I had been expecting, this wasn't it. It's 130 acres of green, verdant land, some of it pasture, very little of it actually "farm," with its own private beach facing the Pacific. The main house sat plopped down on top of woolly green hills that tumbled gracefully down to the blue ocean, like some kind of English manor house; the small cottage that I stayed at with the other WWOOFing girl was like something you would probably pay good money for in order to stay at some swanky resort. You can see white sand beaches scattered amongst rocky cliff faces that come right up to the water, and everything is so green, which makes sense when you consider that New Zealand is a semi-tropical Pacific island (think Fiji, Samoa, all of Polynesia).
(I should note here that WWOOF, which stands for Worldwide Workers On Organic Farms, is an international organization that pairs volunteers with sustainably-run establishments---basically you work roughly half a day in exchange for 3 free meals and a place to sleep. It's brilliant.)
Walking around the grounds late in the afternoon, I was struck by how eerily familiar and yet not this country is. The English have left their mark here, but it doesn't feel like modern England; it feels like a pastoral daydream left behind by Wordsworth or Burns---except that the giant ferns and the pohutakawa trees and the shockingly blue Pacific keep jarring you out of that mistaken impression. It's easy to see why Peter Jackson chose New Zealand to film Lord of the Rings, because the whole country has the feel of eerie near-familiarity, like a past that never existed here but might have in the next world over, or in a half-forgotten dream. (And I mean that in the sense of how green and untouched New Zealand feels, and how uncorrupted by noise and population and pollution it is.)
The walks I took along the empty beach and around the deserted grounds are the two thing that stick in my mind most this week, especially when set against the incredible pleasure of fixing and sharing delicious meals each night with the two other girls WWOOFing on the farm at the same time as me. Standing on the top of a shaggy green hill, looking north at the countryside where it drops down to the ocean, and seeing literally no one else, no sign of human population, is one of the most incredible things I've ever experienced. Similarly, walking along the beach (and being vaguely terrified by how strong the currents were, because, hey, no lifeguards) felt like I'd accidentally stumbled sideways into a different world. I could have been in Middle Earth, or Narnia, or freaking Treasure Island. And pardon me for the introspection, but in the middle of wandering aimlessly was when I came to realize that I have no fucking idea what I'm doing in life---and also that I'm remarkably okay with that. I don't really know when I'll be coming home, or what I'll be doing when I get there, or what I'm going to do for work, or if I'm going back to school, or for what.
Hopefully the answer to "what I'll do with my life" will NOT include "dying horribly of something poisonous in Australia," though. That would suck.
And now, because my attention span has wandered and I want to go for a walk here in Thames before it gets dark, I'll leave you with the poem that struck me out of the blue while I was still in Auckland, that I keep revisiting.
More to come, including pictures to be posted, when I reach
flatbear's family's house tomorrow night. Hope everyone is doing well. ♥
This past week, I got up early to let the farm dogs out so we could walk down and feed the chickens; I helped paint the entirety of the farm house; I watered the vegetable garden and raked leaves and hauled debris in a giant Land Rover to a massive leaf pile in one of the further fields. We puncuated these pleasantly pastoral experiences with trips down to beaches so empty and pristine that Jack Sparrow would be jealous--beaches that you could see from the window of where I slept each night.
On Monday, Annika and I went downtown to the Vulcan Lane Cafe, where we first went out to breakfast together. We had coffee and then said good-bye, and then I dragged all my things down to the bus stop and got on a large inter-city bus to head out east, into New Zealand's Coromandel peninsula. I mention the bus largely because the bus had internet, and it was notable for being the best internet I've had access to since I left Auckland. You don't realize what a luxury it is being able to load MSNBC for news until doing so eats your entire allotment of internet in five minutes flat.
I arrived at Te Ananui, the farm on the Coromandel Peninsula, and whatever I had been expecting, this wasn't it. It's 130 acres of green, verdant land, some of it pasture, very little of it actually "farm," with its own private beach facing the Pacific. The main house sat plopped down on top of woolly green hills that tumbled gracefully down to the blue ocean, like some kind of English manor house; the small cottage that I stayed at with the other WWOOFing girl was like something you would probably pay good money for in order to stay at some swanky resort. You can see white sand beaches scattered amongst rocky cliff faces that come right up to the water, and everything is so green, which makes sense when you consider that New Zealand is a semi-tropical Pacific island (think Fiji, Samoa, all of Polynesia).
(I should note here that WWOOF, which stands for Worldwide Workers On Organic Farms, is an international organization that pairs volunteers with sustainably-run establishments---basically you work roughly half a day in exchange for 3 free meals and a place to sleep. It's brilliant.)
Walking around the grounds late in the afternoon, I was struck by how eerily familiar and yet not this country is. The English have left their mark here, but it doesn't feel like modern England; it feels like a pastoral daydream left behind by Wordsworth or Burns---except that the giant ferns and the pohutakawa trees and the shockingly blue Pacific keep jarring you out of that mistaken impression. It's easy to see why Peter Jackson chose New Zealand to film Lord of the Rings, because the whole country has the feel of eerie near-familiarity, like a past that never existed here but might have in the next world over, or in a half-forgotten dream. (And I mean that in the sense of how green and untouched New Zealand feels, and how uncorrupted by noise and population and pollution it is.)
The walks I took along the empty beach and around the deserted grounds are the two thing that stick in my mind most this week, especially when set against the incredible pleasure of fixing and sharing delicious meals each night with the two other girls WWOOFing on the farm at the same time as me. Standing on the top of a shaggy green hill, looking north at the countryside where it drops down to the ocean, and seeing literally no one else, no sign of human population, is one of the most incredible things I've ever experienced. Similarly, walking along the beach (and being vaguely terrified by how strong the currents were, because, hey, no lifeguards) felt like I'd accidentally stumbled sideways into a different world. I could have been in Middle Earth, or Narnia, or freaking Treasure Island. And pardon me for the introspection, but in the middle of wandering aimlessly was when I came to realize that I have no fucking idea what I'm doing in life---and also that I'm remarkably okay with that. I don't really know when I'll be coming home, or what I'll be doing when I get there, or what I'm going to do for work, or if I'm going back to school, or for what.
Hopefully the answer to "what I'll do with my life" will NOT include "dying horribly of something poisonous in Australia," though. That would suck.
And now, because my attention span has wandered and I want to go for a walk here in Thames before it gets dark, I'll leave you with the poem that struck me out of the blue while I was still in Auckland, that I keep revisiting.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~Rumi.
More to come, including pictures to be posted, when I reach
flatbear's family's house tomorrow night. Hope everyone is doing well. ♥