Our time in Tapawera is best summised by the lack of pictures below this text segment. It was a place that lacked activity worth documenting in that traditional method. Yet the activities we undertook and were part of are some of the most vivid memories of our time. in New Zealand Perhaps they’ll be better preserved in writing.
As a person that has spent nearly now all of their life not being able to ride a bike, you develop certain mechanisms to get through. Firstly you think of all cyclists as weirdos. Secondly you have a rehearsed “yes I never learned as a child” or something similar for the prying questions that usually follow people finding out. I understand that it is not the norm but I’d also like to communicate quite clearly that I have received more unsolicited cycling advise than any other area, apart from maybe in the ‘how men should act’ department.
I understand also that cycling is for some a basic skill, that you learn as children. Yet for others, so is a second language. So is sign language. And when people bring it up for the ‘banter’. Ugh. Yes haha I’ve not heard this before yes laugh it up you weasel.
Complaints aside. I’ve still always wanted to learn. Mostly because it’ll make life more convenient, it is another form of fitness I can practice, and also, just a tinsy bit of, throwing it in people’s faces. Shouting look I’m capable of growth. I find it weird that people are more comfortable with others not knowing how to swim – a lifesaving activity – than with a recreational activity.
The house was a great place to learn. Josie and Jeremy, because they’re brilliant, avoided the pitfalls of the usual tedious conversation. Josie said, yeah I’ve got a bike its in the shed, it might need some fuss but go for it. Go for it. Well I did. The seat was too tall for me and the road was a bumpy potholey lane. But I still went for it. By the end of my time at Stanley Brook, I was eager to get out every day and practice. Making the two kilometer journey to the fishing lodges for fun.
The sight of the nearby mountain, forever etched in my mind as the place I learned to ride.
And yes, I’m celebrating this. I deserve to celebrate this, because this, for me, is a win. I’m not going to hold back on feeling the joy of victory, even when in the grand context of all existence, this isn’t even a speck of dust. No one is going to take this pride away from me.
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New Zealand’s soft power reach has, I would say, two major players. The Lord of the Rings film trilogy (I’ll keep my Hobbit film trilogy opinions to myself) and the All Blacks. People celebrate them globally, specifically tuning in to watch them and their famous Haka. An incredible advert for the Maori and the ideas of a bicultural nation.
The Rugby World Cup is on and we’ve lucked out. Jeremy and Josie are hosting a party for the New Zealand vs Namibia game. A group of their friends are coming over, there’s food, we’re given the information ‘help yourself to the beers’. Delicious.
I’d have been happy at this as a memory. This as a memory is already formed, it has its hook ‘I got to watch the all blacks with a group of Kiwis’. It’s there, done. However, it gets better. Whilst we’re at Jeremy and Josie’s, we find out that they’ve always got workaways. They’ve lived in the house for 3 years and they’ve had 10 days of not having people in the house. The house has plenty of rooms for hosting people. Petra, previously mentioned in the last blog, at this stage, has departed the house.
Enter Pierre. Pierre is French. Pierre is from Brittany. My only knowledge of Brittany is the ferry company that operates in my area. I learn, through Pierre, that Brittany is also famous for its unique pastry making style. Namely that they lash butter in absolutely everything. They love butter. Butter everywhere.
So now we’re not only watching the All Blacks treat Namibia like a dog treats its toys, absolutely shredding them. We’re now being treated to freshly made Brittany Crepes. Pierre spends, this isn’t an exaggeration, 3 hours in the kitchen making 40 Crepes while the rugby is on. Crepes. Beer. All Blacks rugby. Cultural experience? Nailed it.
Cultural experience. That is the highlight of the Workaway system. In our time at the three workaways. We’ve learned things we’d never have from staying in a hostel or hotel. We’ve had experiences we’d never have believed and made these memories, like learning to ride a bike, like sitting on the deck while the sun shines down and you throw stones for the dog to chase. Memories clear as the water here. Yes of course there are some downsides. You’re working on your holiday. I can see why that would be an unattractive proposition, especially on a shorter trip. Yet for us, the positives so vastly outweigh the negatives that we’ve mostly forgotten about them.
On our last day, we get a picture with Jeremy and Josie. We thank them for accommodating us. Josie drops us off at the lay-by. How we’ve changed since we were here before.
Back in Nelson for one night, we have a private room in a hostel which feels like the spare bed in your grandparents house. Very 50s. A design style for another era.
The next morning we’re on the bus again. Always on the move. Always wandering. Never lost.
Denny and Debbie's Little Big Adventure 