Happy new year?! Oh man, I have photos going way back to Halloween that I haven’t even shared yet! I’m so excited to finally sit down and start putting this post together. Hope you’re ready for a looooong as update.
(View from my new bedroom).
I last wrote back in December, roundabout my birthday. Thank you so much to all of you wonderful people who sent me birthday wishes and cards and letters and packages. My heart was so full. And what with the time difference between here and the UK and America y’all were sending me messages for around 48 hours straight – I’ve never had a birthday that lasted so long! On the day itself I came home to the biggest and sweetest scented bunch of lilies (courtesy of my lovely friend Katie) and I got to spend the evening hanging out with my old ward team from my renal job, who just happened to be holding their Christmas dinner that day. It was so good to see everyone again. After dinner we went on to Karaoke, which was a first for me. It’s a pretty mesmerising experience if you’ve never been… I think I’m still processing it now a month and a half later! But suffice to say it was a great day. I feel so very loved and lucky, and beyond excited for everything that lies ahead this year. Last of the twenties!! It’s gonna be a wild and wonderful one.
I last wrote back in December, but my post back then was more focused on the job I had just finished, so I’m actually gonna take you right back to November, when the leaves were soft and fresh on the trees, the grass high and thick with daisies, and the days of rain still outnumbering the hot dry afternoons, before the Jacaranda trees burst into bloom and the mosquitoes arrived.
(Just wait till I tell you about those Jacaranda trees though).
November 5th was Bonfire Night, which I was surprised to learn is still a thing here. (Should I have been surprised? I guess I just assumed it was only a UK thing). It’s maybe my favourite holiday in the UK, purely for the time of year and mode of celebration, but I was working, and it doesn’t really feel the same when it’s not dark by three and the air isn’t heavy with wood fire and autumn. In perhaps the strangest experience I have had since arriving here, the primary school just below our house held an entire half hour firework display in broad daylight one afternoon. The children kept up a constant chorus of screams (of delight? terror? confusion?) and you could just about make out tiny streaks of glitter against the clouds. All very peculiar. I watched the whole display, believing that it would be as close to one that I would get this year, but fortunately Alex returned home later with sparklers, and we had an impromptu (and not wholly undangerous) show of our own in our back garden. In the dark.
(Bryan… “look at yourself!”)
November 23rd was American Thanksgiving, which has been a part of my life every year now since the Wust days. I was way too caught up in my last week of work to be of any use to anyone, and in fact on the Thursday we all had our own plans, but Katie organised a friendsgiving the following evening, and we laid sheets out on our front lawn, lit tealights, gave thanks, and drank gold dust wine deep into the night.
(Pictured above: Katie’s stuffing, Alex’ insane marinated raw fish salad, Nicole’s pumpkin pie (best I have ever tasted), and Bryan’s cheeseboards (including real French cheese)).
It’s strange for me to look back now on that last weekend of November. A couple of Bryan’s friends were visiting from France, and it felt so good to be chatting French with them and awakening all of these memories and parts of me that lie dormant in my now predominantly English life. Just before I came out here I spent a week or so back in Paulhan (where I grew up) with my family, and it wasn’t a holiday at all, it was purely a work trip, hard and emotional and full of hurt and anger and tears, but the sense that persists is still a magical one: the burnt orange of the dirt and dirty green of the pines as I touched down on the runway, the huge moon sinking through pink clouds above the old mill over the Herault at Belarga, river bathing, sister talk, jungle spray. It has been so long now since I last lived in France, over a decade, and I miss it more than I can say.
I was wildly, joyfully happy that Friday evening. Happy to know that I had achieved the things I’d aimed for during my first job, happy to be speaking French, happy at how at home I felt in New Zealand, happy at how beautiful an evening it was, happy to have found such a wonderful lil house family, happy to spend over an hour spontaneously Facetiming my sweet Pea. Perhaps happy in that way that seems always to precede a fall.
The rest of the weekend was packed full of more good things. On the Saturday a meal graciously hosted by one of the renal consultants, at his house overlooking the sea, where guests’ children wore superhero capes and squealed and ran about in the garden, plates were refilled over and again, wine flowed, whiskey was poured, and humour turned dark (as it is wont to do in medic circles). On the Sunday a brunch thrown together by Bryan, with homemade rum-infused compote and crepes. A walk up Mount Eden with the best of company, and then again, later that same day, a spontaneous housemate trip, on a quest to catch the sunset.
But on Sunday we also learnt that Bryan hadn’t been able to renew his visa, and would have to leave. That we wouldn’t be able to renew the lease at our house, and would have to move out in the new year. And then I received some news from home that sunk my heart. I was awake all night, first talking, then fretting. I came back from work on that first day at my new hospital utterly drained, full of those old feelings of fear and injustice and hopelessness that I hadn’t felt in so long, and I broke down and wept over the phone to my love Kathryn, grateful for a time difference for once working in my favour, even more grateful for friends who have always done everything to help.
Forever thankful for you all.
To be completely honest, sometimes I think most of the reason I’m so happy over here is because I’m so far from things that weighed heavily on me back home. And in some ways that feels like running away… but also like being set free. I’ve never felt free the way I do out here, and it brings up a lot of conflicting feelings. I would like to write more about these things at some point, I have a lot of thoughts I would be keen to share and dissect. But not today. And maybe this will never be the right space in which to do so.
Anyway. I settled into my new workplace, missing my old hospital and job, my lunchtime buddies, the patient population in Counties, but finding delight in the architecture and artwork of Auckland City, instantly liking my new team of housies and nursing staff, wryly entertained by ortho banter, happy and eager to be scrubbing into theatre again.
(A quick aside – 1. I am so much better at the phonetic alphabet now but if you put me under pressure I’ll freeze. U for unicorn?? 2. I love NZ and all that but no one understands the concept of keeping notes in their place in this fricking country. 3. The posters and signs in Auckland have nothing on those in Middlemore but A+ for this lil Gibbs reflective cycle right here. 4. NZ is currently switching over to EWS and you guys, it is painful. 5. Renal according to Ortho – what did I spend three months learning again?)
Meanwhile summer arrived, in a bewildering contradiction of sunshine and Christmas music. I spent free days at the beach, swimming in the salt baths at Parnell, exploring the Rose Gardens. When I needed some distance from the city I caught a ferry out to Devonport and spent hours lying under the shade of Pohutukawa trees reading and writing and watching life happening around me. I found a new place to live, and felt the first stirring of excitement rise from the sadness of our house family being split apart. I took myself to every yoga class I could make, finding comfort and strength over again in how much the practice demands of me. I lay out in the shade and watched rainbows shining through wine glasses into the grass, cultivated a love for blue cheese and spent hours just looking up at the blue of the sky and the bright flowers. It felt so good to feel heat on my skin again, in a way that I had been used to growing up in France, but hadn’t felt for so long since moving back to the UK. I periodically forgot what time of year it was, only to be shocked every time I walked into a supermarket and saw fake snow and Christmas trees and tinsel.
Then the Jacaranda trees bloomed, the Orthopaedic department held a predictably awkward glitter-themed Christmas party at a Yacht Club (complete with live band, amazing views of the skyline and questionable dance moves) and the hospital wards were transformed overnight in a sudden and frenzied decoration stand-off. I would like to try paint a picture for you, but I can’t even begin to explain to extent of this, I have never seen anything like it, it was surreal. One ward adopted the theme “Under The Sea” (I’m not sure what the link with Christmas is either) and proceeded to pin a million tiny fish in Santa hats across the walls, cover the entrance doors in shiny weeds, and hide massive cut-out sharks in waves of blue crepe paper overhanging the ceiling tiles. Dedication much? And they only came third in the competition! The ortho wards went for a rather more classic if eclectic collection of Christmas trees (I think we must have had about seven of them), skeletons in Christmas hats, and a terrifyingly big snowman with no nose made entirely of plastic cups. So there you go. In among all of this my birthday arrived, then Christmas, then New Year, and here we are now and it’s almost the end of January and soon I’ll be moving into a new job again and I haven’t even begun to tell you about my current one! (Realistically that might have to wait until next time.)
Just look at these trees though you guys. The colour! Have you ever seen anything so intense? I walked past this particular tree every day on the way to work and every day I stopped to try take a photo and every day I failed to even come close to capturing how beautiful it was. Lilac blue for days. Couldn’t get enough of it. Photos above showing: first bloom, full bloom, and carpet of fallen flowers.
A few days before Christmas I was grabbing beach snacks from a supermarket with Alex (cherries, crackers, blue cheese, ginger beer), when we bumped into someone she knew. Conversation turned to Christmas plans, and him to me in sympathy: “Are you another Christmas Orphan??”
I laughed, but truly I haven’t felt orphaned at all over here! If anything I have been so touched by how considerate and generous everyone has been, from you all back home to every one of my new friends out here. I don’t think I ever really felt particularly Christmassy, but that was one hundred percent due to the weather, not a lack of Christmas spirit or cheer.
There were carols in the hospital, and an inexplicable Elvis. We managed an evening of mulled wine (mulled by Becca, spilt by me) and (fruit) mince pies and Mark and Emily organised and hosted a pizza-night secret Santa (with the best gifts! thanks Leanne!). My flatmates and I went to see the Franklin Road Christmas lights, and I put aside my dislike of Love Actually to go watch an outdoor screening at Silo Park. In general I’ve avoided speaking too specifically about people on my blog, but I was explicitly asked for a shout out from some of these cuties, so here it is! Be ready for them to feature a lot more from now on.
I had the most fun evening at a Christmas comedy revue, somehow escaping being called out, and my friend Ai invited me to spend Christmas itself with her adoptive Kiwi family in Tauranga, who generously welcomed me into their household as though we had known each other for ever.
The drive to Tauranga was beautiful, and got me so excited for upcoming road-tripping plans. We set off on Christmas eve, expecting traffic that never materialised, and stopped off at a beach on the way where the sand was a beautiful mix of silver and black gold, and the ocean so calm. When we arrived we headed straight for the harbour, and exchanged “Merry Christmas!”s with runners circling around Mount Maunganui (apparently THE place to go if there’s a tsunami you guys) (I shouldn’t joke, I’m sorry). On Christmas day itself people put Christmas trees up on the beach, and little girls ran around in princess dresses. We swam again, and it is such a pleasure to swim here, the sea is so clear and warm and salty (WAY more salty than the med, does someone want to provide proof and settle this argument for me? haha). At one point there was a commotion near the shore, and Ai glanced across rapidly with an instinct that is completely lacking to me: “Is it a shark??” It was just high spirits. “I reckon, Kiwi sharks are pretty chill anyway, eh”, she laughed.
No comment.
Christmas day was wonderful, and I’m so glad I got to spend it in a household with children. Stockings were first, then gifts retrieved excitedly from under the tree, new dresses worn, new toys opened. Christmas dinner was an unbelievably delicious spread of vegan salads and barbecue; I was utterly unable to answer any of the trivia questions in the crackers. I did feel a few pangs of homesickness, especially with photos being sent through on my phone, and strangely I feel them all the more now in retrospect after learning how convinced some of you were that I would make a last-minute appearance. (Lou <3). I’m so sorry I couldn’t. I promise next year I’ll be home.
Later that day Hunt for the Wilderpeople was on TV, and everyone has been telling me I need to watch it for so long, but I’m glad I only saw it when I did, because I felt so much more able to appreciate everything that is Kiwi about it now that I have been here for a little while. I would say go watch it, but don’t, come visit me first and we can watch it together, it’ll be so much more fun that way!
I had a full four days off over Christmas, the longest break I’ve had since starting work here, and it was glorious. Having left the city even for a few days though left me longing for more, and so on that last Saturday of December I caught a ferry out to Waiheke, and it was the most perfect spontaneous lil trip I could have asked for. After a long chat with one of the guards at the terminal (elderly Indian gentleman, such a sweetheart, loves riding the ferries, lives in the CBD, watches a lot of movies, was worried I’d be lonely spending the day by myself (no chance)), I sat up out on the roof of the ferry on the journey over, windswept and overcome by the intensity of blue water. With no real goal in mind I turned off down a path that promised to lead me to (wait for it) the Valley of Serenity, and was rewarded with the most wonderful hike through bush, fields, woodland and valleys. I didn’t meet a single other person on the narrow track. Grasses rose tall around me, tiny birds fluttered and flirted. I made ridiculously slow progress, stopping every few seconds to take photos of flowers and views. After a while I reached Oneroa, where I ate, before heading down to the beach to swim and read. I swear it was daylight until about 10pm. On the way back I sat at the very far edge of the ferry, watching the city sparkle and glitter as I got covered in salt spray.
It was New Year’s Eve the next day, and the clouds were moody and beautiful overhead as we drove away from the city. We ate at one of those cafes with a little hatch in the side where the waiters pin their orders and you can watch the chef assembling his dishes, each more intricate and delicious-looking than the last. Then we went on to the Botanic Gardens, and I couldn’t imagine a more calm and peaceful place to bring the year to a close. We spoke of Egyptian gods and picked aniseed, ate ice cream (my first Jelly Tip!), played with the fluffiest baby puppy, and walked barefoot in the grass, before taking the longer route home for more puppy cuddles, an unintentionally vegan meal, a scene right out of a family drama, and fireworks from Wynyard Quarter.
I went straight into nights after that, which is a bit of an anticlimactic way to start a new year, if I’m honest. Being rostered on with Mark made them a lot more fun than they might otherwise have been, and I really can’t complain about the workload, but I’m always just left in such a funk afterwards. I wish there were a better way of managing shift work – however I try to do it it messes with my mind and body.
That brings us right up to January though, finally! I moved into my new flat that first weekend, we officially gave our old house up the following Friday, and had one last mosquito-plagued picnic hurrah in the back garden before we left. Ooof. End of an era.
Some final thoughts to wrap this up.
My heart has been a little bit all over the place recently, mainly with thinking through different training paths and options and trying to figure out what kind of career and life I want in the long term. (I know, I know). I’ve been able to have a couple of really helpful conversations about it, and I kind of know deep down that whatever I end up doing I will love, so I’m trying to let it rest awhile to give myself a break, but it’s still constantly there under the surface. I’m sure some of you will relate? Reach out if so! I’ll write more about that next time.
In order to stop myself from dwelling on all of that I’ve been making even more of an effort than usual to pay attention to the every day things in life that make me happy, in particular those things that filled me with wonder and awe when I first arrived here, but that I have started to become accustomed to: the beauty of the birdsong everywhere you go, the wide roads and sweeping lines, towering palm trees, rippled clouds, weird and wonderful flowers often bigger than my face that explode into bloom in the hedgerows and along the pavements. I have added new ones too: the deafening noise of the cicadas in the morning and afternoon, whatsapp chats with new friends, facetime sessions with everyone far away, the sound of the trains blaring their horns as they draw into Newmarket station at night, the feeling of heat rising from the roads, sunrise, sunset, star gazing from my deck. Someone recently observed how much I love the mundane, and it’s true, I get so much pleasure from these things, especially the more tangible ones: the smooth plump acorns that line my walk to work through the Domain, the weird succulent spikes that grow outside offices, the carpets of sweet-smelling fallen flowers. The vast majority of things that delight me so much are natural, and I’m doing my best to learn the names of the flowers and trees I love so much. But I’ve recently been taken with a very man-made luxury(?) – personalised number plates – and was delighted to learn this weekend that many other expats have made similar observations. See exhibits as follow. My favourite was Lichen until someone listed every single medical connotation and ruined it for me. Goddamn medics.
“Das it” for now folks. Big love to you all, and I’m sorry it’s been a while. I’ll be better at writing sooner next time, hold me to it.
(Had to squeeze this one in somewhere. Aftermath of our Halloween party. I lived in a room with HELP on the windows for a good two months you guys. 0/10 do not recommend if in actual need of help. No one came.)
Mad to Live 