I love waking up to the heavy blanket of tropical humidity – because it so clearly reminds my body that here is not where I was before. And then that very special first morning view out the window – green, green, green…
Calling the corner of Wilshire ‘home’ means learning to sleep through 3 a.m. mail trucks, overhead flights and constant police sirens – it’s too nice out to close the windows.
I imagine giants above us, and stare up the narrow cliff sides as if up their bare legs; for the mountains of rock debris could be some fantastical gate destroyed by enormous hands.
Gone are the rowdy days of Arrowtown’s mining past. The footsteps of frantic gold hunters have faded into the gentle patter of families with prams; espresso has replaced moonshine as […]
“Penguin!” Hadyn shouts at every black and white bird on the horizon. Knowingly, he mistakes large gulls for the little local inhabitants that nest along Bicheno’s rocky shoreline. Someone has […]
From our room, the passing road trains sound like swooping aircraft, not the earth-bound rush of mighty 18-wheelers bearing their goods eastward. The highway sustains life out here. It is […]
…the third period of Queenstown has been a two-week vacation, extended into seven. But, no matter how long I stay or how often I leave, always those snowy peaks await my return.