Celestial whiteness

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It is 7:00 a.m; my bladder awakens me, you’ll have guessed.

Three days ago, we were living on the plains, stretching like a royal carpet in front of Aoraki, beyond question, the master of heights crowned with eternal snow. The King of the Southern Alps. Just like humble servants waiting for a mission from His Majesty, we wandered on the rock faces of His High Knights, discovering Alpine flora sheltering keas, the only parrots living in altitude, and most of all, fearing at the sound of avalanches roaring in the valley. Each day, we discovered the impenetrable magnanimity of the mountains, but clouds were always covering the one from whom we wanted a hearing. He is called Aoraki “The one piercing the clouds”. But, as the Maori stories go, He chooses who He reveals His charms to.

I open one eye and already, the window is calling me. Today is our last day surrounded by the Alps …will the hearing be granted? To my surprise, over the valley and its impassable glacier circle adorn with pillars grinding their teeth, the sky reveals itself under a shy morning Sun. Tongues of clouds shred at the bottom of rock walls and summits point their nose one by one. I run to the washroom, hard-fisted to jump into my hiking boots as soon as I get out, returning climbing on Mt Sebastopol, hopefully waiting for me with a fabulous view of the famous monarch.

After swallowing two slices of dry bread (thanks to a generous Brazilian who took pity on me, I was able to spread them with Nutella) I run to the never ending staircase climbing towards the Alpine lakes at the summit of Sebastopol. After 1:45 h of climbing, I am in the clouds. They are tough. The valley seems to attract them like chocolate eclairs seem to attract Mr. Lepage. So I come down again towards the Sun and half-way down, I have to sit on the ground. Here he is. Playing hide-and-seek through clouds, the glittering whiteness impresses me. The proud triangle, which seems to have been cut with a sword forged in Mt Olympus, invites to meditation. I just can’t move. Aoraki comes and goes through the white veils, and each time, He comes back even more majestic. And all around, the circle of gigantic mountains seems to answer His call and it seems to me they stand taller, whiter and more carved over the orange plain. I am under the impression that I’m earring thousands of kilometres of glaciers cracking in lieu of applause. The cry of a kea brings my body back to the cool rock and watching it fly, my eyes face thousands of dew drops adorning the robust plants and elegant heights of New Zealand. They form a silver coat on the carpet woven with all sorts of reds, ochers and greens. The moss is shining. Lichens are glittering. Here I am, filled with light, in the middle of the infinitely small and infinitely large.

I remember my friends who must be waiting for me in the valley. I run down the last stairs with a blissful smile on my face.

On the road, maybe 50 km after the valley, we stopped at the end of Lake Pukaki, huge oblong range at the foot of Aoraki. Finally, far from the clouds of the valley, the non interrupted hearing was granted. At the end of the turquoise lake, we were able to see a huge summit with refined lines, standing tall as if to bless the adjacent valleys. A simple smile was enough for our goodbye.

One week ago, we took a plane from Christchurch to Sydney, leaving behind a magic country, but in front of us so many friends to meet again. The flight was done on a splendid day. And just below us. In the middle of millennial mountains, Aoraki was standing tall, as to say Thank you and Goodbye.

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Ecstasy, and then the laundry

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I don’t know how kiwis can live with one pair of eyeballs and still remain sane. Since I started roaming this blessed land, my heart itches from the lack of spare body parts I could use to take it all in. A schedule with two shifts; I could night and day smell, see, hear, touch, feel, marvel.

New Zealand’s beauty is beyond what my soul could fathom. Its endless curves, its generous people, its emerald fields, its lush fern wonderlands, its rolling turquoise waves, its hidden paradise-like hot springs, its rainbow-coloured geysers, its bird symphonies are just a few of the flying carpets which sweep me away every day.

We have been very busy enamouring ourselves with Aotearoa, hence the lack of blogging. We have been twirling like dervishes in a vortex of synchronicities and awe of the land.

We tramped in the wind of high summits, climbed rocks, petted lambs, learned about the different families of sheep, biked through steaming blue-green sulphur banks, had a try at the Maori poi dance and warrior tongue exercise, saw Taiwanese Zorbing, tasted kiwi fruit wine, carved our own cow bone Maori fish hooks, spent hours in museums, ascended the slopes of a kiwi version of Mount Fuji, wondered at boiling mud pools and finally washed lots, lots of dishes…

We are currently WWOOFing at a spiritual retreat near the Great Lake Taupo (also due to erupt any day soon). It is our second spiritual retreat in a very short time. The first, a Buddhist retreat in Thich Nhat Hanh’s tradition (…).

My friends, I have here to take a pause for there are no words powerful enough to describe our experience there. I look at the screen and a dam of emotions opens up and I would like to share this precious intensity with each one of you individually. I would like to take you by the hand and bring you in Dharma Gaya’s garden, in silence, so we could hear our hearts beat in unison with the birds. Over 10 days we further discovered our inner beauty, the world’s and the light in the people that surrounds us. We looked openly, without judgment, at darker clouds in our skies and it felt really, really good.

The participants of the retreat were inspired by Marc and I respect for one another and contagious love. One of them, a lovely man looking very much like Felix Leclerc, fulfilled one of my wildest dreams: he spontaneously manifested a ceremony for us in the lush rainforest, where we exchanged loving words and greenstone “mala beads” bracelets as a symbol of deep respect of the other. Wow. I had a bouquet of purple flowers made by lovely Kate and hiding my blushing into it, I listened to Marc’s lovely words in front of a small assembly of beautiful people, seated in semi-circle under the canopy. Then I told him, with starry eyes, that I was happy to be on this road in his company. Our friends read poems, gave us cards, chocolate, tips and we even received a honey moon voucher to stay at one of the participants’ place in Hamilton! Just amazing.

Today, in between washing dishes and eating cake, I marvelled at the beauty of a tiny bird. Legs smaller than a toothpick and a body round, round like babies’ eyes. Another moment of ecstasy in this grand place. I really wonder how New Zealanders go about their daily routine. I have to try it for myself; tomorrow morning is laundry time.

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Aotearoa, “The Land of the Long White Cloud”

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Haere Mai! Welcome to Aotearoa, New Zealand. The name New Zealand originated with Dutch cartographers, who called the islands Nova Zeelandia, after the Dutch province of Zeeland, also meaning “Seeland”. So you understand why I prefer the poetry of “The Land of the Long White Cloud”, Aotearoa. Maoris must have arrived during the summer time, because now, in winter time, I would rather call it “The Land of many grey Clouds”! It rained a lot these last days, but last week was marvellously sunny, packed with rainbows adorning the hills of Northland.

What better way to celebrate Sunshine than going fishing with an elder Kiwi on the tail of the fish caught by Maui. But maybe I’m talking in an incomprehensible dialect...

Here, New Zealanders proudly give themselves the title of “Kiwis”. It refers to the magnificently delicious fruit, of course, but mainly to the national symbol of New Zealand: the bird. The Kiwi is endemic to Aotearoa and is one of the rare species in this country having survived deforestation. They only remain in a minimal number, but efforts are made to repopulate the colony. The Kiwi doesn’t fly and is the bird laying the biggest egg in proportion to its size... It is part of a unique family existing since Gondwana, the supercontinent that reunited South America, Africa and Oceania, 600 million years ago. Having lived besides dinosaurs is a reason spectacular enough to make it the national symbol, even if its cry is far from being pleasing to the ear...

So we went on the calm waters of the Bay of Island with an elder Kiwi with eyes of wisdom, filled with blue and green horizons. Picking up the trail of Maui, we casted our fishing rods and waited for our beautiful submarine creatures to unfortunately get entangled in our metal fishhooks (oh yes, the famous whale bone fishhooks are no longer used, they’re prettier around the neck of Maoris or tourists).

Maui, like the isle of Hawai'i, is a demi-god known by everyone in Polynesia. He seems to have reached the status of a star in every island mythology, leaving no doubt on the shared family ties, even when the islands are apart from 7,000 km. Here, Maui is the originator of Aotearoa; he is the one who made it appear...

One day, Maui (like Marc, Barry and I) went fishing, along with his five brothers. He was far away at sea when he dropped his magic fishhook, which was no other than the jaw-bone of his sorceress grand-mother. Even if he was a demi-god and he could choose any lure he wanted to catch his dinner, he decided to coat the jaw-bone with the blood from his own nose. He tied the bloody hook to a huge cord and dropped it into the sea. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, Maui felt a fish tugging on his line and he started to pull it up. Just like me, screaming bloody murder, trying to bring a huge 7 lb Grand Daddy Hapuka to the surface, Maui used all his strength to get a gigantic fish out of water. As in every fishing story... the fish was “so big”, “as big as this”, “so immensely big” it became the Northern Island of New Zealand. I wonder what Maui ate for dinner, but thanks to his fishing talent, we now can drive on sinuous roads surrounded by hills; we can also boat on waters surrounded by grottos, cliffs and grazing cows watching magnificent birds, and put the charming coloured fishes back into water (yeah, my favourite part of a fishing trip)...

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Long Distance Romance

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My throat is burning deliciously after each Bundaberg Ginger Beer sip I swallow. The lovely non-alcoholic sparkling liquid warms my heart as I reflect upon my last three weeks in Manly. Gosh it's good! No artificial crap, just cane sugar and lots, lots of ginger... I visited where they make it, so I feel very privileged when I drink it, very "Aussie" so to speak...

I think I have been feeling very "Aussie" lately... Coming back where it all started makes you realize how much you love a country and its people, whether real "blokes and sheilas" or "expats" who have chosen Australia as their home. Last Saturday, we were out picnicking by the ocean with our friend Marjan (we lived with her in Agnes Water) and we managed to randomly meet 5 other friends. We totally felt like one of the first days of spring on Wellington Street when you bump into all your best friends without planning it... I will always be amazed at humans' power to make good friends quickly and to make a new place feel like home.

I reckon this is the addictive substance of travelling; this feeling of being lost and found at once.

Leaving loved ones is always a very difficult task, but the excitement of the trip to come combined with knowing how delicious it will be to return to them always ease the wounds. We have fallen in love with amazing friends all over the 2.8% of the huge continent we visited, and every parting moment was way weirder than what I have always known. I have always said: "we'll catch up on the road" or "I'll come and visit". This time, none came up because I did not want to say something I did not believe. So we have left heaps of great people knowing we might never ever see them again, or that at least we are not planning to for the moment. Let me tell you it is a bit heartbreaking. Monday night, we visited Julie (friend from Magog I met for real Down Under) and her lovely love Martin. We had a great dinner, as usual, great laughs, as usual and we just felt our hearts surfing on the smoothest of friendship's waves. Then we said goodbye, after all that time spent together in the last three weeks, and it was a real goodbye, although we did not cry. Weird isn't it? It makes you ponder on how people driven away from their families can do it...

Do not get me wrong here; I am actually in the gayest of moods! We are leaving tomorrow morning for new adventures in a wild land of huge mountains...I can't wait! It is also a land of progressive social politics, which I intend to investigate a bit. New-Zealand gave the right to vote to women in 1893...wow! Quebec waited until 1940, it's scandalous! The Maoris have always had a say in governmental stuff, which makes New-Zealand a lead in dealing with Indigenous Rights...Before I get too "politicized" here, I should wait to double check a couple of facts! Till then, Bonne St-Jean and get warm while we get cold!

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It’s bloody freezing!

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This morning, sitting on the white couch, I was savouring each and every ray of sunshine heating my skin through the old windows of the veranda. The jungle of plants and surf boards hanging from the ceiling seemed to enjoy absorbing this new heat as much as I did: everything was glittering with a myriad lights under the heat. I wanted to stay put forever, stay there roasting and stop time …

It’s only 3:00 p.m. and I find myself inside, wearing my coat, tuque and scarf. Despite my huge slippers and hot tea cup, my nose, hands and arms are frozen. The big palm trees only three feet away from me in the back yard seem to poke fun at my hypothermia. I hear them say, just like their Australian human counterparts: “Come on Canadian girl, you should be used to the cold!”.

BUT IT’S ONLY BECAUSE WE HAVE CENTRAL HEAT, BUGGER!

It started to be “bloody freezing” around March 10, which means autumn when we live down under from Québec. It was then justifiable because we were sleeping in the car, i.e. almost outside. When we arrived in Melbourne, we realised it was almost preferable to live in a car rather than a house. Here, the ground doesn’t freeze, so people don’t have adequate heating systems. Even worse than that: if someone earns less than $100,000 yearly he or she is condemned to freeze behind the old walls of his or her house. OK, I draw a long bow here, but for the last three months, we froze during more days than all the days we froze in the past (even taking into account the failing fireplace at the White Mountains…) When we arrived in Sydney last October, Julie, my resident friend, told us she had just spent the coldest winter of her life. I totally did not believe her! Come on… palm trees, year round surfers. But she was absolutely right!

So the weather is fair outside, but we live inside, all bundled up, and we prepare hot-water bottles to heat the bed… Oh well, I like the unexpected!

We are now back in Manly, Sydney, and it’s so good to join our precious friends. It’s really unique to go back somewhere seven months later and feel as if we never left. Especially in a place where we stayed only a few days! Back to square one, I fully realise my Australian adaptation: I recognise words, traffic regulations elements, birds, food, people’s habits that seemed so out of the ordinary to me at first (out of the ordinary I wished for, of course) and I realise they all became part of my daily life. It’s only the cold I’m having more trouble getting used to!

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Magnificent Melbourne

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My heart was floating in a bit of nostalgia at the end of our desert adventure. We had lived our last nights in the Australian immensity. After a few months here, you take for granted the never-ending mountain ranges and the silence of the milky-way…You take for granted being alone in this beauty, breathing fresh air. Even if I have been here for a little while, I am still so amazed by how unpopulated it can be. You would expect towns and people in between two big cities like Melbourne and Adelaide but we had to drive 100 km to find restrooms!

Our very short stay in Melbourne revived our desire to stay here longer. It is so inspiring! We told you about permaculture, bicycle repair co-ops and we just seem to discover a new amazing thing every day! Even in this busy time we found time to get involved a bit: we found out about “Lentil as Anything”, a non-for-profit organization, which operates restaurants where you pay what you have or what you think the food and service are worth. It doesn’t sound real, does it? The majority of their food is organic and you have access to a range of delicious iced-coffees, chai, fair-trade teas and so on. Lentil as Anything addresses social isolation experienced by new migrants and socially isolated people. They provide support and training for refugees, youth and other members of the community who are struggling to find an opportunity in their new social environment. They even have a school canteen run that way! How AMAZING is that? The food is spectacular. Everyone there is beautiful, the service is impeccable and there is always live music or multi-cultural display of some sort! You can eat with people or you can have an intimate table on the terrace. It was the first time I was going somewhere like that where you could choose to be communal or to have privacy in a normal restaurant setting. Bravo!!!!

Federation Square is the centre of Melbourne. Tourists and locals alike hang out there, visit the free mediatheque unit, free galleries and exhibitions and profit from the free public wireless internet. After beating the Guinness World Record for the most people dressed up as super heroes in one place, we were quite hungry. Normally street food stands are not allowed, so we were curious to see what was going on with the beautifully trendy kiosk showcasing wooden boxes full of fine herbs. The staff wore shirts saying StrEAT and the menu, mainly organic, was more than appealing. It turned out that StrEAT is a fantastic initiative to reduce homelessness. Being not-for-profits, all the money goes directly to shelters and other great services, and it is an opportunity for homeless youth to get a training, which could give them a proper job and a brighter future. After we bought our delicious conscious food, the girl there gave us one of these cards “buy ten and get one free” that we get from many food places. But this time there was a clever twist to it: “buy ten meals and the eleventh goes to a homeless youth”. Really, wow!

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Boobook and Lawrence

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Our last adventures date from a month ago. Let me draw you a picture of some of the landscapes we crossed.

Exhausted from looking in vain for a job, but filled with our new-found friendships, we left Melbourne to tour the famous Great Ocean Road so photographed. The next morning, our crew was adorned with a French hitch-hiker, who happily filled our ears with expressions we had never heard. The magnificent 12 Apostles are seen under a stormy sky; these pillars defying the ocean seem greater than life, under grey light turning silver with unprompted passages of the Sun. That night, we achieved a big dream: to sleep in an old Winnebago, decorated with a kitschy design of the sixties! The next morning, even more gigantic waves shatter on the yellow and ochre stratum of the sea cliffs. Monoliths resemble sentinels posted to protect treasures buried for millenniums.

We say goodbye to Xavier and wish him good luck with his hitch-hiker desert crossing. We arrive at Anna’s in Adelaide. She is a friend of a friend from Melbourne and has generously offered to harbour us. Wham Bam! Sudden friendship. The two days spent with Max, Anna, Nico, Mia, the chickens and the garden are unforgettable.

After many days of arid budgetary labour in the cold of the new winter, we finally leave for the Australian apotheosis: the Red Centre, the desert of the middle, the flat, flat, flat away from civilization. But, the First Nation has a story for every hill, every dry river, every tree tuft and every rock. The Australian continent, for them, is a huge “géophonic” map, if I may propose a new term to French legislators. Aborigines can find their way through orally transmitted “roads of songs”. Every element of the ground is sung as we approach it, songs based on the speed of walking to know how many verses to compose between every important relief feature. I wish I could have learned some of them, but this millenary culture is more than rugged and the asphalt is too much of a speedway.

Each time I’m back on secondary roads, throughout the world, I’M filled with joy. The nature of human beings to celebrate their sense of belonging is really fantastic. Motor bikers salute one another, backpackers say Hi and often times, people with hair “stuck slump” like mine smile at each other. It’s the same on less busy roads: we smile and wave at each other in a brotherly manner.

On the rocky mountain roads to climb, we crossed many super heroes: cyclists riding thousands of desertic kilometres and hikers ready to climb cliffs to admire the beauty of their country … and all of them already in their sixties. Such a lesson for us, who consider ourselves adventurers!
Rare wallabies, surprised kangaroos, curious emus, protective owls, wild horses and camel HERDS where there… Really! 200 years ago, Australians used the help of Afghans to build the famous Darwin to Adelaide railway line. Well adapted to the desert, these huge softies multiplied and now, it’s like being in Lawrence of Arabia in the middle of Australia!

We took the train on that line and at 10:30 p.m., in the dark, without lighting or roads miles around, a lady detrained with her suitcase. In the middle of NOWHERE! A 4X4 came to pick her up and headed through the bushes. There, I really felt I was “Down Under”.

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