Holidaying in Raglan

Like I have mentioned, among my most cherished moments in returning to New Zealand have been reunions with old friends.

Almost two weeks ago, two friends (one acquired at the age of five and the other as friend-number-one fell in love with and married friend-number-two) drove up to Auckland for long-awaited conversations carried out with no computer in between. Of all the people I've looked forward to seeing while here, P. and H. were among the top.

We headed down to Raglan on a beautiful Sunday afternoon to spend three nights at their bach (Kiwi for vacation home). It was a lovely two-hour drive south of the city to Hamilton and then due west. The road between Hamilton and Raglan climbed to stunning views, but I knew that attempts at truly capturing it through the car window, in all its splendor - the sharp peeks and diving valleys, some shaved to clean green grass and others populated with trees - were slim.

Once in Raglan, there were plenty of photo ops, but it turned out that my favorite place to pull out the camera was at a cafe called Tongue & Groove. We went there twice for coffee, and it was just the sort of place I'd like to always have down the road. Painted wood floors with the dark naked boards revealed from wear, vintage patterned counter tops in alternating colors, a chalkboard menu, and even a table fashioned from half a surfboard protruding from the wall and paired with old brown leather theater chairs. Lovely aesthetics, friendly staff, and a damn good cappuccino.



Below is an earl grey tea that I purchased on my first visit. Then there's the brownie the three of us shared while sitting at the surfboard table.





But just so you know we didn't sit inside all day, here are some photos from around the area.

Essential Details

One Hungry Soul has been haunting me. Each photograph my camera captures translates to something else to blog about - my new life in this gorgeous country deserves much more documentation than I am allotting it. And so, as I sit on my bed on this quiet night, I retrace my steps over the past few weeks, hoping not to miss the essential details that desire to be shared.

Here's one: Sharing a warm, dry home with a seven-year-old and his mother as the spring rain persists in the watering of already drenched soil.





I moved out of that sweet little house a week ago but want to offer a glimpse into my surroundings there before this blog moves on as well.







During the hushed gaps in the coming weekend, I anticipate a more thorough catch-up on life's photo log.

Beaches and plenty of cappuccino cups await.

With Old Friends

I think it is well established that New Zealand is a beautiful place. So let's not dwell on the lush fern forests and brilliantly green paddocks and the way some sort of flower always manages to be showing its face, no matter the season.

Just as wonderful as it is to be living in this aesthetically pleasing land, I find reunions with old friends equally soul-satisfying.



Yesterday a young man picked up my sister and I for lunch, a man who I last saw fifteen years ago, when he was eight years old and had round cheeks and the ability to sing a few octaves higher, surely. These days he's tall and thin and often in the company of his lovely fiancee, a startling realization of just how fast we have grown up.



The four of us shared a delicious meal together at Takapuna Beach, where the scenery, food, and company were thoroughly enjoyable -- even with the burst of rain on the way back to the car. Once the summer sun comes out to stay, I hope to venture back. Any place that serves poached feijoas and greek yoghurt over brazil nut and linseed granola (yes, they actually used the American term "granola"), especially within glass wall that face the beach, wins a bit of my heart.





When I start to wonder if New Zealand possesses any authentic "homey-ness" to me anymore, or if the years of distance have wiped it all away, the act of rekindling friendships comes as a comforting gift.

Flickers of Memories

Nothing ages you quite like going back to a place you haven't seen in fifteen years. I feel like I have lived through multiple lives, the former one being so full of events and memories that have been fuzzed out by the many that happened in the latter. Everywhere I go, I wonder if my little blonde-headed four to eight year old self stepped foot here too.

And, yet, I know that in most cases the answer is 'no'. We lived in Glendowie and so stayed mostly on the other side of the bridge from where I'm residing, on the North Shore. Thus, most of this experience is genuinely new and lovely in all its opportunities for discovery and growth.







Yesterday, I went to a new place (I think) with some new friends. Muriwai Beach was reminiscent of Hawaii with its black sand, rocky cliffs, and turquoise waves. And, yet, walking along the shore in my sweater, only letting my toes occasionally touch the chilly water, I could have easily been back on the West Coast of the U.S.

I don't mean to break this beautiful scene apart into disparate parts of the world, and dilute its Kiwi-ness. It was genuinely its own, with gannets and surfers in ice-cold water and a mix of palm trees, evergreens, and sheep-speckled hills meeting the shoreline.





Tonight I'm straddling that fifteen year bridge again. I sit at a kitchen table in a home that is entirely new to me, but has been warmly opened to the role that I'm currently living as a grown woman, a college graduate who has moved away from mum and dad to establish myself (whatever that means, right?). And, yet, I sip a drink that surely passed my lips as a child, a drink that awakens flickers of memories. Milo's milky, chocolaty warmth passes through this ceramic mug onto my cold hands that have aged from chubby and naive to slender and scarred in the course of years.

Not So Long Ago

It feels like ages ago that my sister and I passed through Oregon, meandering down the coastline highway. We stayed on the slow, scenic 101 for as long as we could, taking in its charm and beauty. Forced to turn inland about midway down the coast, we parted ways with the long stretch of shoreline, widening and narrowing but always being met by powerfully crashing waves, icy from their origin in the northern Pacific Ocean.

I say that it feels like ages ago, but in fact it was last Sunday. And Monday. Here are some favorite photos.







I'm trying to keep Flickr updated with photos (especially since my blog is so behind). Stop by there if you'd like to see more.

A Necessary Stop

A week ago this morning, my sister and I opened the front seats of a little white Honda Accord, took a look back at the objects filling the seats behind us - suitcases, boxes, a snowboard, two long hand-wittled walking sticks, and spare cameras - and closed our doors with caution and excitement.

To save myself space and give you a little extra time in your day, I'll skip ahead to today and let you know that we are now in Santa Barbara, California. Our starting point was Lynden, Washington, and we've enjoyed a (mostly) leisurely-paced drive down the West Coast, taking more photos than I can quote in any sort of accurate quantity.



I will try to share a fair amount of photos and stories in the next few days. If that doesn't happen, I'll simply have to move on because on Thursday night I board a plane for Auckland, New Zealand, and twelve hours later I will touch down in a land and life that deserves stories all its own, brought to you with fresh photographs and still-forming perspectives.

For now, let me back up a few days earlier than last Sunday. It was Thursday, in a life where my sister and I still considered a two hour drive quite lengthy. We got on I-5 that morning and headed south to Seattle to visit friends and family, faces that needed to be seen in person before our departure.



To finish off our day, we met with two friends at Delancey in Ballard. Now, you should know, this was not just a random dining selection. Ever since Molly, of Orangette, shared that she and her husband were planning on opening a wood fire oven pizza place in Seattle, I have been anxious to go. It worked out quite perfectly that by the time I made my way back to Seattle eight months later, the restaurant had been open for a couple weeks. Better yet, I had friends that were just as eager to try it (and a gluten-intolerant sister who was willing to 'treat' herself to a fluffy wheat-filled pizza crust just for the occasion).

The photographs I took sadly do not include any of the food we ate. By the time we got there, the light outside was fading, and when the food arrived, I decided I wanted to put my camera aside and really focus the food and conversation before me.



Frankly, everything was superb. I loved the salad options available: a fresh corn and tomato one and one of lively dark greens and paper-thin slivers of radish, both with successfully simple vinaigrettes. Our pizzas were of the foraged mushroom and shaved zucchini variety. The first was the special of the day, but I don't recall many details beyond that for either pizza (I haven't found their menu online to jog my memory). Actually, I know the zucchini one had delightful little salty bites of anchovies and am fairly confident the mushroom one was finished with a topping of fresh marjoram. Knowing the standard of good food that Molly and Brandon hold (this is willfully shared through Molly's blog and book; I am not a stalker!), the sauce and cheeses used on their pizzas are very purposefully and wisely chosen, making for pizzas that belong with a glass of wine.



We four girls shared a lovely rosé throughout the meal and two desserts to top the night off. I never thought of ordering a popsicle in a sit-down restaurant before, but when our waitress told us that Molly had picked the blackberries a couple days before and we saw cute little glasses, like tall, skinny shooters, arriving at other people's tables, we decided that was just what we wanted: a blackberry yogurt popsicle and chocolate chip cookie with grey salt. Both were delicious, but the popsicle was the surprise favorite.

The photos scattered throughout this post tell a story of the atmosphere of Delancey much more than the food, but when it comes to eating, the environment is often just as important as the food in the end. The decisions made at Delancey for a bar and its subsequent stools, an open kitchen, specials on a chalkboard wall, framed photography on the walls, and contrasting light fixtures hanging on long thin black stems from the ceiling make the entire place casual, yet classy, yet entirely unpretentious.



I might just move to Ballard when I return from the land of the kiwi bird.

My Northwest Bug

Life's days are continuing to fly out from under me. Since getting to Bellingham, I've had my wisdom teeth removed, helped my mom move houses, prepped for and celebrated her wedding, and tried (with some success) to see people I'm needing to say goodbye to before heading across the Pacific Ocean...indefinitely.







Fortunately I've made it to the farmer's market twice, as you can see above, and spent time in one of my favorite cafes; the third floor of Village Books and the view out the window are what you see in the photos below.









The Temple Bar is on the schedule for later this week, and a day in Seattle is coming tomorrow, so somehow I'll satisfy a bit of my Northwest bug before heading out on the road for ten days. My sister and I will be winding our way down the coast visiting friends and family on our way to LAX with suitcases and plenty of cameras and playlists in tow.