I am leaving New Zealand. I’m not being deported, exported, or extradited. I didn’t short-change any drug dealers, and as far as I know I’m not being hunted by the mob (assuming New Zealand has one). No extra-marital affairs to flee, no stalkers stalking, and no bad business dealings. My leaving has naught to do with the underworld, the sex trade, or the porn industry, nothing glitzy, nothing intriguing, nothing devious. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I couldn’t give you a good reason for the leaving. I could tell you that I miss a good burrito, that the 4th of July just isn’t the same, or that I can’t find canned pumpkin, a vital ingredient for pumpkin pie. Maybe I would mention the ‘just add water’ cake mixes and ready-made frosting as a reason for the leaving, “One can only live so long without Duncan Hines,” I would state. But when you sit back and let the head on a beer settle, my real reasons for leaving are still no clearer than a pint of Guinness.
The leaving snuck up on me, furniture began to disappear, then the boxes arrived. My wife coordinates, I nod. We had picked a date for the leaving six months ago, it had seemed clear and logical at the time, but now as the date approaches my doubts add and subtract, multiply and divide. The twin beds in our guest bedroom/office were taken away today, now my desk looks lonely. The edge of the falls is nearing and I can’t find the oar. In no particular order, I want to stay, and I want to go.
Some Things I Miss Today
Tortillas, tamales, carnitas, if it’s Mexican, I miss it. Back in Denver we used to live down the road from a Mexican joint where few spoke English, but the chili rellanos and wet burritos spoke in a language all palates can understand. If the proprietor’s family, who doubled as wait staff, were in the mood, they would don sombreros and instruments and belt out a few canciones.
I miss outlet malls, mega-malls, Marshalls and T J Max, and that’s quite an admission from someone who is genetically opposed to shopping. Wandering down shop filled corridors that lose themselves in the distance has it’s own allure on a rainy day; from Babbages to Benetton, Burlington to Barnes & Noble, every taste, every whim.
I look forward to sinking my teeth into a good burger. Eight ounces of prime USDA chuck, grilled to medium-rare perfection over a flame. Swiss or cheddar – it matters not – melted on top, a thick slice of tomato, no pickles please, ketchup courtesy of Heinz, a thin sliver of lettuce, and a bakery quality sesame seed bun slathered with mayonnaise on either side.
Football Americana! It’s what I grew up with, it’s what I know, the sport I love. Bring on ESPN & ESPN II, PSN (Prime Sports Network), and the eight others that have probably sprung up while I’ve been away. ALL sports ALL the time. While I’m on the subject, and while I profess to hate TV, those sixty cable channels sure come in handy when you settle your ass into the comfy confines of the couch.
However, if only it were about tacos and tele, then my wife and I could board the plane with silly grins and dribbly chins, but New Zealand has a way of entwining itself around your innards, and to depart is to leave a spleen or kidney behind, or in my case, a part of my soul; left to wander the green paddocks and driftwood-strewn beaches, through the tangled Pohutukawa trees on the East Cape, and down the twists and turns of the Whanganui River.
Some Things I’ll Miss Tomorrow
I’ll miss the savory pies. Mince, mince and cheese, steak and cheese, and potato tops. The little pie shop at Narrow Neck Beach will live on in my taste bud hall of fame.
I’ll pine for my favorite spot on this Earth, Muriwai Beach. That place out along the cliff’s edge next to the gannet colony where the cliff is at it’s steepest and the troubled Tasman fumes below. I’ll miss standing there on that precipice, watching the great swells roll in and hurl themselves against the rocky wall beneath where the gannets nest and take flight.
I don’t suppose we’ll ever find a place quite like the village of Devonport. We walk to the small town that oozes lattes and fresh scones. The main street dips down to the wharf where you can catch a ferry across the harbor to downtown Auckland – my old commute by the way. We walk to beaches and atop volcanoes. I stroll with golf clubs slung across my back to the local course. It is everything that I have ever and will ever look for in a place.
But to be sure, and without question, it’ll be the people that will cause our spleens and kidneys to knot up when we board that plane. To that party of four we met in the Bay of Islands over dinner, it is with regret we didn’t take you up on your offer to stay at your home on Waiheke Island. We were new to New Zealand and didn’t know such offers were genuine and without condition. To all the folks who bought me pints after a round of golf, let me just offer a blanket apology for over-exaggerating my handicap; and to that rotund fellow in Whakatane, I wasn’t trying to brain you, I simply pulled up too soon on my wedge shot. To the proprietors of the Garden Room Bed & Breakfast, you made the 8000 miles to home seem a Sunday’s drive. And lastly, to all our friends and acquaintances, thanks for showing us around your back yards, we’ll return the favor any time.
When I look out across the Haruaki Gulf to Rangitoto volcano and beyond, when I walk past the Stone Oven Bakery in Devonport, when I roam across the countryside – ever vigilant for sheep tailings, when I look at my daughter, Kiwi born, but never to grow up in this land, when I think of all these things, I know that I shall miss New Zealand, I shall miss it a lot. But in the end, I’ve discovered, it doesn’t matter if you hail from a chunk of ice in the Artic, or Dubuque, Iowa; home is the worn sofa in the family room, the place your heart never forgets, and that place where relatives will baby sit for free.
Copyright 2000 Douglas S. Sassaman, http://CosmicBurp.com
About The Author:
Douglas Sassaman is a freelance writer, aspiring novelist, and self-described humorist (who some think should be self-committed). He writes the humor column, 'Life in the Cosmic-Burp' on the web at http://CosmicBurp.com.
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