We ferried to Waiheke to go to the beach. We got there - eventually. [Ferry ride pics here.] Forty minutes in Pacific waters has an invigorating effect on the soul, especially one that has escaped the throes of impending winter to arrive during the rebirth of spring.
The day was as stunning as the water, the sun intense; I had been sunburnt in an hour the day before. [Some facts: the sun strength in New Zealand is far stronger than in the northern hemisphere because there is less ozone and, ironically, pollution to filter UV rays.]
We pulled into the ferry port and caught a taxi to the Mudbrick Winery. The driver exhibited the typical New Zealander friendliness one finds all over the country if you make even the slightest effort to engage them. I was just following along at this point. The only thing I knew about Waiheke was they grew wine and olives and had good beaches.
A photograph could never do justice to a setting as infectious to the senses as Mudbrick - colors to the eyes, warm sun on skin, birdsong and bees on flowers, the rapture of wine on the tongue...
We ate a feast and had a second glass, for desire to depart such a setting was absent.
But we had beach and U2, so we did leave, as reluctant as we were. We picked up a fourth wino for our group as well as a third glass after hopping the hop on/hop off bus that was included in our ferry tickets.
Ernest Hemingway wrote in A Moveable Feast, "In Europe then we thought of wine as something healthy and normal as food and also a great giver of happiness and well-being and delight. Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me and as necessary. "
I mention this because I found myself incredulous at just being there, me, a person who owns neither house nor car, who lives for one or two trips a year away from everything I know, to venture into the void of my knowledge in a quest to know everything there is to know. I sat there, staring at the blue Pacific waters and the vineyards among the multimillion dollar houses and doing something Americans would view as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary.
But.
Well, I won't get into the elitism and conceit of U2 lines until another day.
We indulged. We drank overpriced wine. We reveled in the beauty of it all. There was nothing else then, no other time, every moment was just that moment, we were just there. We kept pushing our departure time to later and later. We went to a third winery but realized we were cutting our beach time short, so we had a quick beer at a brewery as we waited for the next bus to the beach.
Time only existed because we had a U2 show to see that night.
We went to the beach:
The day was as stunning as the water, the sun intense; I had been sunburnt in an hour the day before. [Some facts: the sun strength in New Zealand is far stronger than in the northern hemisphere because there is less ozone and, ironically, pollution to filter UV rays.]
We pulled into the ferry port and caught a taxi to the Mudbrick Winery. The driver exhibited the typical New Zealander friendliness one finds all over the country if you make even the slightest effort to engage them. I was just following along at this point. The only thing I knew about Waiheke was they grew wine and olives and had good beaches.
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| Artichokes! |
A photograph could never do justice to a setting as infectious to the senses as Mudbrick - colors to the eyes, warm sun on skin, birdsong and bees on flowers, the rapture of wine on the tongue...
We ate a feast and had a second glass, for desire to depart such a setting was absent.
But we had beach and U2, so we did leave, as reluctant as we were. We picked up a fourth wino for our group as well as a third glass after hopping the hop on/hop off bus that was included in our ferry tickets.
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| bird from the bus |
 |
| we didn't go to this one |
 |
| we didn't go to these either |
 |
| the bus has left us |
 |
| up the winery road |
 |
| we went to this one |
 |
| Stonyridge |
 |
| palm trees, olive trees, and fields of wine |
 |
| olives and wine |
Ernest Hemingway wrote in A Moveable Feast, "In Europe then we thought of wine as something healthy and normal as food and also a great giver of happiness and well-being and delight. Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me and as necessary. "
I mention this because I found myself incredulous at just being there, me, a person who owns neither house nor car, who lives for one or two trips a year away from everything I know, to venture into the void of my knowledge in a quest to know everything there is to know. I sat there, staring at the blue Pacific waters and the vineyards among the multimillion dollar houses and doing something Americans would view as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary.
But.
Well, I won't get into the elitism and conceit of U2 lines until another day.
We indulged. We drank overpriced wine. We reveled in the beauty of it all. There was nothing else then, no other time, every moment was just that moment, we were just there. We kept pushing our departure time to later and later. We went to a third winery but realized we were cutting our beach time short, so we had a quick beer at a brewery as we waited for the next bus to the beach.
Time only existed because we had a U2 show to see that night.
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| what bird is this |
We went to the beach:
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| All roads should end at an ocean |
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