KiwiGalo

Our village will be ‘Em Festa’ in a little over a week’s time. Em festa translates into “In Party’ and that is exactly what it means. Starting on the Friday, our village will host a three day festival. There will be food, music and of course dancing. What more could you ask for? ‘Em preparação’, in preparation, for the party there is sausage to be made. Heaps. As our homemade sausage is a draw for crowds and a source of revenue for our village.

Although I do my best to avoid eating meat, anything having to do with my village, and therefore my culture, is something I want to be a part of. That is why I was the first person to show up with my chopping knife ready to help the other volunteers get through 1,500 kilos of pig meat.

It is no secret that I love my village. The primary reason is not its location or the look of it, but its people. They are fabulous. To begin with there is this woman, Nisa.

I give her, as many do, the credit for the life that pulses through our village, especially how that energy impacts our elderly population. They are individuals, who have weathered a lot and they are survivors. But it is in these years when life can become more difficult and more lonely that someone like Nisa makes all the difference. On days like this they walk or hobble across our village, some on crutches, to our salão because they are needed. Needed. Isn’t that a nice word at any age? Nisa, makes it very clear that there help is essential in making our festa a success, which it is. And their expertise be it in seasoning, stuffing, or curing the meat is critical. And it is.

So there we were, about 30 of us. Sitting, cutting but also talking and laughing. I heard stories about my mother. I asked questions about 25 de Abril. In perfect Portuguese form there were multiple conversations happening at once. And although I was a bit sore and quite tired by the end of the day, I will file this day in my memory bank as one of those days where I smiled the most.

Four years ago, if you had mentioned ANZAC Day I would have had to google it. But here we are, April 25th, 2012, in Portugal in the village of my birth making ANZAC biscuits to commemorate those Australian and New Zealand soldiers who lost their lives in war.

This ‘adventure’ we embarked on 3plus years ago has brought me back to where it all started. Literally and figuratively. As I sit here clicking away on my laptop I am meters away from the bedroom where I was born. Crazy, but true.

Today is not only ANZAC Day, but it is also 25 de Abril. The date commemorates Portugal’s Carnation Revolution. In 1974 through a peaceful military coup, which was supported through civil resistance, democracy was returned to Portugal. This day is not one my family celebrated in the States, but it always resounded with me as we emigrated to America 5 days before the revolution. As a very little girl, I would have been oblivious to any national events, but that decision my parents made to go to America is one that I will forever be grateful for. I am fully aware that my place in this world and my good fortune rests very much in that event. Our emigrating. Mom, dad, America….thank you.

You’ll find these all over the ferry across the Cook Strait.

We knew our time in Taupo was a stop through more than a visit. Living so close, we always feel like it’s more of a weekend destination spot. SOOOO, after a night in the caravan park we knew that we’d be on our way to Wellington.

The plan was to arrive after dinner and park up at our friend’s sister’s place. The plan. We have a lot of those in this family, but they often change, as they did that day. An hour into our drive my very clever husband suggested we call to see if there was availability on that evening’s ferry to Picton. I did. And there was. So, from that point on my husband was a maniac trying to make sure we made the last ferry. Maniac you ask, yes. Stop so your son can pee? Why would we do that, don’t we have a water bottle he can pee into? Yes, we do, but no we’re not going down that path!!!!! We pulled over.

Lunch? Do we really need to eat lunch? Can’t the kids wait until we’re on the ferry at 5:30? No, they can’t, but lordy did we run in and out to get their food.

Honey, I need to use the toilet! Can’t you wait? No I can’t? But, I did.

Funny, but we made it to the ferry 2 hours early. Yep. That’s how we roll. Manic craziness on the road to then sit around with only non-vegan friendly food around. Thanks babe. But, it was all good. We got on our ferry and made it into Picton by 9:30. Kids were good thanks to their devices and the views were spectacular. But more importantly no one vomited. That people is a big deal. I have heard so many nightmare stories of the Cook Straight Crossing that I feel as though New Zealand gave me a gift today.

They are forthcoming. We are experiencing technical difficulties.

Truth is, my darling husband did not get me the mac I knew I would need, yep need, for this trip, so I am working on the ipad, but I can’t load photos onto wordpress, so we have to work off his computer. It has just been more than enough to function as a caravanning family these past few days. The idea of doing one more thing might lead to the crumbling of our family structure, so we’ll wait another day. Better to be a happy family than an updated family blog. XOXO

A little before 8 am on Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, my husband, my kids & I head off on our South Island adventure. As we head out on the open road none of us, save my husband knew what to expect. As he reminded me this morning, I am the ’second American bird’ he’s taken to South Island. The first time he went to South Island was during high school with his friends Paul W. & Carol. That time it was the three of them, a station wagon and a tent. This time…I reckon will be a bit different.

After a crazy few weeks of packing, end of year activities, Christmas parties and farewells….(okay and tennis too), we are now just sitting in our bums at my friend’s bach (North Island kiwanese for summer home, in South Island it’s call a crib). Originally it was supposed to be me, her and our kids, but when the weather turned bad and her son was invited to a mate’s birthday party it became a family getaway for us. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my friend Cherie. She and I always laugh our arses off when we’re together. And our kids get along beautifully. But these past few days have been a gift like no other. It’s actually given us a taste of what it will be like on our caravan. Kinda…

To get a true taste of what that would be like, we would have had to jam all of us and our stuff into one room and used that space to cook in too. So no, this bach is not even close to the roughing and toughing it we will be doing in our ‘luxury’ aluminium box, but we have had to relearn to live and work together. My darling husband got to experiment with working remotely with the kids and me in his space. To his credit, he has not barked at us once. Were the roles reversed I think I would have lost it once or twice.

The first day we got here I was so tired that I let the kids go off and play with knives, but by day two we set the travel rules: no television and kids only allowed devices for 1/2 hr at the end of the night. It’s been magic. Yes, my son did drive me crazy with all the noise (talking, singing, mumbling, humming) he makes, but other than that, it has been SO good. We have talked, laughed, and reconnected. I have been impressed with my daughter’s wit and it has given me great pleasure to see evidence of how my son has grown up this year. It has been so nice to just be, just be a family.

It’s nightime, the kids are in bed with their books and I am sitting here on their deck, drinking a glass of red, typing away and I can hear the ocean in the background. It’s magical. Thank you K & C!!!

While discussing storing one of Nuno’s toys…

Nuno: But mom, what if we don’t come back to this country?

Me: The plan is that we will come back here in a year.

Lana: The plan right now, but that can change.

Me:….kid has a point