THE FIRST 7,247 MILES ARE THE HARDEST

A day or so ago: Where to begin. Here in cloudy damp cool (it is, after all, spring here) Wellington, New Zealand…life is very good. Teresa is mostly off today, just a bit of morning work and I am determined to break my long blogging-block spell. We’ve just had a lovely breakfast of baguette, olive oil, coconut yogurt, kiwi and dark hot coffee. T. shares a house with four roommates from Italy, Spain, and Japan—an old cold house with only bedroom heaters, no living room at all, and one shared bathroom, but oddly inviting and comfortable, and of course, vibrating with the interactions of bright and worldly young adults. I love the feel it gives me of being part of an open environment amidst curious and lively human beings—who are the kinds of people who will try to actually try to do that possibly impossible thing of making the world a better place.

Moving on: Before proceeding with my travel report and the here and now of Wellington, I must begin the morning of my departure—three days ago NM time/four over here across the dateline. An obsessive-compulsive moment, can’t get from there to here—can’t properly begin the trip without pictures of what I’m leaving like my ever-so-comfortable Albuquerque bed  and unread books which I will miss often in the next weeks.

I also have a confession to make…my name is Marjorie Neset and (apparently) I am a ‘streaming’ addict. I stopped reading, thinking, and writing for the two weeks prior to this trip, experiencing a headlong dive into the deep dark depths of an Australian TV serial titled A Place Called Home. Five season, ten to twelve episodes per season, up to six hours one day and only a few less other days and nights. I finished this marathon of real-life avoidance just before leaving and experienced serious separation anxiety over being torn from my new Australian family. A Place Called Home is Downton Abbey moved to the 50s and staged ‘down under’ where the class structure has morphed the downstairs characters into local farmers and townspeople; fortunately for me it retains that absoloutely addictive classy soapish format that I obviously love a lot. In my defense…overindulging in upscale soap-drama watching is still generally considered healthier than either chocolate or heroin.

***

Here it is—the  the first photo album from the big trip of 2017…which I’m asking you to slog through with me as I leave home and Home—Albuquerque to Wellington.

Must stop by family I haven’t seen for a little while.

7,247 miles and I’ll be there.

And I’ve arrived, just in time for Beer Fest!

 

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One Comment on “THE FIRST 7,247 MILES ARE THE HARDEST

  1. I look forward to every post Marjoie. I meant to call you before you left, but obviously I did not get that done. Will save the call for your return and I can learn even more about your aventures

    Like

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