Waihele Island, New Zealand. At 4 o´clock on this summery Saturday, the Waihekeans welcomed Christmas with drums and bugles, homemade floats, bellydancers, Saint Nick, and other festive spectacles.
Since the island hosts only about 7,000 residents, the procession (which most anyone can enter) lasted only 25 minutes. Clearly, that´s not long enough for a grand parade. So they simply circled around and marched up the street again!
Waiheke Island, New Zealand. We´re on sabbatical, yes. But it´s also a working holiday, if such a thing is possible. Our business (purveying ideas and words) is quite portable, so we have taken the liberty, once again, of testing the limits of its mobility. (To read about the last time we did this, in 1994, click on Past Travels in the lower left of this page.)
When we left home a month ago, we brought our Powerbook and a handful of projects: a major tradeshow that needed a theme; a website we wrote a few years back that required a complete overhaul; and a few other loose ends we didn´t get sewn up before we departed. Three adaptor plugs later, we´ve almost finished them all. And already have a few more on the docket.
Of course, working around the world isn´t as blissful as the IBM commercials would have you believe. There have been the requisite technical difficulties and disasters„chronicled earler in this travelogue. But there are also formidable psychological challenges to contend with.
There is the lure of lounging and leisure„being practiced by most everyone around you wherever you go. There are the endless temptations of whatever novel place you´re in. It can be torture to tether yourself to a laptop in a cold spare bedroom when a crashing surf or village churchbells are calling. Or to try to work on the kitchen table when a sleep- and child-deprived 3-year-old is shoving a baseball card in your face or driving a toy Jeep up your arm.
Working on 777s, in hotel rooms, on cedar decks, and terracotta terraces is both glamorous and grueling. Yes, it is better that toiling in a cubicle. But it is still work, and„just like at home„you´d often rather be doing something else.
Yet there are times when sitting down to work is a comforting return to the familiar and mundane. It´s a welcome escape from surly clerks, stale croissants, and incessant drizzle. Working gives a traveler a justifiable reason to opt out, skip a side trip, and get a little privacy and P&Q. But that´s the bright side. Mostly, working on a trip like this is a strenuous exercise in discipline and concentration.
Nonetheless, we feel privileged that our work can accompany us wherever we go. And that our clients are willing to do the same. We are humbled by their enthusiasm and trust, and grateful that they put up with the inconveniences that invariably accompany a journey of this kind. In that sense, we are not on this adventure alone. In some small measure, they, too, are travelling the world with us. As are you, dear reader. And to steal a slogan, we sincerely hope you enjoy the ride.
Waiheke Island, New Zealand. The people on this island must love their gardening; greenery and colors dominate the landscape here. Of course, given the virtual tropical climate, perhaps the plants grow themselves.
That´s certainly true with the pohutukawa tree (shown here) which, according to locals, releases its red flowers before Christmas when the summer ahead will be a long, warm one. They´re blooming now„as are hundreds of other plants, some of which we recognize and many we don´t.
The most confounding thing, though, is the lack of fauna (critters). We´ve seen only one wild four-legged creature since we´ve been here„don´t know what it was. There´s nary an alley cat. And hardly any bugs, either. In Minnesota, you need to watch your step to avoid tripping over the squirrels, rabbits, and other rampant rodentia. What gives? Who knows? But after screaming for years at varmint that do big damage to gardens, homes, and sanity, this respite is as welcome as the buds and the blooms.
Waiheke Island, New Zealand. When we left Kuala Lumpur, the rain was pouring down, and the evening traffic was barely moving. It was also raining in Auckland, NZ, when we landed the next day (as if we bring our own clouds).
We meandered through the city to the port on a shuttle bus, and then boarded a ferry. Less than an hour later, we were on the island of Waiheke and in our home for the next two months. It´s summer here. The flowers and green are aglow all over. The first impressions left us glowing too. It´s good to be “home,” whatever that means. We´ll soon find out.
Desperate to dig deeper into the city’s mysteries, we scored a babysitter at the hotel and had a night out on the town in Kuala Lumpur’s most vibrant neighborhood, Bangsar, where the night market was in full swing.
To be honest, we came here because it’s a convenient stopover between Europe and New Zealand—a way to cut about 24 hours of flying in half.
Other allures drew too, though, including the amazing Malaysian cuisine, an attractive exchange rate, and the welcome warmth of the weather and people.
What a treat it’s been. Our mega-star hotel splurge has spoiled us. The food has bowled us over with fragrances, flavors, and finesse. And the culture is clean and safe with people rich in smiles, if not possessions. The evidence of the “Asian contagion” currency crisis of fall ’97 is in your face everywhere: Holes in the streets; half-built skyscrapers with two guys pounding away (because they pay no property taxes as long as construction is “continuing”; unbelievably low prices from shockingly hard-working vendors.
For better or worse, the discomfort of travel-lag and the comforts of our hotel have kept us from seeing all the sites. But we’ve heard the life story of an Arab man who just broke off his engagement and is “honeymooning” here without his new bride. We’ve perused the streets and bazaars. And we’ve determined that we’ll certainly be back—and see not only more of this colorful city, but of the verdant land that lies beyond it.
If you’ve learned to love Italy, you hate to leave Italy.
The place is unusually human—despite its spiritual obsession. And the country seems so enlightened—despite governmental disorder that makes America’s look minor. We awoke to blue skies the day we left, naturally. We slurped one last cappuccino, raced for Rome’s airport, and used our sunglasses for the first time in a month. It was also the first time we were able to take off nearly every layer we’d brought. A cruel joke? Yes, and no one laughed. But in our minds, we saw God winking as he touched our fingertips like he does in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel—as if to say, “Come back soon; but next time, not in November.”
When we left Tuscany—where we could not finish this web site because the storms blew out our phone—at least live people near us were missing and presumed dead after their home had been washed into the Serchio River.
Sirens rang regularly. Highways were closed all over. And the locals were seriously upset. We received lots of impassioned advice about how to get to Rome to catch our plane. In the end, we drove (or should we say hydroplaned) along the tempestuous coast. It had been a bittersweet stay.
Our last night was in Tolfa, a village in the Lazio region an hour north of Rome. A rugged area where mountains meet coast, we loved the change of place. We stayed in a rich Roman’s summer villa, which a local family rents to tourists who come for weeklong activity holidays. (If you’re visiting Italy soon, check out what this industrious family has created on their website, www.fontanadelpapa.it.) Although the home could accommodate a dozen, we were the sole guests. So we dined for hours with the family (including their children) and enjoyed a royal sendoff.
Our Headdquarters in Italy is the stunning mountain village of Sommocolonia, which was sunny this one Sunday.
There’s not much to do here—no bar, bakery, or shop of any kind. Meanwhile, the population has dropped from 97 to 65 in the ten years we’ve been visiting. Nonetheless, for a dose of “la dolce far niente,” Sommocolonia can be just about perfect.
We adore fresh herbs, and were thrilled when U.S. supermarkets finally began offering them some years back.
Of course, those herbs come in plastic packages holding a fraction of an ounce, and cost about two bucks for those five leaves. Here, herbs grow like bushes, if not trees. And when the rosticceria man says the chicken is stuffed with rosemary, he means a small shrub’s worth. The distinction produces not only tastier food, but a lifestyle that asserts that the time it takes to tend gardens, prepare meals, and serve others is not only time well spent, it’s priceless.
1 kid, 5 islands, 69 days
Here's my son’s blog from an '08/09 BreakAway in the Caribbean.
1 planet, countless cultures, 120 days
In 00/01, when the internet was a pup, I went RTW and posted these words and pics en route.
