I just went through a portal that brought me from Carnon, South of France, to Auckland, New Zealand, and back. It was truly magical and surreal but had the same effect as being caught off guard inside a washing machine on long cycle with double-wash program, and it left the whole family breathless from exhaustion. I must admit it also included all sorts of means of transportation each way (some of which I’m not particularly proud of) : friend’s cars, high speed train, metro, aircrafts (3), taxi (3), shuttles, and a bit of walking or rather hurrying down airports’ alleyways to manage connexions as tight as less than an hour between flights. However, all in all we can say we nailed it, checked most of the items on Azur’s most ambitious to-do list, and, by the end, even though there was sadness and a certain reluctance to getting back to our respective daily high-school, college or work routines, everyone was eager to get back “home”.

In our parallel existence down under, we got to slip into our previous life as if trying on an old favourite night gown misplaced and found again after several months trapped in the crevasse of a mattress. It felt and smelt the same. With a warm, cottony and reassuring texture. As if nothing had happened since we last wore it, though four years had gone. Friends hadn’t changed, except for their kids who had been slack at masking the effect of the passing years and had irresponsibly let themselves grow out of control. So much so, that they, who once were BFF, didn’t recognise each other when finding themselves face to face. They’re also yet to perfect the art of icebreaking, something we, adults, don’t have to do since ice isn’t given the opportunity to seize in our diluted (or condensed depending on how you see it) version of time.

Bayswater has gone through some substantial changes at individual levels but is still thriving in an exceptional way as a community, we were privileged to once be part. We got a taste of it thanks to the rescued-food kaitahi (community) dinner held in the school hall a couple of days after our arrival. There we met with many parents and friends including some from the other side of town. All that after attending a yoga class with my favourite ashtanga teacher Julie, and before an outing in posh Ponsonby for a salsa evening at Revelry with former dance partner Tito.

Three weeks felt very rushed towards the end when we realised we wouldn’t be able to fit in every kiwi desire, though our Raglan friends, with whom we stayed for a week and returned to see for a last au-revoir, can testify we definitely tried our best.

Blessed with the best-of-summer-tail weather, outdoor activities included climbing trees of all kinds (including a truly witchy Pohutukawa tree with a trunk spiralling up like a staircase), whizzing down Northhead grassy slopes on ripped-apart cardboard boxes sleds, surfing at Raglan’s Ocean beach, kayaking to pancakes rocks, playing with eels at the bottom of Bridal Veil falls, jumping off Raglan’s bridge, hiking Mount Karioi, as well as the Tama Lakes in Tongariro National Park, and Zorbing in Rotorua (the iconic kiwi touristic activity we hadn’t managed to do in fifteen years living in the country).
One of the family’s favourite memories remain that of the Friday eve picnic at Narrowneck beach where we were fortunate to be joined by most of our Auckland’s friends, invited to gather knowing we wouldn’t have time to dedicate to each and every one of them as they deserved, and a Sunday night surprise barbecue with the Raglan crew, followed by a session of frolicking in the tall grass by sunset and a skinny dip in the aptly named Moonlight Bay.

We also treated ourselves to a trip up the Sky Tower, tons of feijoas for breakfast, lunch and dinner, rolled up ice cream (one of Azur’s desiderata), op shop sessions (my obsession), snack-a-changi crisps (which packaging are hilarious), a total lunar eclipse we struggled to stay up for, and an outdoor sauna and hot bath session in Soulscape with unbeatable views over the ocean, watching the sun go down while droplets of sweat was appearing on and dripping off our skin at the same imperceptible pace as that of the whitewash of once breaking waves slowly receding to leave an impression of stillness and eternity.

In total, we drove a mere 2000 kilometres, visited six different places and caught up with no less than five dozens of friends and acquaintances in the land of the long white cloud.

Emotions formed a very rich and colourful landscape of silky-smooth valleys, and sharp and rugged contours, at times gentle, at times marked by abyssal chasms. Quite tricky to navigate for me, as well as for people around, I’m afraid. And though I said I’d forget, a phrase pronounced by my dear pal Sam still resonates: “It must be very difficult to be you at times”. Indeed, the confrontation with a life I hadn’t fled but gradually left behind to pursue a dream that brought us back to France as a side effect, was both exhilarating and dizzying for the deep knowledge that, contrary to a cicada which sheds its skin and can never don it again, we could quite easily reverse the process if only we wanted to. But short of energy and emotional grit for now, we’ll probably stay in France, trying to wear, for as long as we can, the worry-proof coat we brought back (alongside kilos of native bush honey) from New Zealand which gorgeous scenery, undefectible sense of humour and unbearable lightness of being reminded us how much we used to love this country and cast its spell over us once more.