Have you ever wondered what happens to those who have left Tamaki Makaurau’s soothing bosom.
those friends who have fled to parts unknown somewhere south of the Bombay’s citing our fair city’s crime, high prices and the ramifications of living in a Christmas-centric and light-laden street - refugees from our comfy insularity who seemingly Tisappear from our lives only to reappear periodically to reacquaint themselves (and us) with the pleasures of SPQR and our Ponsonby Road coffee culture?
What happens when the excitement and thrill of buying a large mansion with the proceeds of a Freemans Bay villa has faded, curious city visitors have started to dissipate, and all of the packing boxes have been retired to the recycle bin?
A few years ago some dear friends left the asylum of our fair city and moved down-country to a small, one horse, beachside community - population 768. Nestled in the shadow of Cape Kidnappers, it consists of a pub, a dairy and more importantly for them, a vineyard. Here the resident population of Australian gannets outweighs that of humans and the sound of the one horse’s hooves on the town’s tar seal resonates mellifluously against the walls of the fallow holiday baches, vacant for the majority of the year. Car-lotta and I, finally relieved of the torture of the ‘Gentle Annie’, could almost glimpse the settlement from the heights of the range as we twisted and turned; they were so close we could almost reach out to them.
“Don't expect much," says my friend Janet, in that spontaneous phone-call, "it’s just a beachside bach, but we love it. Do come for lunch," – Janet - the queen of understatement.
The thought of a free lunch and an afternoon mired in debate about the intricacies of the New Zealand political system with those much more knowledgeable than myself and with much better political gossip than I could ever hope to garner on my own was too good an offer to turn down. Besides, it would be rude not to sample the results of the fermented grapes from across the road.
Situated out of the way of civilisation, isolated from motorways and congestion, crowds, graffiti and traffic lights, Car-lotta and I drove past farms of maturing produce along a gentile landscape towards the towering reaches of “The Cape”. Peaceful undulating roads, edged by a multitude of trees of numerous species whose multicolored leaves had dropped onto the dark seal and swirled up in a cyclonic kaleidoscope of colours lined my way.
Set on the beach, the Ralston’s version of a bach sat hidden amongst a forest of flax and cabbage trees. At the bottom of their garden, visible from their floor to ceiling windows, rolled the tumbling surf of the Pacific; the waves crashing onto the pebbles almost drowning out the cacophony of gulls circling over the foaming spray. The beach, contained on one side by the towering reaches of Cape Kidnappers and on the other, an exhaustive distant horizon lay before us.
Their luxurious renovated ‘bach’ sports all of the mod cons you would expect in a city pad and yet deliberately contains only one bedroom - “you can’t be too careful,” Janet explained over the murmurings of an agreeing and sleepy Bill - happy in his hammock with a book and Panama hat lying across his stomach.
Reveling in secluded retirement away from the theatre of national politics, these two are enjoying the new tranquility of their lives, enjoying their paradise in peaceful anonymity. And why shouldn’t they? Far from the madding crowds, they seemingly have everything they need in this idyllic setting - solitude, fresh air and the symphony of nature resonating all around them.
Of course semi-retirement doesn’t totally preclude the temptation of local politics. Janet can’t help herself - the pull of the political maelstrom, too strong to let go just yet. Local politics is just as wayward here as it is in the big smoke. It’s not the size of the dog in the fight but it’s the size of the fight in the dog. Besides you need to keep your finger in the pie - you never know when the next wayward politico needs the expertise and steerage of an experienced media trainer. Something tells me with an election looming, those days are not too far away; but will it tempt them back to the hurly burly of the big smoke? I doubt it and I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t forsake this paradise either. (ROSS THORBY)
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1296077586
#ponsonbynews #iloveponsonby #ponsonby #auckland #aucklandshippestrip #onlyponsonby #ponsonbyroad #Greylynn #freemansbay #westmere #ponsonby #hernebay #stmarysbay #archhill #coxsbay #westernsprings #rossthorby #hawkesbaby