Ek het 'n huisie by die see

I can't believe that it's been a month since my last post. Seems finally finding a house and taking time to settle in is a rather time-consuming business. But here we are, at last, in a comfy wood cabin in Maraetai, just outside Auckland, that some people think is expensive (half our income!) and others think is a bargain (only half our income!) and we think is just perfect.

I think what made finding a house so difficult - apart from the usual - is that I have always felt (possibly quite unfairly) that a house in some way is a statement about its occupants. A house seems to symbolise its inhabitants and their lives - much as it is supposed to do in dream analysis - and possibly even to define them. Like clothes that clad our bodies, a home clads our souls, and our most intimate family and private life. Even more: the home is the womb of the family. So it was with joy that we found a house that had been built with love, lived in with care, and had been designed for comfort and joy.

It does have its little drawbacks, however. The shower, for instance. I like to call it my Helen Clark shower. Helen Clark is the prime minister of NZ and the leader of the Labour party, currently fighting to hold onto power for yet another term in the upcoming November elections. Personally I think she's done a pretty good job so far, being primarily responsible for lowering unemployment to a very respectable 3.9% (one of the lowest in the world) among other things; but she has also been accused of turning the New Zealand into a 'nanny state', where the average citizen is micromanaged to improve productivity, ecosensitivity, and prudent living. And so we return to my shower - which is an electronic one, with the timer preset to a maximum of eight minutes. After this time, the shower switches resolutely off, not to be persuaded to come on again until a full five minutes has passed. It graciously deigns to give me a warning at seven minutes by briefly interrupting the water flow, so that I have enough time to hurriedly rinse the conditioner out of my hair and resolve to leave the shaving for tomorrow. Helen's government has suggested that all new houses be fitted with regulation shower heads that allow a maximum flow of eight litres a minute. Needless to say, there was an enormous, shocked outcry from the Kiwis who love their little luxuries. I say, coming from South Africa and dealing daily with my Helen Clark shower: bring 'em on, baby! I can take it! We Seouf Efricans are made of tuff stuff!

Looking west from our patio

So, we like our house.
And who wouldn't? It has stunning views of the woods and the sea and the islands of Waiheke and Rangitoto in the distance; it is within walking distance of all important amenities (school, beaches, playpark, corner store - called a 'dairy' in NZ, coffee shop, mobile library, forests, etc); it is made of solid timber, so is warm and dry and very cosy; it is in a quiet, affluent cul-de-sac (no racing, noisy traffic); and of course, it has the Jungle Across the Road.

The Jungle Across the Road was discovered quite by accident, when Willem correctly read the signs at home and with forced gaiety suggested that it was time for him to take the children OUT for a walk. They went to explore the open plot across the road, and descended into a deep dip at its base. This led them down a steep incline into a wooded ravine, spangled with snowdrops, buttercups and daisies sprawling unabashedly beneath indigenous trees bearded with moss and hanging vines and populated with all manner of birds with whose cacaphony we were already quite familiar. The spongy grass finally levelled to reveal a clearing with a lovely little duckpond, complete with ducks and lilypads. (Memo to me: teach Max to swim. Fast.) Turns out this lovely spot belongs to all the residents of Omana Heights Drive, some of whom have used the more overgrown bits as a garden refuse dump (grrr), but most of whom leave it to grow and bloom undisturbed. Maya raced home, breathless, sparkly-eyed, with rose-tinged cheeks, bursting into the kitchen with: "Mommy, Mommy! We have a JUNGLE just across the road!" And so it was that the Jungle Across the Road was christened. It did explain where all the ducks in the road came from. And the dawn-and-dusk cacaphony. And the extravagant swathe of green prefacing our view of the sea.

The Jungle Across The Road

Willem and I were calculating how much money we'd need to buy this house, only if we felt like it, of course. Admittedly, it is in a rather pricey area - Maraetai is a tiny village about 20kms outside of Auckland proper, and is a favourite weekend and holiday getaway destination, being surrounded with beaches and forests as it is. Property is also notoriously expensive in New Zealand, and Auckland especially. And we do only have one salary at the moment. Our calculations showed that we'd have to save half our income (namely, the 50% that's left over once we've paid the rent) for the next seven years just to be able to afford the 20% down payment preferred by the banks when granting a mortgage. Einabliksem!

So for now, we'll just enjoy it, and curb our ambitions to adjusting in this crazy new country of unpredictable weather, illogical supermarket layouts, and nature reserves populated almost entirely by sheep. And develop some seriously mean glutes walking up and down the hills.