New Flat, Take Two.

This paragraph has time traveled. I’ve written the rest of the blog, and see it’s another long one. I recommend you get a cup of tea and settle in for the long haul…

The day of my last blog was our last day living in the squalid “pee pee-soaked-heck-hole” of 14 Links Ave. Chris and I are naïve, too trusting and afraid of confrontation (this is what I’ve learned). At first, we suspected that no one else ever cleaned up. Not just dishes and music gear, but rubbish littered the floors. Chris found a carrot in the bathroom. I stopped cleaning the kitchen, resisted the urge to round up empty bottles and dirty dishes from every relatively-horizontal surface in the lounge and left the vacuum alone. The house quickly turned revolting. I bought slippers and Chris wore his shoes inside, otherwise our socks turned brown when we left the sanctuary of our room. The smell of kitty and litter box permeated every room but ours, no matter how many windows were opened. The vile state of the house was only exceeded by the vile state of Justin’s soul. Too cruel? Perhaps. I might be even angrier with him than he deserves, because I feel foolish for falling for his initial manipulative charm...

Now we live in at .evA skniL 41. The house and the people are opposite in every way! It’s glorious. Even though Chris and I came in clutching our newly hatched suspicion of first-impressions, we quickly saw what a good situation we had landed in. Right now I’m sitting at the beautiful, uncluttered dining room table (it has a table cloth!). The dining room melts into a clean, sunny kitchen and the wide-open lounge. Here dishes are rinsed and put in the dishwasher, real meals are cooked and shared, every Thursday one of us vacuums, tea towels (dish towels) are routinely washed and replaced. In short, this is a real home with mature people like us. I write “people”, but in fact our numbers have already dwindled. I first learned of this house from one of my friends at work. Ruth knew I was unhappy where we were, and here, some roommates were moving out. She offered to show us the room, which is a spacious, en-suite palace upstairs all on its own—we even have our own little balcony with a table and chairs. Obviously the gorgeous room was a draw, but bigger still was the draw of living with Ruth. She and I got along at work from word “go”, and I looked forward to living with good, solid people.

Ruth and her 10 year old daughter, Sky, are both South African. Chris and I are also huge fans of Sky’s, she’s a really neat kid. An animated bean-pole comes to mind when you see Sky skipping around the house. She plays the guitar and sings (well) and Chris and I both looked forward to her return from school each afternoon. Sky is a testament to the power of dedicated parenting. Unfortunately, Ruth’s former job was one of the victims of this global recession, and tied up in the job was her visa. The two of them have moved out to stay with Ruth’s mum in the neighbouring town, while they save up money and prepare for the next phase, now that the kiwifruit season is winding down.

So our final flatmate is Wendy. Wendy owns the house, and she’s also South African, there are lots of South Africans in this beautiful country. I have found another genuine friend in Wendy. She’s smart and sweet, she plays soccer, leads a home group for her church, and shakes lemon-pepper spice on everything savory. On Saturdays we hang out and watch DVDs, or read in companionable silence. Today we walked along the beach to the shopping plaza a few K away and indulged in girly activities that would’ve forced Chris into a coma of boredom. (Meanwhile he slaved away in the dish pit at work).

We don’t have internet access here, and that’s ok. It’s nice to entertain ourselves with conversation, two TV channels and walks on the beach. To get to the beach we climb over a little gate at the back of our garden, stroll past our neighbor’s house, cross the street and we’re at the dunes. We’re back in Papamoa Beach (which is where our old campground is) so the beach here is more rugged and beautiful than closer to the Mount. We have to walk along a path that snakes through the grassy, scrubby dunes, which have been set aside as a preserve, and are therefore quite expansive and wild. The path climbs up and down before opening up to that first stunning view of the ocean, spread out like a blanket as far as the eye can see.

I’ll have to post another blog soon. In fact I might write it right now (English: you are so funny) and post it with this one when we get to an internet café. I must tell you about my life in Class II. Ooh, doesn’t that sound mysterious?