By Lucy

One thing I forgot to add in my last post; I dropped one of my gloves on the hot exhaust for the bike and burned a big hole in it. Oops!

I wake with a start in the middle of the night. This room doesn’t look familiar, it’s too dark, I can’t see! I bolt upright and whack my head off the bed above me.

Ouch!

Right, I’m not in Thunder Bay, I’m in New Zealand. I lay awake for a long time, staring at the bed above me. This is going to be the start of an insomniac streak, I can tell. I don’t usually forget where I am. What was that?

These sandflies are dreadful. It’s been almost a week since the first bites and they’re still an itchy, golf-ball sized lump on my arms.

My schedule has populated all the way to January 5th, the next three weeks of my life all planned out.

Aaaah, Sunday! My first day off, lucky me! And I get Monday off too, what a treat.

Since we have free access to the spa, with sauna, hot tub and cold plunge shower, as long as a guest isn’t using it, and I have my creatine, I decided I’d best take advantage of it to do all the workouts. Nichola told me about a hike a couple of kilometers up the road, so I packed a sandwich and some kiwis and headed out.

I underestimated how long it takes to walk 3 kilometers down the road to start the hike. A few people passed me and I debated if I should hitchhike, but it seemed silly. It was a cloudy, drizzly day, but not cool enough to be walking with my hoodie on.

There was a red car in the lot when I got there.

The trail is called Glacierburn, following the Glacierburn river up into the mountains. I walked up the path the trail marker indicated. Then I discovered the trail wanted me to cross the river. Did there used to be a bridge here or something? I couldn’t find a spot I felt comfortable wading or stepping across, so I walked back to the road and crossed the bridge there, then walked back up the river to the trail marker on the correct side. The trail doesn’t cross the river again, so it seems silly that it starts on the other side. Possibly this is private property… oh well.

The first part of the trail looks like it could be in Canada. Shoulder-high ferns, evergreen trees, large stones covered in moss; this could be on the Sleeping Giant. It goes steadily up, not quite as steep as Peak Hill, but I found that I wasn’t as tired or out of breath as Peak Hill, or having to stop that much. I’m getting stronger.

It also helps that I’m not wading through gorse or spearweed this time!

I walked about half the trail upwards before my stomach started rumbling. I had intended to eat lunch at the top, but oh well. I stopped at a break in the trees where there was a nice tree to sit on, and ate my PB&J sandwich. A couple walked past me, with proper hiking gear like poles. I said hi and they ignored me.

The trail might follow the river, but for the vast majority of the hike the river was not in sight. Perhaps, because it is an alpine river and it presumably floods in the spring with the thaw, the trail must be well back from it. Sometimes the river is a roar so loud I can’t hear the music on my headphones, and sometimes it is a whisper in the distance, but the sound is omnipresent.

There is one odd plant I noticed. It looks like it’s dead, because it has a skinny trunk with a few spiky leaves, but I noticed some that were taller than me and still looked the same. It seems to grow one thin, bladed leaf at a time. It must be some kind of succulent.

Another twenty minutes up the trail I found where it starts shifting from forest to mountain. The undergrowth thinned to the point of non-existence, just the large evergreen trees and a thick, soft carpet of moss over everything. It was so still and silent I stopped to record it.

Another few minutes later, I found the tree line, where the trees thinned out and were just scrub. There was an obvious campsite here, but I think most of the trails I’ve been using are of secondary purpose. All of them have stoat traps, so I suspect the Department of Conservation maintains them for catching stoats and just lets people use them to hike cuz hey, it helps maintain the trail and why not.

A woman stopped me, “There’s a couple ahead of you, just to let you know.”

Ok? “Yeah, I know, they passed me, but thanks.”

“Where did you come from?”

“The lodge.”

“Oh, I saw you walking on the road! I almost stopped for you. Enjoy the rest of the hike.” She smiles and keeps walking.

Must be the red car. Still, what an odd interaction. It’s not like it’s a small trail and you need to be cautious of who is coming down.

Then I was out in the rockfall. There are avalanches here and it shows. It was awe-inspiring to stand on these giant chunks of granite and know that at some point, the melting glacier had tossed them down here. And terrifying. There’s lots of deadfall where the trees caught the rocks and toppled into a thousand splintery pieces. I know it’s outside avalanche season, but stone can shift at any time with enough moisture, and there had been mist curling around the tops of the mountains for days now.

The trail technically ends here, but there is nothing stopping you from going up and up and up. I could just keep going up until I reached the snow line, or the top of the mountain, 2’000 meters up. I clambered past the couple, up over the big rocks and the piles of gravel, until I found the edge of the rockfall where there was a big rock that had a spot shaped like a chair, facing the river. I sat here for half an hour, eating my kiwis and taking in the scenery. “Yeah, this is New Zealand, where we just casually hike mountains on our days off…”

I started to feel chilly and figured I should head back down. Mostly because I would be hungry. I had nowhere to be and nothing to do, really.

It took me half the time to get back down, although it hurt more. I find descending makes my ankles and the back of my calves hurt, which probably says something about where I need to be building muscle. Calf raises for sure.

A fierce wind had kicked up while I was off climbing. It’s barely ever windy here, in contrast to the constant wind at the estate. It blows a bunch of dust down the valley and I can barely see the other side.

I debated hitchhiking back. It’s not a long walk, but I drank 2 liters of water on the hike and I really have to pee. A few cars pass me but I don’t stick my thumb out and they don’t stop. The way that my bag is slung over my shoulder is like a guitar strap, and I imagine myself as a wandering busker, dirty and worn from the road, with an easy grin. My mother filled my head with ideas of busking across Europe when I was taking guitar lessons as a kid, a laughable notion considering how little she trusted me.

When I get back to the house, Ti is showing around a new girl. Her eyes light up when she sees me. “Oh, I saw you walking on the road! I almost stopped, but I figured you were enjoying the walk.”

Figures.

I make a packet of noodles to satisfy my stomach and then change into my swimsuit and wander down to the spa. 15 minutes in the hot tub, then I make myself stand in the cold shower. Repeat. This should be good for my recovery. While I relax in the hot tub, I admire the view. It is criminally gorgeous here, and I get to enjoy it for free. I am lucky, some days.

When I get back, Wren is making mince pies while her partner has a nap. I open the puzzle John left on the kitchen table and spend the evening working on it. Some people drift by and stop to help, or chat.

“I can feel you judging my mince pies.” Wren says to me.

“What makes you say that?”

“Cuz you have secrets. I bet you baked on Bake Off or something.”

It’s funny that she says that, cuz I am a talented baker and planned on trying out for The Great Canadian Baking Show once I settled down a bit. But I’m also amused that she sees right through me, in some way.

Toni settles down to help me next. “It’s nice to have a Lucy around again.” She looks meaningfully at Wren.

“Oh, your name used to be Lucy, and you accuse me of having secrets?” I say teasingly, although internally I am disappointed in Toni for saying that because it’s Wren’s personal choice. Wren looks at the floor.

“You can be my new Lucy!” She adds.

Your new Lucy? I’m only here for 3 more weeks, how would I be a new Lucy?

I’m hungry… obviously, I burned 3’000 calories with the hike. But I’m broke and it’s almost Christmas, so like Hell am I going to the store. I make another pack of noodles. Did I even eat 2’000 calories today? I just have to make it to the other side of Christmas.

In the evening, an ibis decides to hang out around the house, completely nonplussed by the dogs and people checking him out. Wren says he returns here every year to mate and calls him Wilson. I wonder if Wilson is a girl and comes here to lay eggs in her usual nest.

Monday I didn’t do much, just cleaning and my laundry and working on the puzzle. Everyone else seems to find it too difficult, which it is, mostly because the print job is not good and the complicated and delicate details of the image are very blurry. I don’t feel like doing much; my legs hurt from the hike.

Nichola and Kam are doing a last minute run to Queenstown, for some reason. I don’t trust other people to do my shopping, and I’ve put in an order for deliver for Friday, but I ask for some kiwis, another packet of instant noodles, and the missing ingredients for butter tarts. They leave at 4PM and don’t get back ’til after midnight.

The shopping went mostly fine, with 2 noted hiccups, both those odd quirks of travelling. The first is the tiny, expensive bag of pecans they brought back; only 3/4 of a cup. After a moment of research, turns out pecans are a New-World food grown in the US and are not super-common outside of the Americas. The second thing is that I have to get in the habit of googling food and New Zealand name before sending people looking for it. They don’t call it corn syrup, they call it glucose syrup, so she couldn’t find it.

In the morning, I mention it to John as a joke (he’s the cook for the cafe). He says “Oh, we have glucose syrup in the kitchen! How much do you need?”

Tuesday is Wren’s birthday, so she makes us all breakfast down at the cafe. Why is she making us breakfast and not us making her breakfast was commented on! I thought it was odd but I also wasn’t arguing at the full spread; pancakes with syrup and berries; poached eggs with toast, hollandaise, sausages and bacon; ciabatta with roasted tomatoes, avocado, mushrooms, beans and hummus. In New Zealand, they eat pancakes with some kind of savory yogurt that is more like sour cream, but I like it!

After breakfast, Wren and Theo pack up and head out. I’m sad, but there isn’t a lot of time to be depressed. Today is my first real shift; I have to do housekeeping from 10-1 with Shirah, the new American girl, and then 6-9 I’m doing kitchen help for the dinner service. Gulp!

Me and Shirah are a good team and we absolutely crush housekeeping. Bianca is sent around to double check our rooms and finds no faults.

“Let’s go have a chai for our break!” Shirah says.

“Oh, I never bother taking my break.”

“Come on, you get one free drink a day, why not use it? You should take a break.”

I suppose. We order dirty chai’s, a chai with a shot of expresso. It’s yummy.

Kam is baking when I get back. We team up, passing ingredients, tools and swapping things out of the oven. She makes chocolate chip cookies, shortbread, and mini carrot cakes. I’m less adventurous and make two regular sized pies for the butter tarts. The oven temperature is at least 20 degrees off, but then butter tarts is mostly just baking the crust and caramelizing the insane amount of sugar, so it’s not too much trouble for me. I rolled out the extra dough I had and threw it in the oven to snack on later, but Kam stole it out and ate it!

“What does your family do for Christmas, Ti?” Kam asks as Ti walks by.

“I don’t have a family.” She replies.

I wonder if there’s any bonding to be had over that.

Another child showed up; the youngest of the family, Sam.

At 5:50, I put my hair in a tight bun, walk down to the kitchen and clock in. John is the chef and practically lives in the kitchen some days. Samwise washes his hands and waves as he steps out the door.

“Thanks for having me, it’s been great working here!” He says, presumably heading out tonight or tomorrow. I’m his replacement.

“I’ve never done this kind of work before.” I say nervously, although I have a good idea of what’s expected. More than once Simonetta has asked me if I worked in a commercial kitchen because I pick things up quickly.

“You’ll be fine!” He says with a big smile. “We’re very chill here.”

He directs me to put on an apron and wash my hands. Mostly I’ll be doing the dishes, that is to say, loading them into the commercial dishwasher that blasts them with boiling hot water and scours them clean within 5 minutes. Since dinner service just started, there isn’t much to clean, so he directs me to make the salad for the first course. The greens and sauce are already assembled on a plate; I crumble up some parmesan flakes, sprinkle some spiced nuts on top, and garnish with a leaf of kale so crispy it falls apart when I touch it. When he comes to give them a once-over before they go out, he says “Wow!” with something that sounds like he’s genuinely impressed and not just being encouraging. Well, I suppose it does take some artistic flair to plate something properly, like shot composition.

Then food starts going out and the night flies by. When people want food, they wanted it ten minutes ago, and we are feeding 25 people at the same time. I learned to dodge the gust of steam and the drips of boiling hot water when I pull the dishes out of the industrial dishwasher, although there is nothing I can do about the molten hot glasses and plates burning my fingers. I can’t move fast enough to keep the work surface entirely clear, but that’s just the nature of the beast. While the washer is cycling, I cut up and plate the cheesecake for dessert as John works on entrees.

Before I know it, it’s 7:30. “What do you want to drink?” John asks, holding up a glass of alcohol.

“White?” I say, unsure what the options are.

“Really? Ok.” He leaves the kitchen and comes back with a glass. “It’s Chardonnay.”

“Ok.” As if that means anything to me. What was with the surprise? We do a toast.

He winds down the kitchen, turning off the gas burner, making a pile of dishes for me and wiping down his work surface. “Looks like dessert is mostly finished and the girls are serving drinks. When the dishes are all done, this buttons drains the dishwasher. Don’t forget to give the kitchen a wipe down and take out the bins!”

“Wait, you trust me to do this alone?” I ask, as he heads towards the door, glass in hand.

“Yes.” He says with another big smile, and leaves.

The next hour I spend catching up on dishes, absent-mindedly sweeping the kitchen for something to do during wash cycles, and sipping on my glass of wine.

Simonetta texts me; Buon Natale per domani!

What a dangerous night to be drinking wine. I have to read the message a couple of times before it registers that she’s wishing me a merry Christmas.

Finally at 9:15, all the dishes have been washed and the guests chased out the door. Nichola still has things to do to close down, but she says I can leave.

I head back to the dark house. There’s a slice of Wren’s birthday cake for me, so I sit at the table to eat it.

John comes out to tap on his laptop, “Excellent plating today!”

Was it excellent? Regardless of my perceived skill at cooking, I don’t enjoy it. Still, I wonder if I could fanagle more hours.

I wake up in the middle of the night when Nichola goes to bed. The problem with shared accommodation. After half an hour, I’m still wide awake and wondering if I should just get up and go sit in the house for a bit. I don’t want to disturb Nichola and I don’t want to disturb the people in the house.

My phone lights up. The door blew open and Wilburt has left the house. Toni is panicking.

I wander outside. It’s raining, what a Christmas. I find Wilburt curled up on the porch, out of the way of the rain, and drag him back inside. Toni calls me a night owl and I correct her that I just can’t sleep. She says, “Me too.” I wonder what keeps her up.

Wednesday most of us have off. They only offered breakfast service and an unlucky few got tapped to turn over the few rooms checking out on Christmas day.

I wake late. There’s an envelope leaning against the door; did Nichola leave me a Christmas card? I pop it open; no, it was Ti.

It’s a drizzly day for Christmas. I wish it would be one or the other; hot and sunny for my first southern Christmas, or raining cats and dogs, to enhance the vibe of curling up next to the fire with a mug of cocoa.

Ti was rotating through Christmas movies all morning; Charlie Brown, The Santa Clause. She lamented that ELF isn’t on anywhere.

Some last minute cooking, Nichola is making a potato dish. I pointed out the cliche of the Irish person making us potatoes, and she thought that was pretty funny. Kam made a tortiere, and Ti some lemon squares.

Bad luck! Luna fell on a hike and broke her arm. What a dilemna; can’t exactly change the sheets on a bed with one arm, but Toni and John wouldn’t throw her out either. We did have a bit of a chuckle that the nurse who set her bone had met Nichola on the hike she did the week previously, and asked about the Irish lass.

Around noon, we started tidying up and making room for the party. At 1, we assembled our prepared food on the table and John and Toni came in with platters of cooked turkey with gravy and cranberry compote, potatoes, salad with all the fixin’s, sausages wrapped in bacon, grilled vegetables with a variety of dips, a bowl of chips, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and a pavlova. Plus some vegan things for the vegans.

Toni uncorked a bottle of bubbly, although a surprising number of people opted for non-alcoholic cocktails. I ended up with the odd-sized, larger glass, and I suspect Toni suspects I like to drink.

It was a good 2 hours of eating while the dogs begged everyone for scraps. Everything was very good, aside from Nichola failed attempt to make stuffing. The tourtiere was pretty good. The last time I had a homemade tourtiere was the last time I saw my grandfather, because he would stop in Trenton to get meat specifically for it; it was serious business. It occurred to me that a tourtiere is much like haggis; a meal of spiced game meat. My butter tart was also a hit, to the point that Ti yelled “Who made this pecan pie, it’s so good!”

Out of nowhere, Dan turned to me, “Do you have crackers in Canada?”

I blinked. Crackers? Oh, he means Christmas crackers. I started laughing, “Oh, yes we have crackers. I thought you meant crackers like saltines!”

Next up was Santa Stealer, which is basically Secret Santa but with the spicy twist that people can “steal” what you pick.

Everyone who wanted to participate sat in a circle. We rolled a dice to determine who went first.

I didn’t have the time to go to town and buy a gift, so I wrote “1 free breakfast” on a piece of paper, folded it into an origami tree, and put it in a paper bag. The limit for the gifts was 20$, which is the value of buying a breakfast at the cafe, so I thought it was a cheeky way of getting around going to town. Plus, I tried!

Luna went first. The bag she picked had vegan candy in it, what a good choice for the vegan! James went next and got a set of small notebooks. I was after him; I grabbed the bag that Nichola brought back from Queenstown the other day, which had a little container of gummies and a deck of cards. Perfect!

Kam was next; she got a larger notebook, one of those that comes with “guides” for introspection. Nichola after her; she got a three-pack of chocolate bars. Then Sam is next.

“I want Lucy’s,” He says, holding out his hand.

Nooooo! Why? All I have is candy and a deck of cards, nothing special! I didn’t want to buy candy!

The circle keeps going. John grabs my bag.

Oh no! I can’t have the chef redeeming my free breakfast, that doesn’t make any sense! The only person for whom it makes no sense! Maybe someone will steal it.

We go into a sudden death round; anyone who rolls doubles can steal. The most frantic dice rolling in my life, but finally I roll snake eyes and grab my candy back.

At the end, no one has stolen the breakfast card. “Well, you can always make me breakfast.” John says.

Sure can. I’m usually the first one up, tied with Kam some days. John is next, but he usually has toast or nothing to eat at all before he heads down to start breakfast service. Once he leaves the room, I turn to Toni, “What does John like for breakfast?”

“Oh, you can just make him a bacon sandwich. He loves those.”

Good thing I ordered bacon with my next grocery shop. Although I suppose they might tell me I could just use bacon from the cafe, that doesn’t seem right.

Some people filtered away. The bulk of the bodies moved to the couches by the TV.

Suddenly, the chatter was punctuated by the sound of an accordion. Toni was playing away in the corner of the room. We all fell silent, and when she finished the song we all clapped.

“Oh stop, I haven’t played in twenty years! I just wanted some background music.” She said bashfully.

Well, either that’s very impressive or you are a narcissist, because it was excellent playing.

She tries to cajole Sam into playing something, but he’s obviously not in to it. Wren plays drums, there’s a keyboard (a broken keyboard. It produces constant feedback, so I abandoned trying to play on it). There’s also a guitar, a flute…

It occurs to me, in a way cuz I’ve had the same sort of revelation before. All of my childhood extra-curriculars, they could never be just for fun. Everything I was interested in trying had to have some sort of future economic benefit. It probably came on gradually; I really doubt she thought 5 year old me would be some sort of ballet superstar, but figure skating, swimming lessons, they had to be performed with an eye towards them being my career. Nothing could just be fun.

And you see that sometimes, with the “dance moms” or “hockey moms”. But those are usually laser-focused on their kid doing the chosen sport 24/7, and that was never part of my life. I had no friends in the same sports, although it’s hard to say why. And my mother had a few hang-ups that would prevent me from going anywhere in a few of them, to be quite honest. She banned me from using make-up, but no figure skating or swimming competition would accept a competitor who wasn’t done to the nines. I wasn’t going anywhere even if I wanted to.

I was on the fence about music lessons. I couldn’t tell you why specifically. I didn’t request the lessons, my mother suggested them and then cajoled and badgered me and my brother until we agreed. Then, when we didn’t practice as frequently as she desired, we were berated for wasting her money; money we hadn’t asked to waste.

I think the real lightbulb moment for me was when we were asked to perform for Oma’s retirement community. We played some Christmas songs and sung along. It went along for a couple of hours, and then the old ladies gave us some money and some gifts; I distinctly remember getting a small, metallic, pink watch. I was confused. Why were they paying us?

“To show their gratitude!”

What a foreign concept. To gift me something voluntarily, and not out of a sense of obligation, like blood ties. It also implied some quality; we were worth paying for.

No, I couldn’t tell you specifically why I didn’t want to take music lessons, but I can tell you generally: I was afraid.

“Hey Lucy!” Someone jolts me from my brooding. “We’re playing photo roulette, want to join?”

Sure, why not.

Photo roulette takes 32 random photos from your phone’s library and send them to everyone else, mixed in with everyone else’s. The game is to see who can guess who’s photos they are.

I was shuffling the longest. The game selects batches of photos, you don’t get to chose. I figured any photos with my face are out. There was also a lot of photos of blood and wounds, from the hospital or any of the many times I hurt myself at work, so those are disqualifying as well. I was on the fence if the photos of the Vagabond should be disqualified.

The game was fun. It was interesting to take a random slice of someone’s photo reel and put it in a petri dish. As a group, we have lots of nature shots, which makes sense. No one dared to share anything really spicy. My main complaint about the game was the breakneck speed at which it whipped through the photos; it would be fun to have down time between rounds to ask someone about something, or mock them.

“God, we are all so boring!” Ti yells.

Oops. Well, let’s play again, I’m not afraid to spice things up. I didn’t think anyone else would be comfortable with it.

The magic was over. Some more people headed out, and they put some spy thriller show on the TV. Time to check out. I grab my laptop and start watching House.

The windows have been open most of the days and the place is crawling with sandflies. The only exposed skin I have, besides my face and hands, are my bare feet, which are soon bit a million times. There’s so many flies on the window, I watch a finch land on the windowsill and try to eat them through the glass.

John opens a bag of maple-covered popcorn and asks for my Canadian opinion on them. I was expecting something like kettle corn, but they are basically dried. The bag smells like maple, but I can barely taste any on the bone-dry kernels.

The food goes away. Time to call it a night.

I could stay here, maybe. Maybe just a couple extra weeks. I make more money here than I do at the estate, in theory. I suppose I could be going to Akaroa now.

The festive mood evaporates quickly the next day. I’m still waking up for 2 or 3 hours in the middle of the night. Nichola wakes me up when she goes to bed, which isn’t her fault; it’s me who can’t sleep soundly. Me and Shirah are on housekeeping, but Ti grabs me and makes me work with her in the fancy lodges.

Every time I feel like I might be starting to like it here, Ti happens. She’s fine off work, but when I have to work with her I can feel the acid reflux setting in. I want to leave immediately. I turn over the idea of asking them to schedule me away from her, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings… or risk her residency visa.

I’m scheduled ’til 4, but we’re slow today. I suppose someone figured a lot of people would be checking out after Christmas, but it seems that most people are chilling for another day. Ti sends me to help Bianca with laundry.

The machines here are so musical. They don’t just chime when they are done, they sing a little jingle for 5 minutes that’s so melodic it always confuses me that it’s the washer attempting to get my attention. The microwave and dishwasher are the same.

By 3, most of the laundry is done. There’s some towels on the line that aren’t quite dry, and 2 loads in the dryer not finished yet, but Bianca has to go get ready for dinner service. I go outside to weed a patch that Ti showed me earlier, so I’m not standing around doing nothing.

John comes outside. A minute later, Ti comes running over. “Clock out now! It’s double time!” She exclaims frantically. She points to the things I’ve already weeded. “Just leave it, I’ll deal with them later.”

Ok? That explained nothing to me, but I won’t argue. I clock out, then grab the weeds. The compost pile is behind the house anyway, no point in leaving them lying around. When I get back to the house, I text Ti, “There’s still laundry in the dryer.”

Leftovers abound, so I pick my way through them while watching House and working on the puzzle.

I never thought I might end up not working all the hours on the schedule. Apparently Boxing Day is a stat holiday here, hence it being double time. Double time isn’t enough to lessen the sting of lost hours, though.

Ti wanders in, exhausted, and flops into a chair. She shoots upright when she sees me. “I forgot to take care of the weeds!”

“It’s alright, Ti, I grabbed them. I wasn’t going to leave them there when the compost pile is on the way.”

She staggers over and throws her arms around me and lets out a sob.

Maybe I misunderstood her.

“My schedule says kitchen standby.”

“Yeah, so it depends on how busy they are. Reservations close at 2, so you can go ask if they need you.”

I grab the leftover Christmas dishes that need to go back to the cafe and head down. “Do you need me tonight? I’m on standby.”

“Yeah, if you could.” John says. Ah, I suppose the way I worded that makes it sound like I want out of helping. “But at 6:30, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good.”

Dinner service is short and slow. Every time someone cooks a separate “kid’s meal”, I can’t understand it. There were no adjustments in my family; we were expected to eat everything my parents gave us, including my mother’s favourite, fried liver and onions. I don’t think anything being served tonight is that objectional to a kid, but John fires up the deep dryer to make some french fries anyway.

There’s a quarter of a chocolate rum torte that’s technically too old to serve to guests, so John leaves it on the counter for me, Bianca and the other server to take bites out of in between tasks. It’s super yummy, you can really taste the rum.

I’m dismissed after an hour and head back to the house. Bollocks.

Nichola is at the house when I get back. “My mother sent me a gift!” She opens the box and pulls out a multipack of chocolate bars. “Oh, these are the usual chocolates we have in Ireland. Want to try one?”

Sure, I’m all for trying new things. I grab a Wispa, which is much like an Aero bar. Nichola continues to pull things out of the box.

“What are these…? She pulls out a pair of earrings that are Earth symbols… the same ones I have tattooed on my arms now. I roll up my sleeves to demonstrate. “Why did my mother send me these? I’m a fire sign.”

I shrug. That is odd.

Thursday night is nice and clear, so Alex is offering a star walk. I’m not super interested in stars, but I like enriching my mind. I convince Shirah to come with me. It’s chilly, so I wear my biker jacket.

There’s only 2 paying guests along, sadly. We walk down the road a bit so there isn’t any trees blocking the view.

“So, Lucy, any stars you are interested in?”

“Venus.”

He points behind us. “Can’t see it through the mountains. You can see it from Glenorchy, though.”

“What stars are the ones I can see from Canada?”

He cuts the sky in half with his hands. “Everything north of this line you can see in the Northern Hemisphere. Everything south, you can’t.”

Makes sense.

He starts with some basic stars; Orion, who is upside down here. Same for Sirius. I’m the only person who puts my hand up when he asks who knows about it from Harry Potter. Maybe I know more about stars than I think.

Shirah points out the Pleiades, barely visible in the shape of an arrowhead on the horizon. Alex says the Maori call them Matariki. It disappears every winter as the south Pole tilts away and reappears in July, marking the beginning of spring. It was recently declared a public holiday, so the Maori can celebrate it without persecution.

He also demonstrates for us how to find south by the southern cross (which, despite the name, is not due south). There’s no strict southern equivalent for Polaris.

It’s a good night for stargzing; the moon hasn’t risen yet, and it’s only a sliver. At this point I’m getting cold and tired, though, so I bid them goodnight and head in.

Friday is a gloriously hot, sunny day. Friday is also the day my Woolworths order is due. James will be back with it at 5, which makes me nervous. I’m doing dinner service again, so if he forgets I wouldn’t be able to go get it until really late.

Ti grabs me again. As we clean, she comments that she can’t work with Dan because he’s too slow and zen. Maybe she is grabbing me because I’m the only one who can keep up/ doesn’t drive her insane. Small consolation. I’d like to argue that I should be partnered with Dan so I can help him speed up.

After housekeeping is done, John asks if anyone can help move the chunks of tree that got cut down a week ago. One piece is really, really heavy.

“I can!” I say. Everyone looks me up and down. “Guys, I can lift my bike, and it weighs 300 pounds.”

“Alright.” They also grab Sam, who’s skinny as a twig.

With 4 of us, we can barely lift the giant log. Does it weigh more than 300 pounds, or is it because my bike is designed to be lifted and the tree isn’t? We get it moved quickly, regardless, and I have scrapes all over my palms from the rough bark.

Afterwards, Noah heads out; he’s pedal biking up to Auckland.

Fortunately, James shows up with my groceries a little after 5. I had two disappointments; I selected a carton of 20 eggs for 13.50, they subbed a carton of 18 for 15$. Mo money, less eggs! I was also disappointed, I ordered some seaweed snacks to help me with my snacky cravings; seaweed snacks are nothing but good, minus the sodium, which isn’t a concern for me. Except these snacks are hilariously, awfully tiny! This isn’t a snack, it’s a salad garnish. 10 little pieces of nori will not fill up anyone!

Turns out, Nichola has headed out again. She didn’t say boo to me! Still, I get the hut to myself for a couple nights.

My dinner shift is delayed ’til 6:30 again, although I’m being left to my own devices. John has pre-cooked everything and put it on a warming tray, so he can go down to where Wren is staying for a party. I’m holding down the fort, sending out dishes and cleaning up. The dishwasher is acting up tonight, taking at least twice the time to wash as it was previously. The salad comes with “pomegranate molasses”, which I’ve never heard of a syrup being called molasses before, and John gives me a taste. The main is venison, cut thin and medium rare.

After he leaves, a plate comes back with half the venison on it! What a waste of a primo cut of meat! No one else is in the kitchen with me, so I pop it in my mouth. Maybe I’ll get sick if a customer coughed on it, but I’m not throwing out a perfectly good piece of meat.

Saturday morning, I set my alarm so I’ll be up before John. I fire up the stove for the bacon first. New Zealand bacon is strange and resists crisping up, but they don’t like it crispy anyway. I fry an egg over-easy in the bacon grease and fry a couple more pieces; one for me, one more for the sandwich. Then I toast the bread in the second round of bacon grease and assemble the sandwich while I cook my usual eggs and zucchini.

Half an hour goes by. James drifts in. “Is your dad up?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s probably down in the kitchen already.”

I don’t believe him, but I cover the dish in foil and walk it down to the kitchen. He’s not there. Back up to the house.

Ten minutes later, he comes out into the kitchen. “Your catered breakfast, chef!”

“Ah, thank you, looks lovely!” He grabbed a fork and knife to eat it with. When he’s done, I take the plate away and put it in the dishwasher. “That was very nice, thank you again!”

Housekeeping goes the same as it usually does, until we go to plug in the curtains (yes, the curtains are powered) and the cord isn’t working. Ti sends me to grab the cord from the other pod, except it is visibly broken. I don’t notice until I hand it to her.

When she notices that it’s broken, she lets out a primal scream the likes of which I have never heard.

“You can just order new ones.” I suggest.

“No, they went out of business!”

Hardly surprising, considering the obvious quality of their work. The broken wires are dollar store crap. “James can solder them back together.” He was showing Wren how to solder when they were here. Hell, I could probably do it, but I’m not being paid to.

“It’s just so frustrating!” She goes off on a rant about everything going wrong here, which includes an aside that John could handle more things if he wasn’t stuck in the kitchen cooking because everyone refuses to cook. “Ok, rant over. You finish housekeeping while I work on this.”

She spends several minutes trying to fix the cord but just breaks it more. “Here, take this. Get it fixed.”

Well, I have no idea where James is currently, but I take the wires to his workbench and leave them there. When I come back, she’s listening to “Let The Bodies Hit The Floor”.

While I’m cleaning the kitchen, I discover the guests left behind half a packet of mince pies and a banana. I put the banana in my box and leave the mince pies in the dining room for anyone to grab.

When I have to stop by the kitchen, I add, “So, you guys are looking for a cook?”

“Yes, we keep putting up ads, but no success.”

“Have you tried contacting the University’s culinary department? Hire someone in school who wants work over the summer?”

“No we haven’t. That’s a good idea though! We don’t even really need a chef, just someone willing to cook.”

The idea latched onto my brain and percolated there. I could cook.

Did I want to be a cook? In a lot of ways, no. With a normal career course, you’d spend a lot of time washing dishes, taking out the trash and being yelled at by Gordon Ramsey before you’d have any weight to throw around. It’s long hours, people complaining they don’t like this or that, lots of chefs drink for a reason. But this wasn’t any of that; they’d assign another casual to wash the dishes for me. The menu was pre-selected and dinner service started at 6, with a reservation, always, so there’d be no last minute rushes or list of meals to memorize (not that memorizing would be a problem for me). This was the lite version of being a cook.

On the other hand, I’d promised Simonetta I’d come back.

I could always do it next winter, there was still year 2 of my visa. And if they were willing to sponsor…

It would be the nail in the coffin for me and the Vagabond, though.

I mean, it didn’t have to. There was still the option for him to come here with me, or for us to just date casually while I’m in Canada. But he… well, he’s him. Irrational. And I can imagine most of my readers are scratching their heads about the idea of trying to plan my future based on the co-operation of a guy who broke up with me and blocked me, but I know we could get back together. It would just mean giving up on New Zealand, as long as he’s alive.

Ti wanders by, singing “burrito!”

“Hey Ti, if you don’t mind me asking…. do you have your permanent residency visa?”

“Not yet!” She grabs a frozen burrito from the freezer. “God, I am so sick of trying, though! It’s been 5 years, and even after I get it it’ll be another 2 years for my citizenship visa! And I’m trapped here, I can’t get a job elsewhere or all my progress goes out the window!” She pauses. “I mean, it’s lovely here, but you look at all those people who marry for the citizenship, those relationships all fall apart. It’s a lot of stress and expectations.”

Another point towards not trying, plus my medical condition. There’s no easy answer, moving to New Zealand wouldn’t be a simple thing. It would be the devotion of 5 years of my life, at least.

I message Hanuman, “What do you think I should do?”

“Sit with it, figure out what your heart wants.”

Well, my heart wants the Vagabond, first and foremost. All of this is really just a back-up plan.

Sam comes in after his shift is over. “My dad kept talking about how good that bacon sandwich was this morning. He especially liked how you toasted the bread.”

Maybe it wasn’t an unfortunate coincidence. Maybe my silly little gift has become an inadvertent audition for a position I didn’t know I wanted. At 2, I walk down to ask if they need help tonight.

“Yes, if you could come by at 6 today, we’re very busy.”

“Sure.” I pause. “What are the requirements to cook?”

“Umm, willingness to learn, really.” He figures out I must be angling for if I could do it. “We have someone coming in January, actually.”

Well… that’s fine, I was really thinking next year, but good to know.

There is this idea of, if you’re disappointed when something gets taken away, that’s how you know you want it. That dash of cold water tell me all I need to know; I do want it.

The main for dinner service is salmon. I’m salivating; when was the last time I had salmon? I wouldn’t be able to afford it.

After all the food is out, John grabs me and Sam and we got out to where he’s got a woodpile and the trailer backed up against it. John tries to grab everything while standing on the ground, so I hop into the trailer and hand them the chunks of tree.

Him and Sam look at each other. “Why is she in there?”

“What, do you feel like less of a man cuz the girl can lift more than either of you?” I grin.

After my shift ends and I go back to the house, I get a group text from Ti that we should all check our shifts as the schedule has updated.

I check mine. Now, Tuesday I am doing KH from 10 ’til 4.

“What’s KH?” I wonder aloud.

“Kitchen hand.” Someone answers.

I did it.