We landed at Nelson on the 20^th of December. Just in time for our first summer Christmas. Our first Christmas with the niece and the nephew.

Nelson is a lovely little place. It has a microclimate, which makes it nice and warm. It is a nice little place, with sea fronts and beaches and stuff. It has cafes and markets, it even has a homeless guy who has a house (I know, odd isn’t it).

It does, sadly also have sand flies. Now I mentioned them previously, but let me just extrapolate. Those things are right motherfuckers, and they loved my blood. They dined on my nectar like I was a sweet buffet delivered by the Gods. Not only were their bites numerous, but as a particularly sweet blooded Limey, it would only ever be the way that I was also somewhat reactive to their drink holes. The bites would blister, and itch like buggery, the blisters would occasionally meld into one another to create mega blisters. I looked like I had the Pox. One particularly unnerving moment (not for me, I quite enjoyed the brilliance) was when I was at a pharmacy trying to get some repellent that would work. As I had previously gone through every single natural option and product first, I was in need of something toxic and chemical, we got talking about the severity of the reaction, the pharmacist asked if she could see one so I obliged. As I did the double blister erupted and seeping gunk trickled down my ankle the very moment she clapped eyes upon it. The timing was impeccable. Her face skewed in disgust and I can only assume her gorge rose at the site, and she muttered “ooh no…never seen anything like that” and beckoned the head pharmacist over. He in turn said he had also never seen anything of the like, but helpfully chipped in the ridiculously obvious opinion that it must be a reaction to the bites. No fucking shit.

We were staying in the Glen, a little community just North of Nelson-proper along the boulder bank and just before the headland towards Cable Bay. It is a beautiful spot. The first week we were there, a pod of dolphins passed by everyday. One day there were about 40 of them, no more than a few metres from the water’s edge, leaping and broadsiding right in front of us(on another day, Conny was out with the hounds and the sister in law as they passed, she dropped kit right there and then and bust into the water for a swim with them, one even came up close I believe, but I am told it was a brief encounter…and behind her). They were bloody big to be fair. We had gone to the beach that time actually to look for whales, as we had heard through the Face-vine that there was a whale in the bay. The dolphins were pure bonus, as was the stingray, that swam past our toes in it’s efforts to avoid the giant dolphin pod, that was in itself avoiding the giant sperm whales that were nearby although not to be seen. After the pod had passed we kept looking to see, but Queequeg and Ahab we are not and no whale sign was to be seen. Then, just as we were turning to go home, I, David “Blind-eyes” South, the most visually impaired of our number, spotted a water spout, a hundred or so metres out. Or at least I thought I did. Then… Hark! Another. We watched as a couple of whales move slowly South towards the Nelson bay. Even though these were quite far away, I never tire of seeing these giant beasts.

The next day the Face-vine trickled down some more sombre news. One of the whales we saw had beached itself on Rabbit Island, a large sandy peninsula the other side of the bay, it had indeed succumbed to what was supposedly old age or ill health. From what I understand, it is not known, but generally accepted that the whale will likely have beached itself purposefully knowing its fate, and will have simply wished for a more restful last moment where it was not being buffed and tossed by the sea, but could lay on a gentle sandy bank and go to sleep.

This led to a somewhat unique opportunity in born from a quite sad death. The whale was beached in an area that took a forty minute walk down a beach when the tide was out. So the entire South clan and the next door neighbour Linda with her boy Eli went on an expedition to see the big beautiful beast. We weren’t the only ones paying our respects to the giant of the deep. Many families and folk of all ilks were strolling to or from his resting place. The DOC (Dept. Of Conservation) had even posted a wildlife officer to keep an eye over him until they could do the necessaries to look after him.

He was magnificent. A large bull sperm whale, according to the officer and the scars on his face he was quite mature and it would appear he had lived a full life. The huge toothed bottom jaw on these things coupled with their scars from their battles against the colossal squid that serves as their main prey evidences the awesome strength and hunting prowess of the creature. He was a big boy. Conny even noted that his schlong was about the size of me (not my schlong, but me as a person, I am more hung like a seahorse than like a whale, although I might often be confused with the Great White Devil when I lay upon a seashore, but one check upon our undercarriages would dispell any notion that I am of Cetaecian lineage).

What was remarkable was the amount of noise that was coming from the corpse, and the amount of blood in the water. The sound was like a waterfall, as in the sun, the black skin soaking up the summer sun and the insulation of his blubber around the huge stomach had turned his insides into an oven. All the moisture was bubbling away inside some had seeped out into the pool in which he was sitting. I, being much smarter than your average dude that looks like me, decided not to do the complete circular tour of the beast. This turned out to be a smart move. I was first of our number there. I wandered one way, took note of wind direction, then turned around and went back around the other side until I could do the same. Others, however who shall remain nameless, did not approach this with such logic. I watched intently as I saw a group of our number head down wind of the bubbling beast. Hahahahahahahahaha! The retches and the faces told a beautiful story of the stink of death and I could not help but chuckle as I saw it again and again amongst the folk that came to see.

I think that emotionally, the day must have taken it’s toll amongst the youngest two of the South South’s. They couldn’t help but have complete breakdowns on the way back. From not wanting to walk, the type of food on our picnic, or even the order of food on the plate, but most memorably an apparently very special “favourite most special stick ever” or in fact the loss of that stick.

The main reason we wanted to be there at this time of course was a Christmas spent with family, a very rare occurrence in our recent history. And it truly was lovely, if odd. Firstly we had to assemble the huge trampoline that my brother and his wife had got their kids. Obviously this had to be done after bed time on Christmas Eve, so it meant building in the dark, but we got it done. Then, the next day, as he would in a summer location Santa came in a bright yellow mini moke to drop a couple of gifts to the local kids. The traditional meal was replaced with a big barbecue and the cold was replaced by stonking heat. As I said. Odd. But it was nice for us not to be working and particularly nice to be around family. Watching kids on Christmas is quite the delight.

Paul and Kerry (my brother and his wife) had decided to purchase themselves a kayak for Christmas. So a couple of days later we headed to the beach for its maiden voyage, we were a veritable troupe, with the entire family, some friends and some dogs and the maiden voyage went a dream. I even thought it was quite cute that the dogs wanted to join in on the boaty fun and followed down the beach as their family moseyed down. The peace however did not last long. We through the dogs some sticks. Normal with the dogs. Not normal however is that the dogs got particularly possessive over one such stick. The ensuing fight started to get a little aggressive so when Paul stepped in I thought ok, no worries. Until he turned to me and his wife and said. Quite calmly “OK Kerry, we have to go to the hospital, I just lost the end of my finger”. Yes, his delightful, cute labradour-ish thing had bitten, and likely swallowed, his fingertip. I being the younger brother, learned from big brothers mistake, but had to get amongst the fighting hounds. Which I did, and with all fingers in tact. I approached from a different angle, somewhat tentatively and just managed to get them calm as Kerry had come with a large piece of driftwood to start a bopping. Luckily that was not necessary so as Paul and Kerry headed off with Tripper, I was stuck with Honey, the guilty party, and Kerry’s horrified looking friend Jen, scoring the surf in case we could indeed spot his lost fingertip. No such joy.

So Paul, had lost the fleshy tip of his finger, the bone that was exposed had to be shaved down and then the raw end just had to be dressed and allowed to regrow skin. Which was gonna hurt. For at least six weeks. Which he could not get dirty or wet. Not exactly ideal for a marine scientist. Still, he dealt with it like a man, Kerry did tell tales of him falling apart on the way to the hospital but I didn’t witness this so I will give him props for his solid turn and matter of fact way of dealing with such an issue.

Days in the Glen were spent at the beach or adventuring up the creek with the niece(Elouise, whom Conny even taught the art of the Wild Pee, a skill she had perfected on our US trip) and nephew(Jem), sometimes the local Glen kids came too. Mid January time my mother flew out for her now customary month or so in New Zealand to kick off the new year. It’s not often there are three independent branches of the South Wandering Show in one spot so this was quite the joy!

We had the odd excursion, walks over to cable bay, a camping trip to the Marlborough Sounds (pre Mother South’s arrival, I’m not sure how a camping trip would fare these days if she had been among our number), where we met a lovely family of Grandma Rose, her son Carlos and his son Sebo and daughter Stella, who made our stay great, and provided friends for the kids to swim, adventure and play Uno with. The sounds, like most of New Zealand, are spectacular. Beautiful inlets of water giving gentle harbour and fantastic bush walks with epic scenery. We even ventured out on the kayak, well, Paul wasn’t going to use it was he.

Conny and I also spent a couple of days at Nelson lakes camping. The weather was atrocious. The sandflies were even more atrocious, but we did manage one day of good weather and we hiked a mountain. To be fair that signified the death knoll for my back. I have learned much in my time in New Zealand, particularly pertaining to the realm of parenthood and I have come to appreciate the strength it takes to be one. The mental strength with dealing with unruly kids is immense, and should be noted, but boy did I underestimate the toll it would take on my body. With days picking them up in fits of rage, or carrying them on the shoulders while one rides on the front, general playing and such, before we went camping my back was succumbing to the arduous nature of being a fresh uncle (in the sense that we don’t get much physical time with them due to our geographical hindrances) the mountain hike, although beautiful, was hot and sticky and fucking steep. Combined with the fact that the airbed in the tent deflated overnight, I was the walking wounded by the time we got back. Conny, wasn’t very good with this. I just wanted to rest. Conny understood that exercise is the only way, because she is practically a doctor and knows everything despite here absolutely zero years of training or interest in anything remotely related to sport or muscular injury. It amazes me exactly what she knows simply just because she knows it. Anyway, point being, I wanted to rest, but Conny would then secretly plan things so I never got the rest. But then she would complain that I was always resting, and that my way wasn’t working. She can be a bit of a dick. Result is my injury was somewhat protracted and Conny bitched to the inlaws about me to the point that future-maybe-father-in-law straight up told her she’d be better off with a nice Austrian boy. Now don’t get me wrong. Exercise is needed, she just would not have it that rest, then exercise was needed, and couldn’t see that she had spent weeks stuffing that up with her “she knows best” surreptitiousness. That said, the back eventually fixed, Conny stopped being a proper bellend, as much as she does, and all got good again.

We took a delightful day trip to Picton for it’s Marine festival. A dank day of rain and wind it turned out to be, but that didn’t dampen the spirits of the kids or the performers, Elouise even managed to earn herself a brand spanking new hula hoop from the guys doing a hula hoop/juggling demonstration, for someone so excited and eager when they asked for volunteers, she did appear quite quiet and somewhat glum on stage but still, she sort of did what was asked, and looked cute as can be doing it, so a hula hoop well deserved I’d say. There was some singing, some dancing, a spiralised battered and fried potato (my personal highlight) mini train rides, then we all went to a friend of a friends house for a barbecue. A rag tag collective of old travellers and young, some with their kids, some no kids to bring. Amongst the crowd were an old Kiwi octogenarian and a young twenty something Aussie flying nurse(he and Paul even discussed the extent of their each mangled hands and lost fingertips, at one point it became a bit like that scene in Jaws with the scars, anyway, I digress…), visiting an old hippy friend from travels way back when, alongside a family from England who had recently made the move. Home brew was drunk, barbecue (and salads) were eaten. The shit was chatted and a thoroughly pleasant evening passed by. It wasn’t even dampened by the lack of fireworks we had treaded out ensemble to go and view.

There was a day out to a petting farm, where I learned that Angora sheep is awesome, Alpacas are basically the same as llamas only a llamas ears are shaped like bananas. I saw what is possibly NZ’s largest pig (unconfirmed) and definitely NZ’s cutest piglets (not official, but I declare them such).

Another day was spent at a food and wine festival, I again procured a spiralised spud (there immensity is hard to comprehend to the uninitiated) and other treats, all while being burnt to a crisp and being highly disrespected by a coffee/ice cream lady. Now it might be petty of e to go into this, but hey, I am petty. The harlot upon my request for two ice creams and a coffee told me that they were too busy for coffees and she showed me the set of ice cream dockets. Having been “in the shit” before with an overwhelming number of dockets I thought “hmmm a bit silly given that you only sell coffee and ice cream, but I’ll accept it” and I quietly moseyed off to one side, with a three year old on my neck and a six year old crouching under an A-board for shade, as the harlot (I didn’t think her such at this point) served the next lady. Here’s where she became a harlot. The next lady ordered coffee. I thought to myself “oh poor dear, waiting in line for a coffee they aren’t doing…” but wait, without batting an eye, or a cursory glance to check I wasn’t looking, the same harlot just went “OK” and served it up. I couldn’t help myself as the words “Are you bloody serious” spat out of my lips, at least I was so incredulous I couldn’t help but smile…but on the inside I was seething, a mass of boiling piss and bile was coarsing through my veins “you told me I couldn’t have coffee?” I looked at her puzzled, eyes wide and bemused. She looked at me, and rather than saying sorry or that she’ll get my coffee, she tilted her head to one side and said in the most condescending tone imaginable “Aw, would you like a coffee now?” she might as well have thrown in a “Aaaww diddums” to start it off and followed with a baby voiced “Its just not fair the lady gets a coffee but the fatty beardy englishman doesn’t…aww boo hoo hoo…now I’m going to cry” and I’m amazed she didn’t stick her bottom lip out in mock sulk. Typically, I wanted to smash her jowls in. Instead all I could muster was a “no, don’t bother” and then I had to wait, at near boiling point for twenty minutes, coffee-less until my first ice cream came out, and then another five for the second, whilst Jem looked upon me empty handed somewhat distraught, and his sisters ice cream filled face until it came. THE FUCKERS ONLY CLAIM TO SELL ICE CREAM AND COFFEE, HOW THE ACTUAL FUCK COULD THAT BE SUCH AN ORDEAL?

Anyway I quietly retreated bitterly, retelling the tale to anyone I could and repeating it in my wallowing self pity as often as possible.

It was nice to get to know the community of the Glen. From the neighbours next door (Mark and Linda truly are a breath of fresh air) to the other families up the way or the house behind and so on and so on. We were not only invited but welcomed to brazier fires, pizza nights, beach bonfires and more and truly appreciate the Glen and it’s inhabitants for doing so.

There is obviously so much more I could go into, but I fear it might become(or indeed maybe already became mundane) or a boring list of not so exciting things that we did, but I think the general arc is that this was a great time. Honestly it was nice being based in one place with the ability, if not as much as anticipated the inkling, to pop off for trips here and there. We had become accustomed to the road life and, as fulfilling and wonderous that can be, we needed a break. It was nice to be among family and meet new friends. Have a place we could call home, even if it wasn’t ours and just for a little while. It was especially nice to see the wonder that is the next generation Souths. The pair of them are a proper set of tykes. Cute as a button, wildly free spirited in the best way, and at times infuriating to the Nth degree. Wouldn’t change them for the world.