* * Day 18, Nelson 2

I awake this morning for the second in a row at the lovely home of Rex and Jo Morris in Nelson, New Zealand after our penultimate night in this amazing country. The sun is shining brightly and the winds are calm.

Yesterday, I began the day with a brisk, short walk with Rex up a nearby small mountain to an overlook proclaiming the “Center of New Zealand”. Rex had hoped to spend more time with us through the day, but was committed to attending a funeral of a fellow police officer. So we had some quality time and good exercise on the walk. Between hard breaths, we talked about some of the differences in laws in the USA and NZ. Rex is retired, but his job with the police department was as a prosecuting attorney, a task done by the police department rather than an actual lawyer. We talked about gun laws, which were much more lenient in the USA. In NZ, even the cops, except the SWAT guys (of which Rex was one), don’t carry guns. Their gun violence rate is a fraction of ours. Rex said he couldn’t imagine any reason why private citizens would need or be allowed to own guns, other than hunters who should be strictly regulated.

We had some breakfast together. When Rex left for the funeral, Jane and Whitney went shopping in town and Rex dropped me off at a bicycle rental “store” which was actually an Airstream trailer where a man named Peter rented bicycles. He outfitted me with a front-suspension bike, a helmet, and a water bottle and rode out of town on a surprisingly challenging bicycle trail by the creek. Once I got to the end, I rode back into the city, then around the waterfront. I stopped for a few moments at the water’s edge where a man who looked more like an economics professor than fisherman stood over an immense net, repairing it with a thick-thread spindle. The wind had picked up dramatically and his hat flew off his head while we spoke. He raced to the edge of the water to retrieve it before it went in. He said he fished all over the region and net repair was a frequent chore. One of the best things about being in an English speaking country is that casual conversations are easy and fun.

With the increasing wind and with a sore butt (no bike shorts!), I returned the bike ($40 for a half-day) and walked back to the house. We had lunch and all of us took rare afternoon naps.

By late afternoon, Jo had packed a picnic dinner and we drove in their small Suzuki car 30 minutes to Rabbit Island (Nobody was sure why the name, since there were historically no rabbits in New Zealand.). We found a table by the beach, then Rex, Jo, and I went into the water. Surprisingly, there were many small, sharp rocks near the shore amidst the sand, but once beyond them, the sand extended many meters into the shallow water. The waves in Tasman Bay were tiny, a far cry from the crashing surf of the Pacific shores. Dinner was roast chicken, white cheese, hard-boiled eggs, cherry tomatoes from their garden, French bread slices, and cut carrots. I drank a bottle of their locally-crafted dark beers. The wind was still strong, but surprisingly less so than in the city.

When we got home, we talked more about Rotary International and our involvement with it and with all the good things Rotarians are doing around the world. Rex encouraged us to attend the annual conference in 2014 in Sydney, Australia. We promised to consider it.

Jo took a phone call and learned from their daughter that her BBQ grill had blown off the porch and become damaged. The day before we’d had an uncommon thunderstorm and this day we’d had an uncommon amount of wind. New Zealand has shown us its extremes in weather! I hope we can make it home without experiencing their earthquakes.

Speaking of which, today is the day we officially begin our way home. We drive to Kiakoura for our last night, and then will drive to Christchurch tomorrow where we catch the first of three airplanes on the long journey home. I’m struck by that bittersweet feeling where I’d like to stay here forever, yet I miss my own home and am ready to sleep in my own bed again.