I can still feel sand between my toes. It’s approximately 4°C outside, London is bursting with winter and my tan is fading faster than you can say ‘moisturise’, but I’m fairly certain I still feel grains of Kiwi sand between my toes (and goodness knows everywhere else). Miniscule grains of New Zealand shorelines that came home with me as a reminder of how crazy I have been to leave summer christmasses behind for so very long.
I’m always asked what Christmas is like at home. Always. It’s defintely an expat/first world problem, but now I’m pleased to be able to point enquiries to this photo, and this post.
This, this is what a New Zealand Christmas looks like (if you’re lucky with the weather).
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| I also learned about in-fill flashes on the fly – cheers Santa! |
I spent Christmas Eve (whilst my family worked) soaking up sunshine on the white and glorious beaches of Mount Maunganui. I pranced among the Pohutukawa blooming fiercely on the coastal path…
…ran (carefully) through rock pools…
…scampered to the sound of the sea shore captured in delicate shells…
…and ate pies on the beach. Oh yes, yes I did.
I spotted Santa out on a pre-flight walk (the reindeer must have been parked at home?)
Christmas day itself was full of family hugs, Christmas pudding, chilling outside, perfectly roasted veges with glazed ham, Skyping, napping (as is tradition), toasting the Queen’s speech (as is a new tradition of mine), too much chocolate nibbling (an age old tradition) and suffering a horrendous sunburn (you guess it, another tradition).
It was worth every single second of travelling from the UK. Every single second.
Goodness knows I’m still finding grains of sand in my shoes and crevices of my suitcase…
