To follow up on my “epic” bungee jump (or so I was told, as my eyes were squeezed shut and except for the first fall, I clung to Don like a baby monkey), I am excited to report that I finally learned how to skip a rock, right on the beach in front of the Duke of Marlborough Inn (built in 1837). I won’t go into the mechanics of it, but it involves lightly holding a flat pebble between the thumb and 3rd finger and lettin’ ‘er rip. Don insisted on taking us to dinner at the Inn for my birthday, because I love all things historic. After an adoring stroll through the quaint village of Russell (the first capital of NZ), I cleverly put two-and-two together and realized that this is the place we’d heard referred to as “the hellhole of New Zealand.” Apparently, the Duke put the “harm” in charm for the “rascals and scoundrels” this grand edifice was erected to serve. You would think a man could respect his wife a little more.

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The highlight of our time in the Bay of Islands was a whole day spent sea kayaking in the clear, green waters. I channeled my friend Jane Jones as I gamely rowed into the wind and spray across an open bay, with a partner who had already expressed being a little bummed that “he” would have to do all the work. Once we made it out through the “squall” (guide Curtis’ word) to the desired desert island, we followed Curtis barefoot up a path to a summit that gave us a 360 degree view of the whole area. Splendid. While we took a dip in the ocean, Curtis sliced up red bell pepper, cucumber, tomato, lettuce and laid out turkey, cheese, and tortillas for a delicious lunch. The trip back was fantastic, as we were able to surf on top of the waves a good bit of the way. Curtis is a remarkable one-man operation. A 20-something guy who worked search-and-rescue on the British coast near Newcastle, he picked us up in an old van, conveyed us over winding roads to an alternate course that would allow us to row directly into the wind, and laughed with us all day. Although he is not a Kiwi, he fits the type of the person we run into most often here: reliable, courteous, fun, and honestly, just plain decent.

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Back to Auckland and our last day on the North Island, we spent the afternoon with Meg in Cornwall Park, another of the enormous green spaces New Zealanders have seen fit to design and place in the middle of their towns. From the True North obelisk atop One Tree Hill, we viewed the volcanic “cone” hills, offshore islands and marshes that frame this grand city. As the wind moved in the trees, I had a sudden urge to be walking a lonely moor in England, preferably around the time Jane Eyre was written, the dramatic natural landscape removing the normal limits to my imagination.

The salve to having to say goodbye to Meg was the kindness of the people we encountered that day. Even with all the tourists tramping through, this whole country often feels like a small town. People are instantly personable and open to conversation no matter what job they’re doing – bellmen, flight attendant, bus driver. So, another “g’day” to the bus driver at the Auckland airport who sang along with Seger’s “I like that old time Rock n Roll” as he carried us to our terminal. Thanks to the woman at the café who gave us a chocolate chip cookie for free. Thanks to the van driver who patiently explained the downsides of the “shared” shuttle service we got stuck with because we had gone with a cheaper car rental company. Thank you to the kind people who waved us through (no security checks) in the domestic terminal.