Feb 11th - Feb 17th
Following the realisation that we had to remove Kilou from the cats sooner than we had anticipated, the rush was on to find a host who could take us asap. We sent out many, many emails, and got very, very few responses, but then, when panic had begun, enter John.
Now, what to say about John: eccentric, ascetic, idealistic. Quaker, too. To fill it out slightly more: John is a psychiatrist (he doesn’t practise here anymore, being, well, older), who has a rather remarkable case of what I can only call colonial white guilt. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind – it can, however, lead to quite extreme behaviour. In this case, John has in the last few years started spending increasingly large (very large) amounts of time in the West Bank (yes, that West Bank), volunteering at a mental health clinic. His views on the Israelis are, unsurprisingly considered what he’s doing, vitriolic.
He’s an idealistic man in general, though – he and I got into a few arguments about various subjects, me generally advocating at least the acknowledgement of some pragmatism, and his not. Ah well – he’s doing more for world peace than I am…
The reason this post is called ‘straw’, however, is because of the house. My god. A huge, half-completed straw bale house, with curved walls, a grass roof and (revoltingly), a poorly-installed composting toilet (or long drop although, in this case, and without details, this was a short drop). I have discovered my limits, ladies and gentlemen – I can put up with dirt, mud, insects, and living rough in all manners, but this! This tore the ring out of it. Really.
We weren’t there, effectively, for very long (hairy trips over the Rimutaka mountains back to Wellington for the weekend and back), but were able to help with some sarking (ceiling boards). When I say ‘we’, I mean Simon, really. After getting up on the rickety scaffolding, then raising an obscenely heavy nail gun with no safety, to a height that had me stretching to my full extent (or, even worse, having to use a stepladder), I discovered that I get stupid-height-induced vertigo. So I stained boards and cut them into the rights lengths using, charmingly, a rickety mitre saw which had a safety permanently tied up by affixing it, via cord, to a door handle. Yes, dear reader, yes. Words fail.
We got to meet some cool people, though – one of John’s (seven) children, Ben, and his girlfriend, both of whom work quite high in government on aid and environmental stuff. And Warrick and his wife, the neighbouring cattle farmer and teacher, respectively. In fact, John’s couple of acres is on Warrick’s farm. A lovely, if God-fearing, couple, Warrick made sure to check on John every day to ensure he was ok (and have a cup of tea).
And we got to see a Manuka honey factory! Yay! Although the freebies we were promised were not forthcoming (we are still bitter, hurhur), it was fascinating… For anyone not familiar with this brilliant stuff, wiki it, foo…
However, we made it out alive, feeling bemused, as well as grateful all extremities (and some intremities) were still attached. Huzzah!
The house itself is exquisite, though – rather than trying to explain it fully, though, I invite you to see the pictures of it in my Picasa gallery, and Simon’s gorgeous video of it, to be found on his vlog.
Following the realisation that we had to remove Kilou from the cats sooner than we had anticipated, the rush was on to find a host who could take us asap. We sent out many, many emails, and got very, very few responses, but then, when panic had begun, enter John.
Now, what to say about John: eccentric, ascetic, idealistic. Quaker, too. To fill it out slightly more: John is a psychiatrist (he doesn’t practise here anymore, being, well, older), who has a rather remarkable case of what I can only call colonial white guilt. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind – it can, however, lead to quite extreme behaviour. In this case, John has in the last few years started spending increasingly large (very large) amounts of time in the West Bank (yes, that West Bank), volunteering at a mental health clinic. His views on the Israelis are, unsurprisingly considered what he’s doing, vitriolic.
He’s an idealistic man in general, though – he and I got into a few arguments about various subjects, me generally advocating at least the acknowledgement of some pragmatism, and his not. Ah well – he’s doing more for world peace than I am…
The reason this post is called ‘straw’, however, is because of the house. My god. A huge, half-completed straw bale house, with curved walls, a grass roof and (revoltingly), a poorly-installed composting toilet (or long drop although, in this case, and without details, this was a short drop). I have discovered my limits, ladies and gentlemen – I can put up with dirt, mud, insects, and living rough in all manners, but this! This tore the ring out of it. Really.
We weren’t there, effectively, for very long (hairy trips over the Rimutaka mountains back to Wellington for the weekend and back), but were able to help with some sarking (ceiling boards). When I say ‘we’, I mean Simon, really. After getting up on the rickety scaffolding, then raising an obscenely heavy nail gun with no safety, to a height that had me stretching to my full extent (or, even worse, having to use a stepladder), I discovered that I get stupid-height-induced vertigo. So I stained boards and cut them into the rights lengths using, charmingly, a rickety mitre saw which had a safety permanently tied up by affixing it, via cord, to a door handle. Yes, dear reader, yes. Words fail.
We got to meet some cool people, though – one of John’s (seven) children, Ben, and his girlfriend, both of whom work quite high in government on aid and environmental stuff. And Warrick and his wife, the neighbouring cattle farmer and teacher, respectively. In fact, John’s couple of acres is on Warrick’s farm. A lovely, if God-fearing, couple, Warrick made sure to check on John every day to ensure he was ok (and have a cup of tea).
And we got to see a Manuka honey factory! Yay! Although the freebies we were promised were not forthcoming (we are still bitter, hurhur), it was fascinating… For anyone not familiar with this brilliant stuff, wiki it, foo…
However, we made it out alive, feeling bemused, as well as grateful all extremities (and some intremities) were still attached. Huzzah!
The house itself is exquisite, though – rather than trying to explain it fully, though, I invite you to see the pictures of it in my Picasa gallery, and Simon’s gorgeous video of it, to be found on his vlog.
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aimee
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