A Home For the Homeless

120 km.  That's how far I had cycled the previous day, now I was only 69 km from Wellington.  For the most part the road was flat, my dear old adversary, the wind, was from the side and perhaps slightly from behind, helping me towards my goal on what I knew would be a special day.  The sky was clear and blue, the sun beat down and I had a joy in my heart.  I would be in Wellington by early afternoon, but how was I going to feel about returning to the city that I loved, that held so many fond memories for me?

After spending more than three years living, studying and working in Wellington, I had left in April 2010 to pursue other dreams of my heart.  At the time I left, I questioned my motives, I considered if I was doing the right thing, I wondered if I would ever regret leaving.  I had my reasons for going, at least, I made them my reasons, the spur I needed to push me forward, to move me on to new experiences and places.  There had been a loss of a dear friend, taken prematurely, way before his time.  There was love and the hope for a future.  And of course, as always, there was the sense of adventure and the unknown.  My feet were itchy, I needed to move on before I became more permanently entrenched in my life in the city.

The cycling was easy and the kilometres ticked down.  My bike may have been heavy but there was a lightness in my soul that helped me along the road.  As I came down SH1, that runs along the western Kapiti coast, I was afforded views out across the ocean, to Kapiti Island itself.  Finally, after more than 1,500km in the saddle, pushing those pedals around and around, I was coming into places that I knew.  Almost without effort, at least it seemed that way after the previous few days of riding in which I had covered 440km in five days, suffering spells of a cold and biting wind that brought penetrating rain, I reached the suburbs of outer Wellington.  I had been forced off the main highway and onto minor roads, as SH1 is designated motorway and bicycles are not allow for a section of the road.  All that remained and separated me from the city itself was one last, steep hill to climb.

Was Wellington drawing me in?  It felt that way.  On the other side of the hill, I was able to rejoin SH1 and the road dropped down to the sea.  My speed picked up and I watched the numbers on my cycle computer as they increased. 60km/h... 65km/h... 70km/h... I topped out at 74km/h feeling exhilarated, occupying the centre of the lane, keeping up with the other traffic around me.  I was now into the city itself, coming past the docks, the ferry terminals, the Westpac Stadium, where I had watched the All Blacks play Australia in a rugby union test (the All Blacks thrashed the Aussies) and England play the Black Caps in a one day cricket international (England were dismal and were annihilated).  Here I was then, back in Wellington and how did I feel about it?

I could not stop smiling. There was nothing that I could do about it.  It was a smile that began in my heart, buried deep in the very fabric of my soul, and erupted onto my face.  I must have looked a little crazy cycling along like that, giddy with happiness, on the verge of laughter, happy as I was feeling.  I had reached the waterfront and there I stopped to drink in the view.  Wellington, dear Wellington, you did not disappoint.

My first glimpse of Wellington from the waterfront

This was a picture postcard day in Wellington.  Little to no wind, clear, blue skies and a hot sun beaming down from overhead.  I do not think there is any place I'd rather be in all the world than Wellington on a day like this.  I had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming, to make sure that I was actually here.  I could feel the emotion inside of me, threatening to erupt and to spill its tears of lava down my cheeks.  I was almost unable to take it all in.  I had returned to a place that I had called home, a city that meant so much to me, that had helped move me on in my life, that held so many great memories.  I felt nothing other than pleasure at being back.  There was no sense of regret, rather the feeling of gladness for the time that I had spent here.

Bathers at Oriental Bay

I cycled slowly around the waterfront, noting the small and almost imperceptible changes that had occurred in my absence.  Changes for the better, I noted.  I zigzagged my way slowly through the throngs of people, all enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the capital, making my way to Oriental Bay, the beach of Wellington.  Here, the crowds were most dense, here, the young and the hip came to strut their stuff, and all the while the surf life guards patrolled, keeping a careful eye over everything and giving out free sun block.  And here, as I hoped it might be, was the little mobile coffee van, where I used to regularly purchase my coffee.  I was chuffed to pieces that the owners recognised me after all this time and remembered my drink.

Downtown Wellington

I sat on the sea wall, sipping at my coffee, taking in the views of the bay, the mountains across the water and the high rises of downtown.  I was back in Wellington.  My heart was glad of it, I could feel its soft purring, I could sense its happiness.  As I sat there, I wondered whether this was my home, the place of which I have been looking.  I realised that actually, it did not matter.  All that mattered was that I was back and that I was happy. Everything else will take care of itself when the time is right.  That is how I have always known it would be for me.  And so my search goes on.

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