We visited Greymouth in December 2015 so we could make an informed decision about the possibility of moving there. As we often do when we travel, we stayed in a Bed and Breakfast so we could have a truly “local” experience. It was the perfect decision.
We stayed in Lynnette’s home–several generations of her family are from the West Coast. By the way, “West Coast” is an actual region. Greymouth is the major town of the West Coast. Lynnette has an adult daughter, Liz, and Liz has a baby daughter, Eve. They live nearby and I just learned that Eve’s daycare is very close to the Byron Nelson house–a real plus so we can borrow Eve from time to time. She and Dan immediately became buddies.
For us, Lynnette is our cultural guru, party planner, tour guide and referral service. I am not sure how we could manage this move without her. She (and Liz and Eve as well) is an absolute blessing.
Among other things, Lynnette drove us up to the beach in Rapahoe, which I may unilaterally name the Land of the Perfect Rocks. I really like perfect rocks. I snuck a few back in my luggage. My luggage was exceptionally heavy. Like a rock.
Since we have been back in the US, Lynnette posted photos from a “Mr. Smith’s Night” at her house. Although I am somewhat fuzzy about the details, this seems to be a mock-Robert Burns dinner where friends enjoy food, drink, and story telling. Another American who lived in NZ for a time said that he and his wife went to more dinner parties in a year there than in a decade in the US. We’re excited.
We’re already planning our mock Robert Burns/mock Mr. Smith party. As Americans, we might call it a “Mark Twain night.” Dan might have to grow a mustache and let his hair get longer to look like Twain. Moonshine seems like it might be appropriate–the good ol’ Popcorn Sutton type-moonshine. (Maybe both Popcorn and Elvis really live in NZ now.) If not moonshine, we know we can find Jack Daniels for the party.
…nothing so liberalizes a man and expands the kindly instincts that nature put in him as travel and contact with many kinds of people.
– Mark Twain