When fussy vegetarian rellies want to stay
It started with an email, back in August, from my cousin in the United Kingdom.
I have only two cousins, both of them in England. I’ve met them a mere handful of times in my life. This lack of extended family is something I’ve felt regret about over the years, if you can feel regret for something you could never change in the first place. Dad an only child, Mum, with one brother – hence just the two cousins. I used to ask my friends how many they had, fascinated when they’d answer, oh, let me see – 20 maybe? 30? And then spend the next few minutes reeling off names and checking with their boyfriend/sister/mum whether they’d left anyone out.
At partners’ family gatherings I’d stare in wonder at the multiple aunts, uncles, cousins of all ages – all these people who were actual family. Marvel at their stories of summers spent at nana and poppa’s bach or crib, the cousins left to themselves to run in an unruly pack. It sounded like bliss, but also like a foreign country.
So when the email came, it was a bit of a surprise. From Clare, the younger cousin – she and her partner were coming to New Zealand and keen to see us.
Not just coming to New Zealand though. Packing up their entire lives, ending their lease, selling their furniture, and coming to New Zealand to run the length of the country from Cape Reinga to Bluff. We’re both long distance race runners, she explained, we regularly run 80, 100-mile races, and this trip is something we’ve been planning for more than a year.
Te Araroa (The Long Pathway) is 3000km of interconnected trails and is an increasingly popular choice of international trampers and distance runners; but it seemed a mythical endeavour to me – brave and intrepid and totally ridiculous all at the same time. To be fair, I am someone who never walks further than the 90 steps it takes to get to our local shops, unless I am on the daily outing with the dog, but that’s, you know, for the dog. Not for me. I get bragging rights from it with my GP (oh, yes, I exercise! Pilates and I walk at least three times a week!) but the walking is an incidental bonus.
Now, I was grappling with the concept of my cousin and her partner Liz spending four months on the road. It seemed undoable.
Would we mind if they stayed with us for a week before they set off on their adventure, the email asked. Of course we don’t mind, I replied. Can’t wait to see you!
Now, seven days is a long time to have guests in your house, particularly those you don’t know. Particularly if you are not-very-sociable-thesedays. But this is family, so of course, come and stay for as long as you like.
So kind, came the reply. By the way, we are vegetarians, almost vegan. But don’t worry about us, we’re quite fussy, so we’ll sort all our own food.
Ah, this is a tricky one. Normally I would not hear of guests in my house having to prepare their own meals. Normally I would have spent days swotting over vegetarian cookbooks. But somehow, that one admission – ‘‘we’re quite fussy’’ – let me off the hook.
And so we waited and wondered what our superfit guests would be like. We had almost literally nothing in common, it seemed. How could we possibly have anything to talk about? How would we all get through the week?
Well, reader, it was great, and that was entirely due to the patience and humour of Clare and Liz. They were peppered with idiot questions from the moment they slung their huge packs into the back of my car at the airport; do you really have to carry every single thing you need? What will you eat? Is that thing that looks like someone’s slinky nightie actually your tent?!
For the next week, we watched everything they did with fascination. Marvelled at the single change of clothing they’d be carrying. The tiny camp stove, the sleeping mats you inflate by waving around a weird pillow-case thing (don’t ask me.) In the evenings we would sit around with tea (them) and wine (us) and get them to explain the attraction of running 80 miles, in a race up a mountain in 40 degree heat in Spain.
It was the food that really flummoxed us. Every gram of oats (eaten plain and unflavoured) was carefully measured and packed, the merits of one protein bar over another minutely discussed. By the end of the week we assumed that enjoying food just wasn’t much of a thing in their world – only to be amazed on their final night, when they cooked us an exquisite vegetarian banquet.
The whole week was really quite humbling – a lesson in broadening the mind.
When Clare and Liz left for the bus we were bereft. Make sure you post as often as you can, we pleaded as if we were their parents. Call us anytime if you run into trouble, any time!
They’ll be coming back through town in a couple of weeks for a short rest before the next leg, and I’m going to want to know about every blister, every wildlife encounter, every unmatchable scenic view.