Auckland, New Zealand,  1973.

 

I donít do Ďmorningsí very well.  Never have.

Iím a night owl at heart. Which is a  problem

in a place where they roll up the sidewalks

promptly at 5-p.m. every day.

Some afternoons when the mood strikes me,

Iíll take my guitar and walk the short  distance

to the Domaine. Just to play my music, or to

read and write letters home.

 

This idyllic and tranquil place could be anywhere

on Earth that is both beautiful and free. Two of  the

most important words in the English language,

Right up there with ĎI love youí and  Ďyesí.

 

I find the New Zealand people to be warm, openly

friendly and sincere. a refreshing change from

the life Iíve lead in New York and  elsewhere.

 

From my perspective, and I mean no disrespect

in this whatsoever, I find the culture and society

just a little behind the times for my taste-but,  Iím fine

with this, thatís just the way they like it  here and this

is their nation, not mine.

 

Thereís nothing confusing about an  uncomplicated

and peaceful life, given the state of the world  today.

 

It was not my intent to stay here very long.

My plans didnít include finding  ĎShangri-La,í

or falling head-over-heels in love with an exotic

and beautiful woman. Which I have now done.

 

On the outside, in this new world of mine,  Iím

anxious to discover all of the possibilities and  explore

this incredible new realm. On the inside, I am torn  like a

piece of old patched fabric. Being pulled and  pushed

by the constant demands of family and others.

 

In my now uncomfortable old-self, I donít  know who

I am anymore. This is not the same man who stepped

off that airplane and headed into this  town.