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.