At the castle

Margaret sits on the wishing chair.

I am a paying guest in a castle full of curiosities at Aramoana. This is Margaret’s home, sturdily and ingeniously built with twists and turns. I met Margaret at the city dump where she rescues items from the pit. She is much admired by Claire and me as having much esoteric knowledge.

In recent history, 21 years ago, there was a massacre in this small seaside village where the bush meets the sea. Margaret was here at the time and her nephew was among those killed.

In my upstairs room there is an albatross suspended by a harness. Stretched to full wingspan the bird searches glassily for a horizon.

I first thought the albatross was real but it is a display model from the peninsula albatross colony that ended up in a skip.

Margaret has a caravan in the garden that was previously up a tree but someone complained and she had to take it down. There are many small outbuildings, one just containing clothes.

The community is as quiet as can be. The windy road out here is enough to put people off coming for anything other a Sunday drive. The community lies against the sheltering arms of a huge craggy cliff that towers above. There is a surf beach where seals and sea lions bask, a breakwater and a spit.

The spit. There was a sea lion at the far end.

The man who lives next door is building an ark. This structure is the subject of a lot of council head scratching: is it a boat or a house? The chief building inspector came out last week and the 

neighbour Doi – full name ‘Just Doi’ – does his best to satisfy the council’s demands. He helped Margaret build her castle; the ark is on her land but Doi is getting ready to shift the ark to its own section.

The castle with the green cliffs in background.

Doi told me that if you see a bird and don’t know if it is an albatross or a seagull then it isn’t an albatross. He shows me albatrosses nesting on cliffs across the harbour. Through binoculars they look like white dots; their wingspan is the stuff of legends and poetry.

I walk to the beach and the people I meet on the road are as friendly as my hosts. One of them invited me in to look at her house and garden. This is a dog town, the next-door neighbour says. There are 35 dogs here. Lily fits in.

While I’m on the laptop in the albatross upper room, the Port Chambers walking group stops by the castle and the members strike a deal to view the house of curiosities. 

Middle-aged matrons with knapsacks rise up the stairwell to exclaim in the albatross room. Above the room is a loft.

The albatross in my room.

Doi says don’t tell too many people about Aramoana. The people here like it just as it is.

I’m staying here for two weeks before wending my way back to Mot via the west coast.

The castle from the road.

The caravan now out of its tree.

The walking group troup to the ark.