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Raglan dreaming

Oh Raglan! I can’t seem to stay away from you for very long. There is just something about surf towns. A chill vibe, a cool crowd, every goosebump on your body screaming: take it easy, you’re on island time, baby! After another week of deep conversations and heart confusions, I needed to escape the Mount to soak in the healing waters of Raglan. I drove until the sun turned to rain, singing along as loud as I could to anything and everything that popped up on my playlist.

Arriving in the pouring rain didn’t take away from the magic I was craving. My friend Fiona hopped in my car and we talked parked under a big tree while the rain was making the windscreen weep. The rest of the afternoon we hid in a cafe behind a warm cuppa comfort coffee. When they closed we found another perfect hiding spot: the tiny second hand bookshop. Filled to the brim with the most random selection of stories, we both piled up books that would be our Narnia into a different world as soon as we would flip the first page.

The sun, birds and camping chairs were brought out as we savoured the watery rays of shine cosied up in fluffy sweaters. We tried to get into our new books but birds kept on bringing us back from one world to the other. After a while it was hard to see the blurring line between the two: the view of the Raglan hills and salty scent of ocean waves, and the Paris of Colette. Our eyes would decide where we travel to.

The rains came back as we boiled the kettle, we both fit in her van with the door open to let the steam from our cups blend in with the skies tears. And we read. For hours and hours, piling up more blankets over ourselves as the night fell, fluffing up pillows but without ever blinking away from the stories we were travelling in.

The next morning we woke up to a sunny day, grabbed our towels and ran to the beach for a dip in the warm waves. The wind was so strong towels and clothes flew off into the black sand, I was running after them in my birthday suit, laughing loud like a child. We drove into town with the windows open and found a spot in the sun at our favourite cafe. I wrote a postcard while Fi picked an oracle card. We sipped our coffees and bought day old half priced sourdough. I miss dipping things in coffee so I did with the bread and closed my eyes for a hint of a second: I was back home. Home, wherever that may be.

Where coffee always comes with a chocolate or cookie on the side, where my time stands still as the world keeps turning. There is time to write. To savour a moment, pick it from the sky and put it on your tongue. To swim in that sensation and be somewhere, anywhere. Just close your eyes, click your heels or open a book and you can be exactly where you want to be.

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