Late Sunday evening, someone knocked on the door. Not a door leading outside, but the door to the living room. There was an uneasy silence, as Hayley and her sisters, Dan, Marco, and I all realized at the same time that no one else was supposed to be in the flat, as Christa was off on yet another hike, and even if she was, she wouldn’t be randomly knocking on some interior door in our flat. None of us were particularly worried, but this was decidedly odd.

I recovered first, jumped up and hurriedly pulled the door open in what I hope was a gentlemanly manner, acting for all the world as though the person who had knocked was not already inside the flat. On the other door stood a young woman, smiling a little uncertainly and looking around. There was a pause. It was the kind of pause that happens when everyone in a situation is simultaneously thinking, “Uhhh…” and is unsure of what to do next. I managed a “Hi” as though that would smooth things over, and finally something turned over in my brain, and I realized that we had an invited guest. I learned that her name was Sarah, and I hope I didn’t say, “Won’t you come in?” but I’m sure I did anyway, and she walked into the room and set her things down on the kitchen table, as Hayley and I scrambled in embarrassment to clean the kitchen and table from a particularly messy (but delicious) cooking ordeal. After accepting our offer of something to eat, Sarah began her story.

Sarah was a young woman from Switzerland travelling the world for a year. She’d spent the last four months in New Zealand, most of it working at a ski resort in Queenstown. Over our semester break, Christa had gone hiking along the South Island’s notoriously beautiful West Coast and managed to successfully hitch a ride from Sarah. As a method of repayment, Christa demanded that Sarah come and spend a night with us in Dunedin before she moved on to Australia. As she told her story, I dimly recalled Christa mentioning a possible visitor in passing sometime last week. From the varying degrees of shock on the faces of the other flatmates, I assumed that no one else knew anything of our guest in advance.

Slowly but surely, we all overcame our awkwardness, and promptly adopted Sarah as Temporary Flatmate. She helped us clean up the kitchen, chatting all the while about her extraordinarily well-travelled life thus far. Conversation became more involved, and after Hayley’s sisters left, the flatmates gathered around the newly clean kitchen table and talked about everything from cultural humor to relationships (a very awkward subject, as Sarah was the only one among us who had never had any difficulty getting precisely whom she wanted) to sustainability in New Zealand. Dan of course provided the official Rite of Initiation by telling her his favourite joke (“What kind of cheese isn’t yours?...Nacho cheese!”), which dispelled the last of our self-consciousness. We talked and laughed as though Sarah had been with us all along.

It was at this point that I realized what awesome flatmates I had. They were all so welcoming without being overbearing, friendly without coming across as creepy, and even without prior notice could make a total stranger feel like one of the group in no time. We were more than just a group of people thrown together for a few months—we had become a team, we had become friends. I grew quiet for a moment at this revelation, and smiled. Yeah, I thought. We were friends. With this in mind, I dived into the conversation once more, the last of my personal walls finally removed.

Eventually, one by one, we drifted off towards bed or something like it. Dan and I both said our goodnights to Sarah, and headed upstairs when Christa arrived. Stifling yawns, we sleepily welcomed her back, and left her embracing her surprise guest.

The point of this story? Never procrastinate, young ones, lest you be left entertaining an unexpected visitor when you should be writing an essay, perhaps in your Māori Society class, if you happen to be taking that sort of thing.

Oh, crikey. Here we go again...


Finally, a bit of Dunedin proper. This is the nationally-recognized Clocktower Building, symbol of both Dunedin and the University of Otago.


Hayley tells me that when Kiwis turn 60, they suddenly become interested in outdoor bowling and croquet. That certainly seems to be the case, as I glimpsed this older crowd having a go.


I recently purchased my first digital camera, and in order to practice the craft of photography, I’ve been striking out in whatever direction strikes my fancy and taking pictures of what I see. This is from one of the many hilltops of Dunedin.