I’ve never been to a designated tree top lovers retreat before. I know, I have not lived. And incase you are also a member of the never-have-I-ever-lovers-retreat-club, this is what it looks like.
Taking the laundry, woven basket attached to hip, up across streams, stepping stones and wooden makeshift bridges, I felt like I was in a Thomas Hardy novel, the beaten Tess or Bathsheba working her morning chores, it was sunny so it would have to be the bit where Tess was jubilant before she cut her eyebrows off, walked barefoot and braless across barren fields and under dark inky tempestuous skies or whatever metaphors Hardy decided to shoehorn in.
Why am I stood on a rock in the middle of a lovers retreat? Well this is where the boss lady got married, (not on the rock specifically )and I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of this endearing nook of Akaroa. The owner Lynne was even more beguiling than the acreage around her. Moving there 28 years ago after leaving her millionaire husband for dust, she filled us with coffee, the latest update of the sugar epidemic and salacious tales of them there retreating lovers, which I would love to regale here, but I may save it for my new novel 50 Tree shades of Grey.