For the last 21 years I have holidayed at the same beach on the Coromandel (a peninsula in New Zealand’s upper North Island, beloved by Kiwis for its beaches and holiday homes and summer activities). Eighteen of those summers were spent with my ex-partner and his family, with my daughter added to the mix when…
Look at the World
I named my blog after the New Zealand bellbird (in Māori, korimako) - and not just because my last name is Bell. I have always loved birds: for their beauty and intense fragility, the sense of freedom they represent, and for their song. The bellbird is particularly gorgeous. The explorer Captain Cook wrote of its…
Fear, change, and how to combat the hate
And I know I am solid and sound;To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow;All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.-Walt Whitman I'm thinking today about the enormous upheavals we have all experienced this year, and about my own fear of uncertainty, and the challenge of change.…
Walk The Track With Me
A Milford Track highlight: The view over Clinton Valley from Mackinnon Pass (Photo my own) A while ago I wrote about walking the Milford Track solo. It's one of New Zealand's Great Walks, and one of the most famous walks in the world. Today and for the next three Fridays it's being published on Stuff.co.nz:…
Loving and losing our children
New Zealand's appalling youth suicide rate is in the news again, as is our impotency in the face of it. A new UNICEF report has found New Zealand's youth suicide rate - teenagers between 15 and 19 - to be the highest of a long list of 41 OECD and EU countries. The usual culprits…
When You Are 50
When You Are 50 When you are 50, you are reborn. The same skin, the same face, the same body, but different. You are in the next half, now. You cannot waste a moment. When you are 50, you love this face, this skin you’re in. You love that quick temper, that wild laugh, those…
A Letter to my Daughter
To my daughter, This is your last week of primary school. I couldn’t let it go by without writing to you. It’s what I do to process my thoughts and feelings; to line things up in my mind until they make sense and form some sort of pattern; to express what sometimes cannot be said…
A Writer in Ireland: Part Four
In Crossmaglen the fire burns true The patriotic flame will never die And when you hear the battle cry It will be the fighting men of Crossmaglen. -“The Fighting Men of Crossmaglen”, IRA ballad, 1970s Armagh and Crossmaglen After a wildly comfortable night in a country B & B just outside Armagh (I had it…
A Writer in Ireland: Part Three
Newry Nestled between the Ring of Gullion and the spectacular Mourne Mountains, Newry doesn’t make many headlines these days. I drove into the city with a load of wet washing drying on the back seat and vague memories of grey stone and dullness and necessity. Over the next two days, however, I was to become…
A Writer in Ireland: Part Two
Castles are never how you imagine they're going to be. You picture yourself wafting from medieval great hall to windswept rampart, the imagined accompanying strains of Enya or Clannad making you feel ever so slightly weepy, when in reality you find yourself in rubbish-strewn, freezing ruins with Sam and Betty from Wisconsin, their shell-suited thighs…
Patricia Bell, Author 