Getting Into Hot Water
The A’Court girls love getting ourselves into hot water.
Second paragraph and the rest… In fluffy robes, we sit side by side, my daughter and I, our feet in big copper bowls of fragrant water. We’ve just met our massage therapists – Emi is attending to Holly, and I have Shah.
Shah is the chatty one. “This is a mother/daughter thing?” she asks us. We confirm that it is, this whole day of hot pools and spa treatments and cocktails. And then to be helpful I add, pointing at myself, “I’m the mother”.
Much hilarity as Shah pretends we could be mistaken for sisters, bless her, and then Holly and I let our minds drift as these two, both originally from Fiji, tell us stories as they massage our calves and feet.
We are at the Lost Spring in Whitianga – though we’ve been remarking since we got here this morning that it feels like we’ve escaped to a Pacific island. Blue skies, lush gardens and ukulele music playing gently in the background.
Holly and I drove here from opposite directions on a Friday, meeting equidistant from our cities. A rare weekend for just us. We are celebrating the end of her university studies, landing her first teaching job, moving house, and successfully navigating life as sole parent of two.
Our cute motel has a Kiwi bach vibe. I take the double bed because I got there first, plus I am, as Shah will confirm, the mother.
We swim in the ocean and have dinner at a restaurant overlooking the beach. Oysters and prosecco, because we like pretending we are richer than we really are.
Over a seafood platter – scallops, prawns, curls of salmon – I think about the times this past year when I’ve burned the candle at both ends, said yes when any sane person would say no, to keep making hay while the sun shone. This moment, then, was me lounging on metaphorical haybales while ordering another Aperol Spritz.
Saturday begins with brunch across the road – eggs of the Benedict variety, a Dirty Chai - then off to the Lost Spring to climb into our togs and their pools.
Our treatments – feet first, then massage followed by facial – are to begin at 2pm. It’s 11am, and we wonder if three hours sitting in hot pools will be a long time. What will we do?
Plenty. We begin with Bird Watching – Tūī feeding upside down, Pīwakawaka flitting above the paths. We swim after a pair of swallows into a water-filled cave and spot their high nest with four cheeping mouths going wild for regular snack deliveries.
Then People Watching - the hen party, the gay couple, the dudes talking too loudly about their dull jobs.
And then sliding into our own deeper conversations. It’s a thing I noticed as the parent of a teenager – conversations with your kids can take a long time to unfold. At dinner the night before we’d talked politics and race relations, discussed the kids’ school reports and summer holiday plans.
Here in the hot pools, we get to the deeper stuff. Friends, hopes and dreams, what you might be looking for in a romantic partner. We are not quite done with that when we realise it’s time to hurry up and have our relaxing treatments. We nearly had to rush.
We only leave at dusk because it’s time for fish and chips at the beach and more talking. Then a movie as we lie side by side, in pyjamas, sharing the big bed.