Back from Beyond

New Zealand is a lovely country, reader. It's green and lush and gorgeous, surrounded by turquoise waters stretching out forever under cornflower-blue skies. The clouds racing by overhead are just as white and puffy as the sheep dotting the hills. Goofy orange-billed black birds with absurdly gangly red legs watch you from the roadside, and Christmas is marked by an explosion of red spiky flowers on the pohutukawa trees.

In my experience, it's mainly a visual experience. Granted, this could have a lot to do with the fact that I was mainly based in Wellington, where the wind enjoys blowing old ladies over at the slightest provocation. The wind eagerly seeks out anything it can and promptly whips it out into the Pacific -- scarves, documents, children under 10. Facing such odds, mere scents don't really have a chance.

That's not to say I didn't try; but here's another thing about NZ. There are 4 million people there. In a city like Wellington, that means you will soon find yourself recognising people on the street. And if you're skulking around their perfume halls, that means the staff at the beauty counter will soon become quite suspicious about you.

So if you're looking to test perfumes, don't go to New Zealand. If you're looking for espresso that will ruin you for all others, for vistas that will strike you dumb, and lovely fabulous people with a dry sense of humour and a bloody annoying accent, then book your tickets now. I've only been back in the US two weeks, and I already miss it dearly.