When Time is More Than Money

The Jakarta Post - WEEKENDER   |  Fri, 05/22/2009 2:54 PM  |  Trends

A honeymoon does not have to cost a fortune. Hana Miller and her groom found an idyllic spot that offered the newlyweds some work as well as play.

Once you buy into the deluxe version of a romantic honeymoon spent somewhere exotic in an over-the-top hotel suite, with a heart-shaped bathtub and “complimentary” rose petals, where you can have a candlelit breakfast, lunch and dinner, you run the risk of spending the entire time worrying about the credit card bill that you’re going to have to pay when the champagne and strawberries run out. In which case, this may not be the best way to start a marriage.

Obviously this is a gross generalization. But the fact is that the words “overindulgent” and “honeymoon” do tend to go hand in hand. We all know that weddings in general can be stressful periods, which is why the perfect honeymoon is the most relaxing one. But that doesn’t mean you have to pay top dollar just to laze on the beach all day. If time is money then you’re paying precious pennies for the illusion of “doing nothing”. Get creative, and you might just find that time is much more than money and that a romantic getaway can be found in the least expected places.

My husband Jacob and I had our wedding in New Zealand. For many of our faraway family and friends, we might as well have decided to get married in Antarctica. So to make the most of the long trip over, many of them extended their visits to incorporate some time to travel around the country. One of our friends came early to volunteer through World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOF), an international network of hosts who are willing to take in travelers interested in experiencing organic lifestyles.

By signing up as a member, our friend had received a book with listings and contact details of all the hosts in the country, including descriptions of the kind of accommodation, food and experiences they offered in exchange for four to six hours of work a day. Her book was filled with multicolor pen marks, noting which places she thought sounded good and which didn’t. There was mention of blueberry farms, waterfalls, citrus orchards, log cabins, natural springs and more of the stuff that dreams are made of.

One of the places that she had marked with a big yellow star was on Waiheke Island, a place famous for its vineyards just off of New Zealand’s northern peninsula, at a small cottage industry that grew organic lavender, geraniums and olives for oil, as well as grapes for wine. The description was tempting: “situated in 120 acres of regenerating bush close to beautiful beaches”.

And the photos were dreamy. An image of a rustic little thatch-roofed gazebo perched among rows of bright purple lavender bushes won us over. Jacob and I had been so caught up in coordinating the wedding that we hadn’t thought at all about what we would do afterward. Taking time out somewhere beautiful in exchange for putting in some time to help keep the place beautiful, sounded perfect.

When we finally arrived, after a ferry ride in the morning sun, a scenic drive through rolling hills with the big blue on the horizon, and a walk along a trail through a forest of tall trees, it was hard to believe that these complete strangers had invited us to share their slice of paradise. The trail ended at a hillside of blooming lavender bushes, bees buzzing in the fresh fragrant air. A couple of wild peacocks heard us coming and dashed away in a flurry of electric blue and sea-green feathers. In the middle of it all stood a sweet little cottage.

Standing there with our jaws open and our bags in our hands, it seemed too good to be true. Even more so when we were shown to our room, with its whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the vineyards that spread out behind the house. “This is the best room in the house,” Derek told us, and he wasn’t kidding.

Derek and Eleanor built the house together after years of international jet-setting lifestyles. As we stood in the kitchen overlooking the lavender field, Eleanor explained to us that they took in WWOOFers, as we were called, for the value of the exchange.

“It keeps us in touch with the rest of the world,” she said.

In exchange for our stay and delicious organic home-cooked meals straight from the garden, we would do four hours of work a day, divided between caretaking of the lavender and restocking some of the products, as well as helping to harvest the last of the season’s Cabernet and Merlot grapes. To us, this sounded like The Life.

On most days we spent the mornings helping Eleanor with the never-ending tasks in the garden: mulching, weeding, pruning, planting, clipping. On rainy days we made bath potions and floral waters out of the essential lavender oils. The four hours always passed quickly because we were learning so much and before we knew it, a beautiful lunch would be served on the verandah and we’d have the rest of the day to ourselves. In the afternoons we went to any one of the countless beaches on the island to wait for the sunset. We went on long walks to pick fruit, lazed in the sun on our incredibly scenic patio and thought about how we would like to make this kind of life our own. It was the perfect honeymoon that we didn’t even know existed.

We always looked forward to the days when we were needed to help pick grapes in the vineyard. All the families on the property would get together, some would bring their friends, and we’d leisurely work our way along the rows and rows of grapevines, chatting along the way and eating sweet grapes straight off the vine. For lunch we’d stop for an elaborate picnic of homemade bread, jams, cheeses, fruit and fresh lime cordial, all spread out on a grassy knoll overlooking the rolling hills that continued on toward the ocean.

At the end of the day, anyone who was game would jump into the vat of grapes and stomp away while others poured more in by the bucketful. This obviously wasn’t as novel for everyone else, who had been through the process season after season, and I had to curb my enthusiasm by volunteering with a “well if nobody else is going to do it” disclaimer. But the truth is, there is no sensation more luxurious than that of thousands of ripe grapes squished between your toes. It’s amazing, and the tried and true way of making the best wine apparently, toe jam jokes aside.

On the last day of grape picking we celebrated with dinner around the outdoor wood-fired pizza oven, which was built in the middle of a small amphitheater of seats. Most of us lounged around sampling wines and listening to others play the guitar, while the experts passed around a seemingly endless selection of delicious pizzas straight from the oven: There were prosciutto pizzas, peppered tuna pizzas, feta and olive pizzas, and for dessert, pizza bread topped with warm cabernet sauvignon grapes and fennel seeds. This was the icing on the cake, a priceless meal and experience that you just can’t get in the finest of fine restaurants.

We ended up staying for three weeks. We had unforgettable experiences that tourists came to Waiheke Island for, only to end up paying big bucks for the superficial versions. We discovered a lifestyle that suited us and got a taste of what it would be like to work together toward that dream. We left knowing that we had made our contribution and with a newfound energy to start our life together. It was time well spent. Although we had stayed for almost a month, we hadn’t spent a single cent.

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