I grew up in a little city. We went to Playcentre at the local marae and a primary school in the middle of horse paddocks with a maximum roll of 75. We swam and fished after school.
We weren't rich and a lot around us were quite poor, but every family had their own quarter-acre, a lemon tree and a clothesline to swing around on. We ate sandwiches everyday for lunch and pies for treats. As we grew into teenagers we would go into the city from the suburbs on the bus to the terminal - which you never actually went inside unless you were desperate for the toilet, because that was where the old men sat, smoking. We'd then head up to mid-city for a movie. Down by Mission Bay, our local beach, a cafe opened and we used to meet for coffees, feeling very sophisticated.
I've never really left that little city in my mind but somewhere along the way it grew up into something big, fast and flash.
The sea has not moved but even the sand has become more golden, with the rocky shore covered over. I like this big city and I'm caught in its web. The young people live in apartments, car-free and have sophisticated foodie tastes and keep me on my toes.