It's been a huge week of change: a tearful farewell to our lovely gulet Miranda on Turkey's south coast, then two days in ridiculously fascinating Istanbul, a day of sloth and yum cha in Singapore, a quick coffee with friends in Christchurch; so I was as fidgety as a 3-year-old boy with a full bladder as we finally landed at Queenstown Airport.
And what a day to arrive. It was one of those perfect bright days with a deep blue sky.
That first gulp of the Wakatipu's shockingly brisk fresh air is so exhilarating when you step out of the plane door, but a big warm hug from Vicky Hill at the bottom of the steps was even better.
Lucky Tony if she greets her husband like that every time he comes home.
And getting home to a house full of flowers from the garden - pure joy.
I had been so nervous about coming back to winter, but the recent warmer weather has got the whole place shivering with excitement as the earliest flowers start flaunting themselves. The smell from the wintersweet, daphne and blossom is so fresh and loud after the sunbaked, herby smells of Turkey.
And the birdsong ...
Nowhere does birdsong as well as New Zealand in spring.
So many favourite things to get reacquainted with: Queenstown coffee, the Wakatipu walking trails, yoga classes, movies at Dorothy Browns, open fires and electric blankets, and best of all is all the hugs and happy-to-see-yous and phone calls and visits from all my favourite people - that is what I have missed most.
Home is definitely the best place in the world to be.
My darling is so happy to be home again, away from people who think he is old and fat.
A middle-aged man and his son stood up to offer him a seat on the tram in Istanbul, which he found most insulting, but nothing compared with the tiny Singapore Airlines hostess who noticed he hadn't done up his seat belt yet and wondered if he wanted an extension belt.
In his mind, he is still young and a super athlete.
The other thrill has been going shopping with a car.
It's amazing how little you can get by with when you have to carry everything home in your own hot sweaty hands, and the not-very-sexy nana trolley I used for shopping at the local markets didn't hold much, either.
Having a car again is such a luxury, even though car ownership isn't totally problem-free for me.
First was finding that currently least-loved child had taken my car to Dunedin, so I had to use my darling's way-too-smart-for-me one instead.
After whizzing round all my favourite haunts in Queenstown, I went back to the car.
It wouldn't open.
As I had left my bag with my phone inside the car, I had to walk to the other side of town to find my darling and get his other car to drive home and get the spare key.
Back I come in car No 2, hop out, lock it, try the second key.
No joy.
Go back to car No 2.
It doesn't open.
I look at the three keys and wonder if I am going mad.
Another walk back to the other side of town to find my darling who is with my brothers. They shriek with derision at my incompetence and assure me I am mad and there is no problem.
Oldest brother walks me back to cars telling me how to sort it.
I loathe him and his advice.
I stand by smugly watching him try the keys.
I get less smug as the first car opens, and then the second.
He sends me off to Hansens to get new batteries for the keys and fabulous Tony there has it all sorted for me in two minutes.
Thanks, Tony!I am going to Dunedin to see the rugby on Saturday night.
Actually, I'm going to see the new stadium, as our children say it is utterly brilliant and, as a much smarter person than I am once said, "You can never know too little about sport."
But books on the other hand ... You can never know too much about books.
Sometimes books find you just when you need them, and they find you when you are thinking about them.
Last year, I was told about an Israeli writer apparently called Elis Safak and a brilliant novel she had written about Sufism.
I searched for ages but couldn't find anything.
In a bookshop in Istanbul, I was looking for some more modern Turkish literature when I saw a book called The Forty Rules of Love, by Elif Shafak. And she's a Turkish writer, not Israeli.
It's a novel about Sufism. In it, a woman who is reviewing a book is so entranced, she contacts the author.
I hope this doesn't happen to me, as the reviewer then falls in love with the author and ditches her husband, children, her whole life for him.
I was mad about this book: the story switches from 13th-century Turkey and Iraq to modern-day America, and is a mixture of letters and fables.
It is a love story but it also has much to say about the Sufi poet Rami and the dervish Shams of Tabriz.
Thanks for all the messages and I'm glad you all enjoyed the Turkish tales in the past few months.
Now it's back to real life and I couldn't be happier.
