Gravel rattles underneath tyres, fog reaches out from hills
Pulling us in, wrapping around
Grey path yawns further, a vehicle rattles across cattle-grate
Solemn eyes and fixed faces, children in back, adults in front
We fidget, and watch, they watch, and disappear
Back into the fog, as quick as we saw them
A bead of sweat rolls down the driver’s forehead
Had he turned the air-con off?
The road halts, and space opens wide
The fog pulls back, buildings revealed
We’ve arrived, u-turn park
Speedy exit if needed, James Bond style
Ignored emails lead to a spontaneous visits
Four unmarried Scarfies and Christian hospitality
Likeable blue ruffled shirt man comes over
Out of the protective metal cocoon we brave
Names are exchanged, hands are shook
The place stirs around us
People working, walking, watching
Eating food off the land
Blue shirt man speaks
Open, charismatic, undefensive
Of media, pressure, misunderstandings in community
Calm-mannered, reaching through the fog
It doesn't match our expectations
Or maybe it does
Something lurking beneath the words, beneath the shadows
Maybe something darker
Then, refreshments are offered
Trays of fruit juice and biscuits
It looks unreal, soft, fresh, inviting
Fog reaches down the hill
FUCK
This is a Hansel and Gretel moment, an impossible choice
Palms fill with sweat and my mind is racing
A decision sits before me, accept or don’t
The fog blurs my reasoning
What if I eat one and become unable to leave?
Do I lose the version of myself that complains about assignments?
That buys all the Miga Hako rice balls?
That yells at Pint Night for one more cover?
My decision is made for me
Peripherally, I see it
One of the boys has tucked in
Relaxed, unfazed, chewing
And just like that
It’s nothing at all
It’s just a biscuit
Again, I look to the fog
We leave, back in safety of the metal cocoon
The sun is nowhere to be found
It’s quieter than when we arrived
I wonder if leaving or arriving was harder
The grey path yawns again
Fog thicker in its throat
Headlights catching bugs
Floating in the dark, we inch forward
The same road, cattle grates, rolling hills
But it feels different
Maybe I’m different
But probably not
Reflections bounce around
Had our expectations been realised?
Has our thirst for knowledge been satiated?
Was this the real Gloriavale?
Or just the version that meets you at the gate
The version that wears ruffly shirts, smiles, shakes hands
Offers biscuits and keeps it clean, honest
The one that rests just beneath the fog
Somewhere else, there’s another version
The one in the headlines
In courtrooms and sentences
In grief-stricken stories we did not hear today
The road stretches out behind us
Darker, scarier
But we don’t look back
Not once
Not because we’re not thinking about it
But because we know
Whatever we saw, however real it felt
We didn’t see beneath the fog
