Sunday Lunches
My strongest childhood memories are not of places but of Sunday lunches: paprika-scented kitchens, opera drifting through open windows, and my father’s stories unfolding around the table.
My strongest childhood memories are not of places but of Sunday lunches: paprika-scented kitchens, opera drifting through open windows, and my father’s stories unfolding around the table.
We were supposed to be going camping in Austria. Instead, we got lost on the way home. A story of family, migration, and the journey that brought us to Aotearoa New Zealand.