The obvious, default choice for most Kiwis is wherever they can get a job, and that is usually Auckland or, in some cases, Wellington.
Auckland and Wellington are both pretty much equidistant from Matt's family, who are largely settled on the east coast of New Zealand in a town called Gisborne, which is known for its wine and surf.
My mum lives in Auckland and my dad lives in Northland, near where I grew up. Although I love my hometown, Okaihau, it is not where I want to live.
Okaihau is literally the end of the line. When the railway was built it snaked all the way up the North Island and came to a dead halt in Okaihau. There were plans to continue northwards - and a tunnel was even built - but it became too expensive and difficult and the tracks were abandoned.
It is very small, with a population of just 300, and is also very isolated with little in the way of jobs and diversions like restaurants, bars and people. It is also smack bang in the middle of the island, so beaches are a good 30-minute drive away.
So why not Auckland then? Auckland is the largest city in New Zealand by a long shot. Nearly a third of the entire population resides in this sprawling, poorly planned metropolis made up of quarter-acre sections and detached houses.
In my view, it has all the disadvantages of a city and none of the advantages (with the exclusion of being home to my lovely mum and my aunts, uncles and cousins). It isn't compact enough to have enough people per area to create the buzz and pace of a city. Public transport is poor and the roads are congested.
Years ago a colleague of mine in London was indulging in a moan-fest about the latest Tube strike and commented, "I bet you don't have to put up with this sort of thing in New Zealand", to which I replied, "No, you're right, we don't. We don't have a Tube in New Zealand".
All the things people tell me are great about Auckland - the beaches, the harbour, the houses, the food, the proximity to native bush and surf beaches - are things that I would suggest I can have, bigger, better and more beautiful, outside of Auckland. Perhaps I'm a country girl at heart.
And all the things I like in a city - the galleries, the parks, the architecture, the diversity, the music, the 'culture', the vibe - feel diluted in Auckland.
Then why not Wellington? Matt and I lived in New Zealand's windy capital for the two happy years sandwiched between university and London and we loved it. It is a great city which has a beating heart in the compact centre dictated by its geography. Its soul is small and diverse and its bars are intimate and interesting. But one of the reasons for going home is to be closer to family and Wellington is simply too far away from mine.
Compounding all the generic arguments of city vs country, the overarching issue with both Auckland and Wellington is that neither of us want to raise a family in a city. Unfortunately, both of us have jobs that tend to see us working for large multinationals - companies that are found in cities. The question became: would we let work dictate where we ended up living, or would we choose where we really wanted to live, and then figure out the work side of things?
In 2004, on our first trip back to New Zealand since we moved to London, we decided we would have a crack at settling in Gisborne.
With a population of 40,000, it feels big enough to have some cultural diversions, yet small enough to build a home. Its population is a fairly even split between the indigenous population (Maori) and white settlers (Pakeha), which is similar to Okaihau. It's incredibly remote, with huge gorges surrounding it and protecting it from significant growth. It has beautiful bush, lakes, rivers, farmland and coast, much like Northland. It feels a little like home to me.
We bought a house there in 2007.
A classic big old villa made of native wood, with verandahs and a beautiful garden - it even has a greenhouse. After a decade of apartment living in London, with no garden, I look forward to having a huge garden full of flowers, fruit and vegetables.
When we first looked at it in late April 2007, it was autumn in New Zealand, and in the garden roses were blooming. When I came across a rose I always associate with my wonderful Irish grandmother, I took it as a good omen.
As we've started looking down the barrel of returning home, doubts have set in. Last time we went home, we visited our house on Hurahura Road and felt overwhelmed by its size and its increasing state of disrepair after being tenanted for three and a half years. The sun-drenched, hazy, romantic notion of home that had shimmered on the distant horizon had mutated into a dark, ominous, hulking money-pit in a town with no job prospects and no friends.
I'm guessing the reality will be somewhere in between, for a time perhaps wildly vacillating between the two. We're under no illusions that it will be easy, but we are determined to give it a try.
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