The
16th of January never happened as we crossed the
international date line to New Zealand, the first “developed”
country on the trip. The flight was pleasant (LAN are great) and
Auckland airport was certainly super-modern after Latin America.
Infrared toilet flushes! Such a far cry from the ubiquitous little
toilet paper bucket that I almost missed the little fellas. We waited
groggily for our bags unsure what time it should be but knowing that
it was very early when it should be late. One bag never made it –
only a little one with nothing important – we did the formalities
and made for the exit. An ATM just where you would expect it and a
bus waiting. We had indeed returned to civilisation – but it
almost felt too easy. Where were the complications?
The
hostel we had booked was a top floor place just off Queen Street,
Auckland's main thouroughfare and dawn had broken as we looked for
the street, one or two Friday night casualties flaked out in
doorways. We found it easily enough, near the sky tower, the main
icon of the city but there was no bell to ring and no-one answered
our knocks. Seemingly randomly the door opened and a bloke
disappeared back into a doorway. We entered and took the lift up to
the top floor. Another locked door but a sleepy looking Scandinavian
girl answered and promptly went back to her mattress around the
corner – the manager wouldn't turn up till 8am. Only 2 hours or so
to wait. Never having stayed in a hostel which basically wasn't open
at night was a bit weird but we plonked ourselves on the floor and
read. As one bloke came out of his room to visit the bathroom I could
see occupied mattresses one by one on the floor. What was this place?
When
the South African manager of the hostel turned up we were starting to
get really tired but unsurprisingly the room wasn't ready yet so
breakfast was in order. A fry-up ... first time since Cusco I think.
Then the organisation of things began – we needed to sort out lots
of stuff as the plan was to get jobs and work – first up a NZ phone
sim which I bought but much to my chagrin my cheap as chips
Argentinean replacement phone didn't work. Doh! We criss crossed
Queen Street getting guide books and opening bank accounts and
visited Kathmandu, my mecca of travel gear for a look around and to
pick up an adaptor. All this before taking a long bus ride across the
harbour bridge to the uninteresting North Shore suburbs to get a
replacement camera for a good price. Olympus probably have never had
a person who is prepared to buy the same camera five times. It's
waterproof, iceproof, shockproof and crushproof but as I have learnt
it's just not Eoghanproof. A bed and a sleep was definitely in order
when we got back but it was still too early as we wanted to beat the
jetlag. The hostel had a BBQ (not even a patch on an asado) that
evening and it was a pleasant surprise to chat Spanish to some
Argentenians who were staying.
The
hostel was very strange it has to be said – it was quite dirty and
unkempt (I guess that's why it was cheaper than the others) for a
start and when we got into our double “room” we were bemused to
find that the walls were not only paper thin but went up to about 6
inches short of the roof, so every movement in the 5 or 6 ajoining
rooms was public domain. As I was having a shower our next door
neighbour came out of her room and shouted at Claire for making noise
(unpacking). It was 2pm! There were quite a few people who lived
there on a permanent basis, including one very nice but
difficult-to-comprehend Korean chap who had been there for 4 years
(!!), preparing for his entry into an English course. I didn't really
get this but he was disappointed as he had failed the English test to
get into the course. Maybe I misunderstood but it seems a novel way
to run an English school, turning down people who's English isn't up
to scratch. Perhaps they're lazy.
Claire
finally succumbed to sleep and I carried on with the crowd for a bit
longer.
I
woke very early and sleepily went to the kitchen to get some water.
Around the table were 2 familiar faces, but it took me a few minutes
to work out why. It was Olivier and Sylvia who had stayed at the Che
Lagarto in Rio with us! Not a total surprise as we always knew we'd
arrive in NZ at about the same time and I had emailed them previously
with the hostel details. Nonetheless I was a bit surprised to be
hugging hello in my boxer shorts and t-shirt. We caught up for a few
hours, sipping mate and recounting the places we had been since we
had seen them in November. It seemed, and I guess it was half a world
away.
We
visited one of the many excellent food courts in the city centre for
lunch. Great for us to be able to eat malaysian, thai and indian at
the same table and agreed there and then that we would rent a car and
travel around the North Island together for a few days. We made some
enquiries at the hostel and arranged a station wagon in 2 days time,
giving us a little time to see the Auckland sights. The guys took a
nap and we went to a movie, for a nice change. The Yes Man, starring
Jim Carrie. Funny in parts but not a patch on the book by Danny
Wallace which in some respects had lead to the trip in the first
place. One of the girls who lived/worked in the hostel had some tents
she didn't want any more so we were happy to take them off her hands
– very kind of her and certainly redeeming the hostel somewhat.
The
following day the intention was to get a ferry out, trek on Rangitoto
a volcanic island inhabited by goats but we missed the ferry. The
ticket vendor suggested another place good for trekking and so we
settled for Devenport, 10 minutes across the bay instead. It was a
sleepy upmarket suburb with a little 15 minute walk up to the 190m
high Mt Victoria. Nice views, a good exchange bookshop where I
managed to pick up The Lord of the Rings for cheap – it seemed rude
not to reread it while here given the fact that the Trilogy was
filmed here. We headed back to the city with the intention of going
to a free concert but we were late once again – it finished at 3pm.
Late for everything – still on South American time. Chatted to a
few people at the hostel that evening including a bohemian American
girl called Bee who was in the process of rejecting her family
richesse by running away to work on a farm. Fair play to her. Our
angry, vampire-like and I suspect long term neighbour had another go
at us (I was in the room this time) and I told her where to go in no
uncertain terms. When I asked other punters about her they agreed
that she was a thundering bitch and also, unbidden, added that they
suspected she was a prostitute.
The
manager, her husband and their daughter lived on-site too. The
daughter deserves a book of her own but suffice to say that I didn't
think she had the appropriate environment required for developmental
mental stimulation. One of her favourite games was to run around
after hostellers with a plastic bag on her head. Sylvia told a story
about the girl, she must have been about 9 or 10, being outside her
room one afternoon sitting on a mattress. Sylvia noticed a wet patch
on her pants so she asked what had happened, to which the response
was “I've peed my pants!” and then ran around cackling to
herself. Mmm.
Auckland
seemed a very strange place after Latin America – no-one was ever
around – the streets were quiet and so were the bars and what
confused me most was that this was the biggest city in NZ! There was
a remarkable similarity to most new cities in the US – filled with
malls and people “having a nice day”. If Auckland seemed like it
needed CPR or a lobotomy or something what would the rest of this
country be like?
