Heading North

Well, we have walked all over this city. In our first days, we explored Ponsonby, Parnell, Newmarket and the city centre on foot; we took a harbour ferry tour, and even climbed to the summit of Rangitoto, the youngest island volcano in the world. Yesterday we hiked the 16 km "Coast to Coast" trail through Auckland City, from the downtown harbour, to the Domain, Mount Eden, and One Tree Hill. We have seen a lot of Auckland in a week, but our adventures are only just beginning.

Today we are packing up and getting ready to travel north, to Whangarei, Paihia, and Kaitaia, where we will try to orient ourselves towards Cape Reinga. This is the very northern tip of New Zealand, where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific. No buses travel that far north, but we hope to arrange a shuttle to Waitiki Landing, where there is one last Backpacker's Hostel. From there, we can hire a ride to Te Paki, and arrange a pick-up four days later, in Kapowairau. In the meantime, we plan to hike the 40-km stretch of trail from Ninety Mile Beach, to the Cape, and around the ridge to Te Horo Beach. (That practice run on the Juan de Fuca trail would have really come in handy.) Our supplies are packed, with dried food, water, tent, stove, and a good map. The weather forecast is 17C and sunny for the next two weeks.

Adventure... here we come.

Round About Auckland

I wake at dawn to unfamiliar birdsong: a loud, varied, and hollow-sounding flute. There are no crows here, and no seagulls call. Hundreds of years ago, British settlers brought blackbirds, magpies, and song thrushes with them to New Zealand, to make them feel more at home; but in my case, the strange sounds remind me that I am far away.

We breakfast in a small cafe and catch the Link Bus downtown, where we photograph architecture, get lost, and stroll past the harbour, train station, library, hospital, central park, and shops. We take brochures where we can. We accidentally wander into the art gallery (free), where we see portraits of Maori men and women, and, after some wrong turns and deliberate map-checking, eventually find our way to the Auckland Museum and Domain. The Domain is a huge expanse of jungle almost in the heart of the city. We find a trail that leads us over bridges, past waterfalls, through the lush rainforest. Fern fronds the size of watermelons uncurl. In the green, I see movement and a flash of red: a parrot! Making sounds like any budgie, it's a wild parrot having a bath in the stream. There is an awesome greenhouse structure, called the Winter Garden, full of tropical plants from all over the world.

The Auckland museum (also free) has a very impressive, very extensive display of Maori artifacts. Carvings, weapons, clothing, fishing nets, canoes, houses. Did I mention weapons? No wonder the Europeans were terrified of these tattooed warriors, bearing frightening war clubs and shark-tooth knives, making faces. Displayed under glass, the relics still chill me. There are also taxidermied animals and bones, and I see the true size of the Moa, an extinct flightless bird maybe twelve feet tall. The drumstick alone is almost as tall as me!

After dinner, we venture back into the city in search of some live music. So far, Aucklanders seem to be keen on mid-90's pop music, so we have suffered through everything from Brittany Spears and Pink to Maroon 5 and Train. Our Lonely Planet guide boasts about a little spot at the end of a dark alley where The Rolling Stones once played. Unfortunately, tonight it's just J Lo and Shaggy.

Next day, we take the impressive Shark Bus (free) to an Antarctic Adventure Park (overpriced), where we see penguins, manta rays, sharks, lots of fish, and a pretty decayed giant squid in some brine. Honestly, the whole place was a little run-down and sad... but, come on. Check out the ride! We also scale more than 1,000 feet to the top of Auckland Sky Tower (okay, we just take the elevator), for some really breathtaking views of the city at sunset.

Later, back at the hostel, we meet a couple of Scots and a Maori man, and all of us sit around the kitchen, drinking beer and eating dinner, talking. I am mistaken for an American ("So, what part of the States are you from?") and I answer that I am Canadian, actually. The poor Scot falls over himself apologizing, sure that he has offended me unimaginably. I assure him, honestly, that I take no offense: see, you can see the States where I'm from, and the accents are identical. Also, my best friend is American. He continues to mutter apologies ("... may as well call me English...") but the conversation moves on eventually.

Our third day in Auckland starts early: the ferry to Rangitoto Island leaves at 9:30 (right John?)... well, actually, 10:30. No problem. We get tea and some breakfast while we wait, which is my ideal way to kill time. Rangitoto is a young volcano just off the coast, and the speedy little ferry gets us there in about fifteen minutes. We snap photos of the receding skyline, wind in our hair. 

The trek to the summit takes about an hour. We marvel at the way the oak-like trees cling to the volcanic rock, the roots twining without soil. Everywhere, piles of black rock, crunchy beneath our boots. John spots several fast brown lizards, and the birds call across native trees that bloom with yellow flowers. Finally, we reach wooden stairs and the summit platform. The view is completely worth the sweat. We sit and unpack sandwiches, cheese, and wine, listening to the accents of the Brits and Australians all around us. On our way down we detour to explore lava caves.

Waiting for the ferry back, laying barefoot in the sun, I feel sleepy from the wine and completely content.

Kia ora

From my window seat on the plane to L.A., the landscape resembles a crinkled beige blanket. The sunny ridges contrast with dark slopes, and they're punctuated by tufts of cloud, which make bold shadows. The clouds become thicker and out of the midst, mountains' heads rear up, isolated. Later, we sit for three hours on rows of stuffy airport seats, getting hungry, waiting.

Finally, I board the flight to New Zealand. To my right, an older man is already asleep with his pillow against the window. He must be drugged. I recline my seat and snuggle in with a movie. The flight attendants, all Kiwi men, bring dinner around, surprisingly good: braised beef with green beans and potatoes, cheese and crackers, two glasses of red wine, and chocolate cake. Through the night I doze, unable to sleep deeply, my head lolling from side to side and my neck cramped. If not for John's shoulder, I would go slowly mad. In the night, I make the mistake of visiting the airplane toilet without replacing my shoes, and, caught between the suspicious wet drops on the floor and the pressure of the lineup behind me, step gingerly, feeling foolish.

Later, in the darkness, I wake to turbulence: the plane rocking, jumping, and seeming to plunge into the air before catching itself. The seatbelt light comes on with a loud bell. I sit holding John (who easily goes back to sleep) and wait it out, outwardly calm. All around me, people sleep, no one worried. Eventually, the plungings and joltings calm down, and I go back to sleep, somewhat reluctantly.

The kiwi men wake me just before dawn with fruit, yogurt, tea, and orange juice (strangely sour). There's an hour left of the flight, and I spend it watching a tourism program on Auckland, where we'll be landing. The sleeping man beside me wakes, and initiates a cheerful conversation about his work in New Zealand as a professor of history. The author of A Penguin History of New Zealand is a colleage of his, incidentally; although, it turns out, the two of them don't get on personally.

Customs is, of course, a drag. Many lineups later, we learn that the customs officers want to thoroughly clean our hiking boots and tent-- microspores in the soil could contaminate their forests. So, again, we wait.

Finally, though, at daybreak, we emerge into fresh air and a mild spring morning. The airport bus is waiting outside, and we climb aboard, stowing our packs and looking out the windows eagerly as the landscape rolls by. Strange trees! Huge arbutus-looking trees, with dark, wet-looking leaves; small palm bushes with fan-like leaves; spikey, upward-facing pine trees that seemed manicured; tall palm trees, like in L.A.; tree ferns; and even what might be been banana trees, with large wide leaves and scaley trunks.

Auckland is very like Vancouver. Billboards, graffiti, and bus stops pepper the sidewalks, and young people jaywalk everywhere. Tall glass skyscrapers seem to sway in the air as clouds pass. On our way, we stop for a coffee (which, by the way, is not an Americano here, but a "tall black"), and we try unsuccessfully to pay by interact (called eftpos in New Zealand) before finally arriving at our hostel, tired and dirty. I take a break for a much-needed nap and shower. We wander up to Ponsonby (our hostel is on Richmond), and walk up and down both sides of the street, reading all the menues. Finally, we stop at a corner grocer to pick up camomile tea, chicken soup, and crackers, which I make at the hostel before falling deeply, deliciously, asleep. My first day in New Zealand has been a whirlwind, and it's already over.