Penniless in Tauranga

After picking up our luggage, we passed through customs in Auckland a little before 2:00 a.m.

Surprisingly, they let us keep the salt, rice, and cooking oil we’d bought in Tonga. Our passports were stamped yet again.

Next, we searched for somewhere to rest – finally settling on a booth upstairs, near the fast-food chains. 

Beside us, an older couple drank cups of coffee and watched us, suspiciously, from the corners of their eyes. I think I fell asleep sometime after 4:00, feeling a little paranoid about our unwatched valuables.

Two hours later, I woke up (a little disoriented) to the alarm. Our bus to Tauranga would depart in half an hour. Groggily, we carried our things downstairs, through the bright and chaotic airport. Everyone seemed to rush toward us, and we wheeled our trolley through the crowd, like a shield.

It was cold outside, and suddenly quiet. The dawn was just a distant light beyond the eastern mountains and we could see our breath, clouds of vapour escaping as we talked in low voices.

It was four hours to Tauranga, and we had barely eaten or slept. The bus did make one rest stop, at a café that served premade sandwiches wrapped in cellophane, watery coffee, processed hashbrown patties, pre-cooked mystery sausages, runny eggs, and toasted white bread.

Starving, we settled for meat pies, and then felt sick all day.

By the time we pulled into Tauranga, we were exhausted. We hiked our packs a few blocks, and then caught a city bus to our chosen hostel: “Just the Ducks Nuts.” (The logo entails a cartoon duck looking down his shorts with an expression of bewildered delight.)

We rang the bell, and were admitted by Ken, the owner, and his utterly beautiful little girl, who ran up to introduce herself as Tai-Li and announce that she was two. I congratulated her on both counts, and she proudly showed me her kiwifruit, which she ate in dramatic bites before it fell off her fork.

Ken recommended that we sign up for work at all of the employment agencies in town, and he marked them on a map for us. He said that he’d do his best to find us orchard or pack-house work in the meantime.

So, without food, rest, or even showers, we dropped our packs and walked back into town.

We managed to hit all five of the agencies (and even a pet store and an Asian market) before finally stumbling through Pak-n-Save for some much-needed groceries. We spent a small fortune on meat and cheese, eggs, bread, vegetables, fruit, noodles, spices, and soap.

By the time we made it back to the hostel, it was after 6:00 p.m. We hadn’t slept in two days, and we had spent most of the past few hours walking around in an unfamiliar town. Strangely, we seemed to gain energy as the dusk thickened. We met some of the other guests – many of them from Korea, Malaysia, and Taiwan – who were having a little party.

The other guests were very refreshing to me. They were polite, very generous, kind, and funny. A few of the boys built a cozy fire, and the kitchen filled with the delicious, and slightly unfamiliar, smells of Asian cooking.

Finally, the two of us showered and ate.

A full belly, a crackling fire, my hair drying after a hot shower – it was time for bed. I heard the familiar tune of “happy birthday” sung in a mixture of foreign languages, and felt happy.

The next day, at 7:00 a.m., we had an appointment to sign up for work at the local fish factory. Once more, we made the half-hour walk into town. The induction lasted all morning, and it was past noon by the time we’d had the necessary interviews, filled out the hours of paperwork, and listened to the important safety talks.

I didn't relish the thought of gutting fish for a living, but I was feeling a little desperate.

We hadn’t had breakfast, so we were suckers for a $12 Chinese food buffet we happened to walk past – especially after the succulent meal we’d missed out on the night before. We agreed to go in with hardly a word passing between us, and joyfully indulged ourselves in sushi, spring rolls, salads, noodles, rice, soup, pork, and saucy vegetable dishes. When we were so full we couldn’t finish our plates, we had coffee and dessert. We had been eating for more than an hour.

$24 poorer but content with life, we walked belly-out into an internet café to look for jobs. We ended up chatting with John’s mom on Skype, and decide to print out resumes for walkups the next day. On the downtown waterfront, there are dozens of bars and restaurants, so we planned to look for kitchen work.

As it turned out, though, Ken had found us a few days’ work in a kiwifruit pack-house. The season was 90% finished, so it would only be temporary – but it was still work, and we were in desperate need of it. We’d start in the morning – and Ju, our new Korean friend, offered to drive us.

With the kitchen once more full of friendly voices and good smells, with an income on the horizon, with the fire glowing and a new book to read, I felt utterly at home, welcomed and safe.

I felt that I was going to like living here for the winter.

Goodbye to Drinking Coconuts

At the bus station in Nuku’Alofa, you can buy a coconut from a street vendor for $1.

He’ll bring one out of his cooler, dripping with melted ice, and with a quick movement, cut a hole in the top and insert a straw. The coconut milk is cold and refreshing, thirst-quenching and a little sweet.

The man also sells cheap snacks, like peanuts (a local crop), and packages of raman noodles – which the locals crush up and eat raw, like we used to as children.

We happened to witness an important event in Tonga’s history: on Tuesday, the first-ever session of Parliament opened. This was the beginning of a new government in what had been, until now, a basic monarchy advised (but not necessarily influenced) by village chiefs.

To celebrate the country’s first democratic process, all of the citizens decked out in traditional garb. There were parades and costumes, music and dancing, food and drink. Throngs of people crowded the streets.

Needless to say, the bus station was packed, and since Tonga only runs eight busses, we’d have to wait for quite awhile. We stood in the sun with our bags of vegetables, and drank the sweet water of green coconuts.

Luckily, by a happy accident, we met up with Carolina, Sven’s wife, on her way from the fish market, and she offered to drive us back to the resort.

The groceries were to last us for the remainder of the week. Our diets had become very simple - fruit, bread, vegetables, rice, meat, and rainwater. We prepared our food in all of the various ways we could think of using a hot plate, oil, salt, and herbs.

Our time in Tonga seemed to slip away. We did some gardening, cleaned up the beach, and built a shelter in our last days before it began to rain. I managed to speak to my family on Skype, for the first time in months. I felt that my return home was around the corner, and at the same time, I began to dread returning to New 

Zealand. I did not relish the thought of lasting out the winter months, pruning orchards or working in a factory for minimum wage.

Too soon, unfortunately, our last day in Tonga was upon us.

The dawn was pale and overcast; and then the sun came out, as if to wish us well. 

Of course, we spent the day at the beach, snorkeling and laying in the sun, reading aloud to each other and enjoying the heat. We ate lunch as late as we could.

In the afternoon, when the shadows grew long on the grass, we took the bicycles for a ride to the next village.

I wove awkwardly around potholes (my bike tended to lean to the right – like a stubborn grocery cart), and as I passed the small tin-roofed dwellings, I noticed the gardens full of medicinal plants; in the yards I saw abandoned cars rusting to soil, and here and there, crumbling foundations of houses , which the jungle was slowly reclaiming. Everywhere, there were plantations of taro and tapioca, pigs, dogs, children; and colourful laundry lines in the spaces in between. Giant fruit bats began to take flight as the shadows grew cool under the mango trees.

It was the hour before dinner, when children are free from chores and have nothing but games until dark. They called out to us as we passed: “Bye!” Sometimes running toward the road in packs, as though watching a spectacle. They yelled to us from across yards, interrupting village soccer games, called out from porch stairs and from weelbarrows, every child and many aduts called to us (perhaps the only English word they knew):  “Bye!”

The peace of the evening was prevalent. From the open windows of churches, we heard congregations of many voices blending in harmony, drifting over the road. The bells rang out for the Monday evening service, and in the background, we could hear the distant, rythmic sound of women beating tree roots, slowly making tapa cloth from the fibers.  

We arrived home in time to watch the sunset.

For dinner, I made chicken soup from scratch (amazing what you can do with chicken bones and water, salt, a handful of pasta, half a carrot and some beans). John pronounced it to be the best chicken noodle soup he’d ever eaten, and I was surprised myself. Considering that I had literally thrown all of our remaining food into a pot, it actually turned out well.

Well, not all of our food: we also had a single cucumber, which we cut up, and left in tuperware in the fridge, for a snack.

Outside, the colours left the world as darkness crept into the corners.

As I surveyed the situation, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I was heading towards relatively dangerous waters.

We were totally out of supplies and short on money. We had no jobs, and for that matter, almost no prospects. Not only did we have no food at all – besides the cucumber – we had no soap or toothpaste either.

What we did have was a flight to Auckland – which would leave at midnight – and $20 Tongan in cash.  We had enough money left in the bank to pay for bus tickets, and a week’s accommodation (maybe two) and some basic groceries. With this in mind, we put our ears to the ground, listening for whispers of work. We decided on Tauranga, in the Bay of Plenty – we’d have to take a leap of faith and try our luck, hoping for immediate work.

On the plus side, Carolina offered us a ride to the airport, so we wouldn’t have to spend any money on a cab. 

We had to spend the $20 somewhere, though, so we decided to spend our last hour in Tonga having a beer and uploading our photos.

Sven wanted to thank us for all of our work, so he brought over two slices of cake and insisted that we didn’t owe him a thing – not even for the beer.

We paid him anyway.

We were sad to leave. We had both fallen in love with Tonga – but an income couldn’t wait.

So we boarded our flight at midnight, back to New Zealand.

It was only when we felt hungry that we remembered we’d left the cucumber – and the tuperware – in the fridge.

After nine months, we were becoming forgetful; things were getting lost. I had left my jeans and touque in Wellington; John had also left his shorts and fishing rod behind. It was a worrysome trend, especially considering that we didn’t own much.

However, things began to fall into place, in the end – as you will see.