Sodden Shoes

Whilst I wait for my iPod to upload some songs for the upcoming drive south, I think I'll write a niccccce, lonnnnnng travel blog. If anyone gets bored, feel free to skip to pictures or delete my name from your contact list and my face from your memory. Not scared? Read on, able linguistic warrior.

Ahhhh, new Zealand, that mystical, oft-fancied about (by some) destination in the South Seas. After stepping off the plane from Fiji, I was immediately confronted by a massive snaking line through customs. Similar to Fiji, I noticed that there were no markings indicating the optimal method for line forming. This allowed me easy access to the fanged head of the beast, and I quickly made my way through to...no, I didn't. Actually, I stood in that damn line for over an hour talking to a pair of Americans from (of all places), Montana and Idaho. One of them even knew my friend Keif (who is ostensibly meeting me somewhere in the remoteness that is New Zealand) from a couple of classes in Missoula. Small world.

A quick jaunt on the AirBus brought me through Auckland and into the city center to my residence for the next couple nights, Xbase. I'll tell you what, hostels are crazy institutions. They can get you a place to sleep, book your next accomodations, do your laundry, provide food, and create a congenial atmosphere comprised of different nationalities. Or they can be awful, dirty, a place prone to theft and muggings in the lunch line. Luckily, I picked a hostel of the former characteristics.

Auckland is as many other big cities (except cleaner than the ones in the US, with less traffic, friendlier people, more backpackers...) and I found it very similar to the US, to be honest. Due to the nature of the weather (rainy) sightseeing lost its luster and I was resigned to despondently picking lint from between my toes and throwing it at the hungover Australian in the bunk next to mine. No, wait. He was Irish, and I threw witticisms; it was good to speak to someone who knew my language after speaking to Germans for five days in Fiji. "Vat vas dat?"

My travel plans took a swing for the better when I met Kathrin and Sonja, two Austrians (yes, they speak German...sigh) who were planning on renting a car and heading out of Auckland the next day. We hit it off, I imposed upon their friendliness, and soon I had a ride out of the city the next morning. Well, it wasn't that fast. First we took a tour of the city together, had lunch, went to a bar, and decided we could stand one another, THEN we decided. Just my luck (always good) that they have turned out to be fantastic travel companions.

Auckland has one attraction of which its residents are immensely proud: the 328 meter Sky Tower, the tallest tower in the Southern Hemisphere (I don't know where the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur fit in, but suspect that the audacious NZers decided KL wasn't in the Southern Hemisphere...somehow. These sneaky Kiwis). For a mere $16, I was "invited" up in the tower. As it turned out, at least for someone who likes heights (or at least the rush from being up in them), the tower was great. The elevator had a clear viewing platform in the bottom, and one could view the elevator shaft and the ground beneath drop away at an alarming rate; this was soon topped by the views from the viewing deck, which allowed visitors to stand on 38 mm (1/8 in, as I told one not-very-good-at-conversions tourist) thick glass and look straight down. This allowed me to contemplate my extremely present mortality and think about rock climbing and how absolutely ridiculously inane climbing rocks for a rush is. Not that I'm going to stop anytime soon.

I can't believe I'm still rambling on about Auckland. Seriously, who cares (thanks to whomever was thinking that). I'll cut to the chase: next morning (the day escapes me) me and the two girls headed out in our 2001 Toyota Corona (drop the double L, add an N, and switch the steering wheel location) for the Coromandel Pensinsula in the Northeast portion of New Zealand. Weather loomed ominously in the distance and raindrops soon spattered across the windshield, causing much dismay and confusion (resulting primarily from the altered locations of the windshield wiper controls; these Austrians are slow learners).

Our destination was the Kauaeranga Valley, near Thames, with our goal the top of the Pinnacles. Cruising along and attempting to find viable radio stations (they don't exist in NZ, only oldies, terrible commercials, and talk shows, explaining the need for my iPod), we soon found the entrance to the park and, amid raindrops the size of mortar fire, decided to hike the 4.5 hour loop to just below the peak (all views being obscured by mist).

A brief (maybe) side note: NZ uses times instead of distances to designate trails. This seems odd to me. What is the metric by which they determine the times? Triathletes ascending the hills of New Zealand; obese McDonalds-toting individuals; babies crawling? Maybe they just average the times for the first 100 travelers on the path, subtracting picture-taking time from the mix. Who knows. If you thought this asterisk was over, you were wrong. Did I mention that all journeys on foot in NZ are called walks? Walks...hmmm. To where, the corner drugstore, or around the neighborhood pond with arms crossed behind you and feet slowly palpitating the earth? No, ANYWHERE. A walk in NZ can take you through rivers, over swinging bridges, down narrow paths overhung by vines and invaded by lush grasses, up steep, navigable-by-goat-only terrain, and then back down. Or along a beach. Or to Mt. Doom (in Lord of the Rings). Ehough about walks, but seriously...what about treks, hikes, backpacking expeditions, climbs? So many words left unused (just not by me, as seen in the above blathering).

The hike reaffirmed my belief in the wonders of Goretex technology, that harbinger of better times and eraser of oil skin water repellant techniques. As the deluge soaked my shoes, pants, and confidence in the lord above, my jacket continued to repel water like a mom guarding a cookie jar before dinner. The scenery was green, mossy, and beautiful, and my hiking partners did not complain whatsoever. (me, on the other hand...) Other than a trail-turned-creek resulting in sodden feet, the hike was great.

A drive up the winding western portion of Coromandel brought us past bucolic pastures, misty beaches, undulating hills, and at least 1,500 tons of mutton (fact I've been saving: mutton is sheep meat after the third set of teeth has grown in). Our stay that night was in the aptly named On the Beach Backpackers, and boy was I glad to be inside because the weather decided to drop all inhibitions and the onslaught of wind and rain was absolutely fantastic. I sat in a bay window and watched the horizontal rain slice through the air and thought about whatever slipped into my mind. It was nice.

The next morning brought calm and overcast weather, renewed desire to see the sights, and a new lunatic behind the wheel: ME. Ha, those girls didn't have any idea how people from the US drive, especially the escaped criminally insane. I laughed uproariously while navigating turns on squealing tires, relishing the masks of fear the girls playfully contorted their faces into. Couple of jokesters those two.

It was easy to lose myself while driving; the sweeping landscapes were great, signs were in English, we knew our goal (Cathedral Cove), and I quickly fell into the routine of driving. I was confused for awhile, however, because blaring horns and vehemently gesticulating drivers seemed to populate this new region of NZ (the east coast). This was soon righted when I realized it is necessary to drive on the LEFT side of the road in this backward country. You learn so much when you are traveling!

A rope swing, 2 hour barefoot walk, tree climbing, and a splendid arch by the sea at Cathedral Cove, and then more driving to the hostel in Rotarua rounded out my day. Well, I didn't mention the back massage (did I mention I am traveling with two physical therapists specializing in massage?) and side-splitting laughter looking at magazines, but who really cares?

I'll talk about Rotorua, with its geothermal activity, lovely downtown, and cheap internet facilities (thank god!) later. For now, I need some food and it's high time to have some more fun. Is has, after all, stopped raining. Until then, hasta la vista.

In the future: sky diving in Taupo, cave rafting in Waitomo, trekking (walking) in Tongariro Park, and who knows what else.