A Happy Ending
January 17, 2024. Auckland to San Francisco
Breakfast was included with our room, and it turned out to be a fancy hotel business breakfast where deals go down.
The set up: a lovely space with multiple food stations and too many staff for the eight or so people eating. Me, worried we are probably in the wrong place. The free breakfast must be somewhere else. Nope, it’s here!
After we got food and sat down the fun began. The two men behind us seemed to be negotiating a major shipping contract. I was riveted, and for the first time ever hoped R. would stay engaged with his phone and not attempt conversation. What really interested me was the strange combination of tones. One part millionaire business owners in a fancy hotel having breakfast and making a deal, another part, very ordinary blue-collar guys. I drive a boat, I move boxes, with a lot of racism about the Chinese thrown in. Clearly, the ship owner’s competition, but the other guy was all, ha ha yeah.
Afterwards…I had a full day ahead of me before the flight but was at loose ends. After we checked out of our room part of me wanted to just keep going and get out of there.
Still, I was glad to be able to visit Kura Gallery to get a few of the Porteous tiles I’d first learned about in Wellington. They didn’t have a huge selection but I picked two, one for me and one for my best friend, and felt satisfied I’d completed souvenir shopping.
Now what? I felt like a grumpy teen. I was still far from home in freaking New Zealand on a beautiful day, but everything around me might as well have been an extension of the airport lounge. I picked a direction and started walking along the waterfront, perhaps subconsciously influenced by the breakfast conversation. Watching a forklift driver unloading train cars fascinated me, and the driver appreciated my attention, waving happily.
I headed inland and discovered a beautiful public swimming pool. I would have loved to swim (I was hot and sweaty) but the fictional “rental suits” I imagined did not exist, so I continued walking through what looked to be a high-end neighborhood.
I was surprised to find a postage-stamp-sized graveyard (St. Stephen’s) with an amazing view at the end of the suburban street. I didn’t expect the modern houses with fancy cars in the driveways to back onto this! Earliest graves were from the mid 1800’s. Beyond that, a nice park. And a dog about die.
Seriously, how did this happen twice this trip? In Christchurch we were somewhere…I forget where…and I reached down to pet a dog that was snuffling at my feet. I said “Cute dog” to the owner who said, “We are about to put her down, that’s why __ took the day off,” indicating a teen girl sitting nearby. What the hell! I did not need to know that!!!
In the park, a cute white dog ran up to me and I petted it, and as the owner meandered up, I said, “Nice dog, seems to like the park,” or something to that effect, and he said, “It’s her last visit, we have to put her down today.” Noooooo! I did tear up. Having just walked through a graveyard didn’t help.
A few minutes later, down by the harbor where I’d been watching freight get unloaded, I ran into R. He swears he was not tracking me based on my phone. I do believe him because we both like industrial infrastructure and strange machines.
We walked back towards the hotel and had a lame, greasy, snack at a bar/café, then FINALLY headed to the airport and home.
I had many hours to reflect on the trip as we flew north. Firstly, and most astonishingly, neither of us got sick. Not even a cold. I was sure, as I booked numerous buses, trains, planes, and ferries, all crowded with visitors traveling on summer or winter break, that we’d get covid. My only hope was that I’d get it after French Polynesia. Please universe, I begged, I really, really want to have some snorkel and beach time.
The universe not only obliged with that, but also staved off colds, allergies, stomach troubles, accidents, foot and knee pain, cancelled trains or planes, lost or stolen articles…really we were so very lucky to have a smooth trip. A dramatic but drama-free trip.
I notice that with friends, strong conversational undercurrents pull the topic at hand to whatever is most disturbing or distressing, leaving little time for the countless, ordinary, lovely things and moments that fill our days. I understand. We humans love a good story, and it’s much harder to convey the quiet beauty and sense of peace of waking up in clean white sheets in a king-sized bed with a brand new view every few days…whether it be a bluer than blue lake with mountains beyond, pouring rain on a tropical forest, a ferry terminal with a volcanic island in the distance, steep green hills dotted with Victorian homes…I saw so much in the past three weeks and it was all good and all new. Nothing blew up or caught on fire. I won’t hold an entire room enthralled at a party by recounting anything that happened on this trip. I’ve had those trips – especially in the days before cell phones when everything was harrowing and the stakes were high. A missed train or wrong turn could mean literally never seeing a person again–ever.
I’ve traveled a decent amount at this point, and though my brain is built to compare whatever I’m looking at to similar things I’ve seen in other places, I’m done with superlatives. In our hotel bar in Queenstown, a salty older gentleman struck up a conversation with me as soon as R. went back to the room to get something. He lived in Australia and had some vague “logistics” job that brought him often to New Zealand. Perhaps in an effort to show off his own travel experience, he waved a dismissive hand at the Remarkables, because of course that’s what the mountains I’d been staring at from the room are called. “These aren’t anything special. You’ve got better mountains in Colorado.”
I thought of all the dramatic mountains I’ve seen and how they were all so different. Not just different shapes and heights, but in different settings, at different times of day, and with different weather and lighting. And I was different. I was in a good or bad mood, tired or perky, having just been somewhere else a day or moment before and more or less able to assimilate what I was seeing.
This was a trip of new things that felt comfortable, even as they awed. I’m not sure how else to explain it. In the past, too much strangeness and exoticism has left me both excited and panicked, overwhelmed in the best and worst ways. I’ll get in over my head again, maybe in Africa or India or China, and hopefully it won’t be as hard now that we live in the future with cell phones. But after a stressful year at work, when I really needed a vacation, I got one on this trip, and it was perfect.
Penultimate day of the trip (because the word penultimate is great)
January 16, 2024. Queenstown to Auckland
Last day in Queenstown. Woke to the gorgeous view, then ventured out to get us breakfast from a nearby bakery.
I took one more hike on the trail I love before we headed to the airport for Auckland part two.
I lucked out and was seated on the left (west) side of the plane and had great views of the coast for the whole flight. Extra amazing bonus was flying over the volcano featured on the front of the Lonely Planet guidebook I’d been carrying this whole trip, Mount Taranaki. Classic volcano like a kid would draw. I wanted to visit in real life but couldn’t fit it in this time. I don’t want to trash talk people who shut their shades to watch a movie, but WTF – we are flying and there are so many sights you will never get to see on a normal day during your normal life. <cough> Volcano! </cough>
Our hotel in Auckland, the SO/ (we were never sure how to pronounce it so we called it the Soy because of that silly slash) is very masculine. I’ve never thought of hotels having a gender, other than bed and breakfasts. This one was tall, dark, brooding, good-looking, but also aloof and unfriendly. We were greeted by some expensive-ass car (Bentley? Rolls? I forget) parked by the front doors with a custom license plate referencing the hotel and two large stone lion statues. My eyes began to roll. The lobby was self-consciously over-decorated in a Philippe Stark 1990’s way, all black reflective stone and mirrors and a huge, awkwardly placed chandelier (20 feet around and nearly touching the floor), a couch tipped up on its side, tuffets with fringe, neon, leather armchairs. I dunno. It felt like a rich kid trying to be cool and failing. The layout was wrong for fun. Great for a quick Instagram snapshot, then move on.
Our room was also dark and brooding, with the exception of the bright gold sinks. Bleck. The swirly O design element running through the space felt like it had been added so that a hotelier could walk a reporter from Architectural Digest around and say, “We aren’t some crappy chain, we are a boutique hotel. Look, here is our custom swirl! It’s on the wall, on the pillows, and carved into the door handle. It’s art!” Pretensions aside, it was a nice room with a great view.
We went up to the roof bar for a drink. Not actually on the roof, but close, and the outdoor patio featured the gale-force winds we’ve come to expect here in New Zealand. The place was dead other than an awkward work event featuring a herd of men in suits and a lone woman in stilettos. Go Barbara!
Later, we had a fun dinner at Dr. Rudi’s Rooftop Brewing Company, this time really on a roof and overlooking a harbor. Pretty sunset and great people watching. The large table across from us was sparsely occupied by two pretty young women wearing tons of makeup and high-heeled boots–both worried that no one was going to show up for the birthday drinks. I was worried too, after an hour passed. A handful did finally arrive, though it clearly wasn’t what the birthday girl had hoped for.
We had a good dinner and watched the sun set, then headed back to our pompous hotel for a good night’s sleep.
It’s not you Auckland, it’s me
Jan. 5, 2024, Auckland, New Zealand
It’s a hard job to live up to the drama of Moorea and Tahiti, and so far I’m feeling a bit meh about Auckland. Because of this you should not listen to anything I say here as it’s not fair.
I pulled open the blinds to the view of the parking structure and a gray sky. The city sits on gentle rolling hills with nothing screaming out “photograph me!” Downtown Queen Street is filled with chain stores and malls. There are interesting buildings here and there, not so interesting buildings, many New Zealand tourists, teens zipping around on scooters, office buildings closed for the holiday…short of shopping I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. I scoured the “top 10 things to do in Auckland” lists and I kid you not, they have one or two things in actual Auckland and then advise people to take a ferry or hop in a car and go somewhere else.
Taking that advice, we hopped on a ferry to Devonport, a short 15-minute ride across the bay. It was okay. A quiet suburban neighborhood with cute houses and a few blocks of touristy shopping. We ducked into a bakery/deli out of desperation as unexpected rain fell in sheets.
When it let up we walked around town a bit more then went back to chill at hotel for a while. My Lonely Planet guide book (I brought an actual paper book to supplement the internet and I’m glad I did as it had some good tips) suggested K road (Karangahape Road) as an artsy fun place. It was, kind of.
R. had found some recommended bars in the area but they were all closed. Permanently or for the holiday we couldn’t tell. In a stroke of luck we stumbled upon St. Kevin’s Arcade, a small indoor shopping arcade built in 1924 full of small shops and bars and restaurants. We put in our names at the hopping Gemmayze Street restaurant and then went to Tomfoolery bar and had drinks while we waited. I was really happy here. Loved the styling and cocktails and people watching (colorful local characters I might see in San Francisco) and figured maybe there was more to Auckland than I’d seen in a few hours on a rainy day.
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Fast-forward to a birthday
Jan. 3-4, 2024, Tahiti to Auckland and across the international date line
For the first time maybe ever, I was eager to get on a plane. Let’s keep going!
We woke at 6 a.m. to catch a cab at 6:30 to the airport. Fortunately the sun rose at 5:30 and at 6, was beginning to touch the tops of the mountains on Moorea, so I was greeted with a beautiful sight even though I was barely awake. I hadn’t planned to shower but I had a horrible sleep with all kinds of travel anxiety dreams that I now forget, except one where I couldn’t open my eyes. I took a quick rinse and struggled with the most complicated shower valve arrangement I’ve ever experienced.
The airport was jammed. I’ve never seen so much activity so early. We had time to spare so got a mediocre breakfast at a cafe. The cashier there yelled at R. for asking for butter for me. The basket of pastries I’d ordered turned out to be four pieces of baguette. No air-conditioning and the airport was stuffy and hot.
I forgot to mention tattoos. Everyone in French Polynesia had tattoos, mostly in what I will ignorantly call a Polynesian style. At some point I’d learned that many ? of the Polynesian peoples did not have any written language and tattoos were a sort of passport, letting people know where you were from and your history. Also they were incredibly painful to get, done with a sharks tooth, usually got infected, and sometimes took a year to heal. OUCH.
I mention this now because an older couple (from New Zealand based on their accents) sitting across from us had fresh, elaborate arm tattoos, still in their plastic wrap, and they were clearly smitten with them as they kept pulling up their shirt sleeves to admire them. I gave them a smile, a nod, and appreciative eyebrow motions, and they smiled back. I’d created a whole backstory in my mind about these being their first tattoos and they’d saved up for the trip to Tahiti to get them.
We took another thrilling walk across the tarmac to the plane. First trip on Air Tahiti! You aren’t allowed to take photos on the tarmac and I tried to warn R. to do it on the down low, but he didn’t hear me and got in trouble. I succeeded due to my speed and stealth.
After we were seated the flight attendant brought me a glass of champagne. : ) Paper cup to be precise. I’d joked to R. that when we crossed the date line and it became January 4th, my birthday, I wanted me and everyone on the plane to have a glass of champagne to toast me. If I was getting a rip-off short birthday, I wanted to have as much fun as I could. I guess he’d written to the airline about my request and they did it! That was very nice of R. and Air Tahiti and though it was a little early (in the morning and not yet my birthday), I did drink it.
A few hours into the flight (there was no big hurrah when we crossed the date line) R. gave me my birthday present–a black pearl necklace. Meaning, not a bunch of pearls, but one big interesting crazy-shaped pearl on a leather cord. I’d been fretting about black pearls. I did want to get one while I was there at the source but it just didn’t happen. There wasn’t much shopping on Moorea and though there was a pearl store at the resort, I could tell it was an overpriced resort store, and I hated that they kept sticking invitations to “an evening learning about pearls” to our door, after which we’d get a free cocktail. Felt like a timeshare-type situation. The women that worked in the shop wore too much makeup and it was the only place on the property with air conditioning.
There was a pearl store at the airport and R. must have been laughing as I walked around, tut tutting about the prices, and giving up. It was a really sweet gift and I loved/love it.
The flight wasn’t long, just 5.5 hours, and my first glimpse of New Zealand…
Very promising!
I got bitched out at customs for bringing in clam shells. They saw them on the x-ray. A customs man had me dig them out of my suitcase and confiscated them and I had to fill out a form saying I’d voluntarily surrendered them. Here’s the thing. I checked on the internet about bringing in shells and it seemed like it was okay. Everyone on our plane was wearing huge shell necklaces their relatives had given them as a goodbye present. I read all the signs in the airport about what not to bring in to New Zealand and shells were not on them. R. had to throw out his beef jerky. I am a rule follower and not a crazy rebel with a clam shell collection. I forgot I even had them.
My sense of injustice warred with common sense, and the graphic designer in me really wanted to tell the dude HOW TO IMPROVE THE SIGNS. Thankfully common sense won out and I apologized and explained I didn’t know a clam shell was an animal and we left the airport unharmed. And you know what? Surprise from future me. When I unpacked from the trip I found a small clam shell. I got one!
We got a cab to our hotel with a really nice driver. He wore a tie. This was the first of many “oh my god everything is wrong that car is in our lane” moments. Yes, we’ve been to England and are familiar with the fact that some countries drive on the wrong side of the road, but we rarely took cabs or buses in the U.K., just the tube and trains. We were doing New Zealand via many cabs (ubers) and buses and you don’t get over the fact that everything is the same but different. Whenever I thought I had a handle on things I’d have an oh shit moment. I created a rule that whenever I was going to cross a street I pointed the forefinger of my right hand out to the right with the cheerful slogan “Death comes from the right…and then left” and that really helped.
Auckland. Feels like a city. High rises. Too soon to judge. Our room at the QT hotel is very cute but with a dismal view of a parking structure.
We went to the rooftop bar for drinks and patatas bravas and lamb pies. The views were okay…modern office buildings and a hint of the bay. People watching was fun. Everyone from New Zealand all speaking in the accent. Woo hoo!
R. took a walk around the neighborhood while I had some chill time before dinner. I didn’t feel like a wimp for taking a break – this had already been a big day. After sunset we walked a few blocks to Amano, a well-rated Italian place R. had researched and reserved. I don’t know if this was the best birthday ever but it was definitely the most interesting. Insert head spinning emoji and – Good Night!
Roadtripz and Other Journeys 