nolife

This day is really covered in my journal by a series of talking points/reminders. Instead of catloging those, I”ll write complete sentences using that list. It was written while I was in the New Shelter Rock Hut on the Rees-Dart track for my first night.

Wednesday (23rd) was a very rushed day…

Rachel had dropped me off in Orewa on Tuesday night before she headed into the labrinyth of the Auckland suburbs. She had visited Orewa during her travels and knew that I could get a bus from here into the big city. We said a goodbyes, although a little more rushed than I probably should have. I ran over after securing my room, but before the guy showed me around – they were both waiting on me and I thought Rachel would want to leave before the tour finished. Maybe she did, but I still regret not really saying a decent goodbye to her.

Anyway, I found an internet cafe and spent a few hours researching bus schedules as well as writing some emails. I felt pretty lost with Rachel being there since she’d been my guide the previous two days. It was amusing – gaining so much independence in the beginning by not having my pack, and then feeling so lost after picking up two days with a stranger. I didn’t eat very well that night – I think just some more trail mix, because I didn’t care to go to the one thing I could find open – McDonald’s.

I crawled into my dark room where my roommate was asleep. I slid onto the bed without a sheet or a blanket. I slipped into a fitful sleep, worried about the time and rather cold. I had been hot in Kaitai and Phiai, but now I was getting quite a chill. Finally 5am come along and I slid out of the room. I crept across the courtyard to what I figured had to be the bathrooms. I washed up and headed down the road using a map that the young man running the hostel gave me.

It was pitch black out and there was very little traffic on the roads. I walked along streets with lamps and without. I passed several bus stops, but none of them seemed to be in the places I expected them to be. Finally I stopped a lady on her morning jog and asked her where I might want to go. She was amazingly kind, what for being approached in the dark by a stranger, and pointed to the bus depot down the street. By the time I arrived at the depot, I must have walked at least a full kilometer.

I sat on the bus bench for a few minutes, but still wasn’t fully convinced I was in the right place. I crossed the street, headed into the fenced bus yard and walked toward the gathering of drivers. I hated to interupt them before they officially started working, but this was too important to leave to chance. I asked about where to catch X bus number to Auckland and the gentleman I had approached said that there wasn’t one. I showed him the schedule in my had and they spoke amongst themselves, saying things like “how about that,” and “I didn’t know that one!” I wasn’t very encouraged by the discussion. Finally they decided that it would be coming from the next city north of them and that I should go back to the stop in front of the depot. Eventually I would change to another bus and I’d make it to Auckland.

Well the bus did come a few minutes later and the driver knew exactly how I would get to Auckland. I didn’t have to transfer – just ride this bus all the way in. So that’s what I did. I rode the bus for probably an hour or so, watching more and more people climb on for their morning commute. School children (and I mean children) rode, business people, all sorts of people. We eventually made it onto the Motorway that led into Auckland and I started to understand why so many would ride the bus instead – traffic was an absolute nightmare. By planning, of course, the buses had their own lanes and made it through in pretty decent time, but it was still pretty hairy. Quite a contradiction to what I would later experience on the southern island.

I got off the bus in the heart of downtown, as close as I could get to the airport bus station. I walked with my carry-on bag and my Pak N’ Sav box about 2 blocks in the rain to the station. I bought a ticket and waiting the covered driveway. Eventually a big coach pulled up and I hopped on. I gave the driver my ticket and told him I was headed to the domestic terminal. We drive through the heart of downtown, stopping a number of hostels to pick up more passengers. I munched on my scroggin and watched the tourist promotion video that was on the small television.

About 30 minutes later we arrived at the airport, I headed to the lost baggage counter (that I had visited plenty of times the last time I was there) and inquired about my pack. They told me I’d have to go to the international terminal and ask them. I caught the inter-terminal bus and walked down to a poorly marked door where I knocked. I went into the room and passed my claim slip to a man through a fence. He walked back, found my pack and handed it to me.

Now you have to imagine this – my backpack was stored inside another big duffel style bag to make it easier to carry. It apparently also made it much easier for all the security people in the states and NZ to rummage through it, but not put it back into my pack. The duffel looks very lumpy and does not carry very well. I head into the international terminal, upstairs in the lounge area near the sushi place and start to take inventory of my possessions. I dig through the bag, locating all the important stuff and then head back to domestic.

I arrive, head straight to the ticket purchase counter to get a ticket on the next flight to Queenstown and put my bag right back into the cycle that stole it from me last time. The next flight left in 30 minutes and set me back NZ$230. I headed into the secure area of the airport, figuring I’d find a phone and make my arrangments for the trip between Queenstown and Glenorchy. But I didn’t. There wasn’t a single phone in the secure area, so I went back out and called Backpacker’s Express. The had a bus that ran from Queenstown to Glenorchy about 30 minutes after my scheduled arrival. I booked a seat on the bus then headed back to my plane.

The flight was decent – I sat next to a newlywed couple from Detroit. They were sort of stereotypical yankees which bugged me a bit, but he was a nice guy. They had been delayed in leaving the states because of a snowstorm, so I think they were both running a little short on sleep. I think it had affected her a fair bit as she wasn’t very talkative, nor did she seem very happy when the flight attendent and I reached over her so I could get my tea. He and I spoke off and on during the flight, but in the meantime I managed to get some writing done as well.

When we landed and I waited nervously at the baggage claim. Last time I’d done this in New Zealand, my pack never came out – but not this time! This time it showed up after only a few minutes of waiting and I took off out the door. I caught the attention of the first taxi driver and told him where I needed to be. We agreed on a $20 fare, loaded my pack and we headed out. Of course being a little excited I walked straight for the driver’s side door, the passenger in the states, and he had a little fun at my expense for that – “I’ll drive if you don’t mind.” I know, though, that I wasn’t the first, nor the last, to do that.

He dropped me off with about 15 minutes to spare. When the BE bus showed up I climbed on board and felt a bit of relief. Finally, the last bus for the day… a day that had started at 5am after a poor bit of sleep. The bus was a little older and was basically the same model as the one I had taken to Cape Regina. The driver was of Maori decent and he told us his Maori name which was something that took about two breaths to get all out.

As we drove the twisting road from Queenstown to Glenorchy, we were bordered on one side by a rocky mountain and the other by Lake Wakatipu. Lake Wakatipu, according to Maori legend and as told by our driver, was formed by a giant. The giant had kidnapped the beautiful daughter of a Maori chief. The daughter’s lover came to her rescue as the giant slept, and they burned him, the heat carving out the lake. Interestingly enough, from the air or on a map you can see the shape of a giant curled up for a nap.

Eventually we made it to the campground and homebase of the bus company. There was a small general store and a payphone, so I made a call to David, the gentleman my parents had met the week before. He was started up a backpackers in town and had told them I could stay with him. He was at work when I contacted him so we agreed to meet at the pub in an hour or so.

I walked a few blocks down the road to the pub/hotel/backpackers and took a seat inside. It was your standard pub – a pool table, a big tv, a bar. There was also a restaurant off to the side and the bartenders doubled as hotel clerks as well. When I arrived there was a group of Japanese people taking pictures and enjoying a few drinks. I gathered later that they were group that had been walking the nearby Caples track, on of the Department of Conservation’s (DOC) Great Walks. The difference in their walk and what I might be doing is that they didn’t have to carry a single thing – it was all taken care of by their guides.

As I waited I ordered a Kiwi burger. No, it wasn’t made of Kiwi, those are far too rare and protected, it was simply a cute, touristy name. It was, however, one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. It had an over-easy egg on it as well as carrots, onions, and lettuce. It was sloppy and I soaked a thick napkin in the process, but I loved it.

Before too long, David arrived and he took me back up to his place. At the time it looked just like any other private home, but he had big plans for the place. We walked around the house and the grounds with him telling me all the things he had in store for them. By the time we were finished talking I could see an amazing backpackers sitting on that site. Hopefully by the time I make it back “The Crib” will be open for business.

After a little settling in, we drove back up to the pub and joined into what must be the local’s regular activities. There were games of pool played and plenty of beers drunk. There were discussions about the new houses being built and the latest rugby matches – both local and national.

Eventually, though, I rode back to the house with David and went to sleep under a nice warm blanket on a nicely crafted bed.