Kiwis, Koalas, and Kava... Oi, Mate!: Chapter One, "Auckland, The OTHER, 'Other City By the Bay'" (Tuesday, 11 October 2011)

Not only was my flight from Los Angeles to Auckland, New Zealand the longest flight I have ever taken, but due to crossing the International Date Line, for the first time ever, I effectively skipped a day.  It was Sunday, 9 October when I left LA and Tuesday, 11 October when I landed in Auckland: I didn't have a Monday, 10 October. (What's the OPPOSITE of "Groundhog's Day"?)

Immigration and customs in Auckland was as easy putting together a puzzle with two pieces.  I kept thinking I had "skipped a step" somewhere because I was through both parts of the clearance in about half the time it takes to listen to a Sex Pistols song.  The conversation with "the Customs Dude" (TCD) went something like this:

TCD:  (Taking my passport)  What's up, Brah?

Huey:  Good morning.

TCD: (Looking at my passport) Oh... you're from the States. KICKASS!!!  I love Justin Bieber!

Huey:  Uh... he's from Canada.

TCD:  Whatever, Brah!  Don't be hatin'!

Huey:  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to "hate."

TCD:  (Stamping my passport)  It's all good, Playuh.  Game rekonize game!  I ain't mad atcha.  (Handing my passport back to me)  Holla at me... AIGHT?

I claimed my bag and then had to go through the Biosecurity check, intended to prevent the immigration of substances and elements that may pose environmental or ecological risks to New Zealand.  I put my bags on a conveyor to be X-rayed and the conversation with "the Biosecurity Dude" (TBD) went like this:

TBD:  Is this your bag, Sir?

Huey:  Yes it is.

TBD:  You got some of that "sticky icky" in there?

Huey:  No, I don't.

TBD:  You want some?

True story.

When I got to the lobby of Auckland International Airport, I met our charming and chipper New Zealand tour director Julianne and our North Island driver John.  I also met the "cast of characters" for the NZ-Oz portion of this junket, and with the exception of a young couple on their honeymoon (to whom I will likely be turning for relief often) and me, the average age of the people on this tour is Paleolithic.  Now don't get me wrong: I do and always have loved and appreciated older people.  They have so much to share with and teach us, and they demonstrate the value of living a good and healthy life.  But I'm just not sure why you book an "active" tour to a country halfway around the World with a very distinct and different culture, then complain non-stop about "all the walking" and why "they do that."  It's "Uncanny," but more on that later.

We checked in at our hotel, Stamford Plaza Auckland, in the heart of Auckland's City Centre, just blocks from the stunning Waitemata Harbour and the iconic Sky Tower, the tallest structure in the Southern Hemisphere, and had just enough time to drop the bags, shower (I'll spare you the details on how badly I needed a shower), and change before the sightseeing began.  Uncanny Story # 1: we all gathered in the hotel lobby to board the coach for our sightseeing tour, only to learn that we would be delayed because one of our tourmates fell.  She didn't trip.  She didn't slip.  She didn't bump in to anything.  She just fell.  In all fairness, there are two people in my life who are very dear to (and the same age as) me who randomly fall out of chairs (while wearing bathing suits, no less) or simply trip over invisible obstacles (you two know who you are), but... well, I guess that's the same thing, isn't it?

Never mind.

Our sightseeing took us to the top of Mt. Eden, a dormant volcanic cone and one of the highest natural points in Auckland, which afforded us 360 degree views of the City and the isthmus (I FINALLY get to use that word!) formed by the coming together of the Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea.  From there, we cruised from Princes Wharf on to Waitemata Harbour, stopping at the lush, green volcanic Rangitoto Island, and passing under the Auckland Harbour Bridge.  Returning to Princes Wharf, we were immersed in the fever surrounding Rugby World Cup 2011, of which New Zealand is the host country.  The national symbol, the Silver Fern, and assorted rugby brick-a-brack can be seen everywhere you turn, and Kiwis (what New Zealanders call themselves, not to be confused with the small, fluffy, and endangered flightless bird or the fuzzy green or gold fruit, more precisely referred to as "kiwifruit," a name given to the Chinese gooseberry when New Zealand began to commercially exploit it around the World) love their All Blacks. ("GO THE ABs!!!")

Back on land, our coach took a quick trip over and back on the Auckland Harbour Bridge, with its "Nippon Clip-Ons" (additional lanes literally clipped on to the span of the original bridge by the Nippon engineering firm from... you guessed it, Japan) and ventral bungy jumping pod.  Apart from the spectacular view of the Auckland skyline, it was very much like driving over a bridge over water anywhere else in the World.

Imagine your grandmother throws a dinner party and invites her "peeps," a few gals from her Pinochle crew, the girls from the shop where she gets her hair done,
the ladies from Bible study, and a handful of chicks she met going to the restroom at bingo.  Then imagine they all bring their recalcitrant husbands.  That event would closely resemble our Welcome Dinner.  Questions heard around our tables include "Pin-nut noyer: is that the same thing as red wine?" "Can I get the sal-mun with the fish on the side?" and "Is this cheesecake or Jello?" 

GOD bless them.

Tomorrow morning we drive to Rotorua, a hub of New Zealand's Maori culture and one of the most geothermically active areas in the World with an aroma you can't forget.  It's time for bed, but first... the potty.