Vulcan Bowels

Across the bay from the hustle and bustle of the city central lies the jagged island of Rangitoto. Casting its shadow across the harbor, Rangitoto Island projects out of the sea and sprawls across the horizon. This 600 year old volcano is a recently uninhabited (those living there were kicked out a decade or so ago to preserve and reintroduce the native natural habitat) island unto itself and is one of many surrounding Auckland that has created the land mass where the city sits today. It is disputed as to whether or not the volcano is extinct or dormant, but all sides agree that if it did erupt Auckland would resemble a modern day Pompeii, but with about a million people and probably less Italians. Comforting. If I were to go down in a fiery ball of molten lava I would definitely want some Italians around, especially Mario, he knows a thing or two about bouncing around some fireballs. But back to the Island, because of its age and the richness of volcanic soil; the hard, black, basaltic shell of the volcano is hidden under the thick cover of rainforest. Under the fluorescent green canopy lie ancient jet-black boulders that spilled out of the cone hundreds of years ago as blistering hot lava. Today the thing that is blistering hot about the rock is the lack of ozone above New Zealand that allows the rocks to fry (like my nose) under the midday sun. The lava flows that had created the rock of the island also produced caves and caverns under the island from which it spewed. After following the well worn track and sharing the caves with a few other tourists, I decided some trail blazing was in order. (Mom, stop reading). After hopping some boulders and following a narrow animal trail it quickly stopped. The world that is. A sinkhole appeared at my toes after I came crashing through some bushes. Flashlight in hand and fingers crossed (which probably wasn’t a very safe thing to do when climbing backwards down a pitch black 20 foot hole in the Earth) I hopped that one of my childhood dreams had come true:

A) Adam West, I found your cave Batman POW!

B) The Land of the Lost was only one earthquake away, or

C) I was about to journey to the Center of the Earth.

Needless to say, I am still dreaming of that day. After spelunking in my newly found caves, and realizing that I have no idea what poisonous animal population NZ has, I thought it best to expel myself from the bowels of the Earth. (I apologize if that image was too graphic, but Mom, I did tell you to stop reading.)

Reaching the summit and the crater was an altogether bizarre experience. On one side is a beautiful view of the city skyline, on the other is a massive Lambeau-sized bowl at the top of a mountain, and I was in the nosebleeds. The island also played host to a prison, the NZ armed forces during the second World War, and the Dharma Initiative. Abandoned barracks and lookouts are scattered throughout the forest but the only remaining ruins of the prison is the entrance to the bathroom. I sure hope the “caves” I found weren’t just part of the old sewage system…

Rainy Daze

Day one in Auckland was spent sprinting; across exposed streets and sidewalks to the safety of restaurant canopies and storefront awnings in order to avoid the seemingly unrelenting spotty rain showers. I was determined to see the city sights in spite of the lousy weather. Zig-zagging the streets of Auckland and moseying through shopping centers and boutiques in order to dry off (they didn’t seem to like me toweling off in one particular store, I think the name was Maori “GUCCI”, I don’t know what the translation is but I think it means “Don’t use our coats to dry your face”, the neighboring store, “Lewis Vitton”, he wasn’t a big fan of helping me out either, except out the front door.) Playing hide and go seek with the rain had kept me occupied enough to keep my mind awake and my body away from jet lag. But then 5:30 rolled around and my eyes rolled back. Dragging my legs with each step, I was barely conscious, my fuzzy, dream-like state of mind begged for the only certain remedy, no not sleep, flame-cooked rotating lamb on a stick. After I devoured a gyro and French fries, I was re-energized and ready for the night. The hostel bar was warm and welcoming to a soggy, tired, and weary traveler. Before too long I was enjoying pints with a few Britons, a German, an Estonian (yes, Estonia is a real country) and a New Caledonian fellow. Pub-style shenanigans soon followed , as did a long sleep for the night.

New Zealand Nice

After a rather uneventful flight to the south pacific, I arrived in Auckland to a drizzling, dark, dreary, morning. Initial impressions carry a lot of weight, and the weather alone could have left Auckland in the negative points category. But then, I encountered my first kiwi. No not the fruit. No not the bird. The person, a New Zealander. Customs is daunting in any country: NO, I am not carrying any food (except this delicious half sandwich that my grandmother made me). NO, I am not carrying any fruit (except the rapidly reproducing and crop destroying HuyGui fruit of the Amazon, whose seeds multiply without soil). NO, I am not carrying any wildlife (except this baby polar bear, he needs a new home). And NO, definitetly NO, I have NOT visited any farms in the last week (except for yesterday). Now some might say that "strategically misleading" customs officials is immoral, actually no, no one would say that. The tragic reprecussions to ever marking 'YES' on a customs form, well I would rather not talk about it. I'm getting off subject, let me refocus. Customs is not fun, it is the airport equivalent to the DMV. Except the people at the DMV can't take you to the back room and give you a full cavity search because you had an orange in your backpack. Its early in the morning on a Monday, sitting in tiny booths asking the same questions hundreds of times a day, customs officials usually aren't the most pleasant of people. Non-English speaking turists are yelled at as if the sound waves of their ever amplifying voice would crumble the tower of Babel and miraculous comprehension would be had (I don't know what the guy in front of me was thinking, everyone knows that yelling in Hindi would never accomplish such a feat!) Squealing teeny-boppers who continuosly quoting Steve Irwin comments in terrible fake English accents, can't bring a smile to anyone's face. But New Zealand is different. Instead of having a shouting match with the broken English of the Indian man, the customs officer asked him to write down his responses in order to avoid confusion. The 'nails-on-the-chalkboard' group of girls got a nod, smile, and wink from their officer. And even me, bearded and long haired with obvious soil on my boots and sweating from the pressure of denying it, was welcomed with a warm smile. Mean, muscley, Maori men quickly seized my bags; only to gently place them on the X-Ray machine and tell me about the best places to snowboard in NZ. Even the driver of the cheap airport transport bus for lowly backpackers like myself, was more than polite; not only cutting me a deal for being a 'poor student' but also sincerely apologizing when he hit the brakes after almost being side-swiped by a semi. He did not, however, apologize for driving on the wrong side of the road, nor did anyone else...(Someone please understand that joke.) Heading into downtown during what should have been rush hour left my ears ringing with an eerie silence, and forced my eyes to wander. I was searching for the traffic jams, the traffic control cops, and the patented fist shake and one finger salutes of Chicago- but none of it existed. Like wise the strange lack of horns being blown and expletives being shrieked to other drivers are testament to the good natured people of New Zealand. Minnesota can bite me, this is a new kind of nice. New Zealand Nice!