Day 90: Back to Auckland

Today, I took Nakedbus up from Wellington to Auckland, and I spent probably a disproportionate amount of time marveling at how much has changed since Claire and I took the reverse ride down.

Due to some bad planning on my part (by which I mean "misplacing my wallet" and "running back to the house after realizing another place I could check" and "ultimately not finding it"), I ran late and had to wake Libby to drive me to the bus stop across from BP, and I spent an overly anxious fifteen minutes absolutely convinced that I had somehow messed up and missed the bus. (The things fill me with doubt, I cannot help it!)

As the minutes ticked past 8:32, my natural tendency to fret began to kick into gear and I was starting to wonder how prepared I was to drive to Auckland and where I could buy a suitable atlas or if I could look up flights to Auckland and how much it would be and the logistics of getting to the airport and -- luckily, the bus arrived before I started to consider how long it would take for me to walk the distance.

(If you're curious, Google Maps says it is 635 kilometers and it would take 5 days and 8 hours. Watch out, though, it also cautions that the route might be missing sidewalks or pedestrian paths.)

When I got on the bus, I realized that this was the very same place where I had nudged Claire eighty-three days ago and whispered in a voice heavy with meaning, "Hey, this is Johnsonville!" At the time, we were twelve hours into our trip to Wellington and Johnsonville meant nothing to us but the possibility of a flat. We knew only what we could glean from Wikipedia and Google Maps ("It has seven thousand people?" I had asked incredulously, "and it's the biggest commuter suburb?" And, later, distracted: "Ooh, let's live in Kelburn. Commuters ride a cable car!"). We had stared out the window and looked optimistically at the passing Countdown, the Toy World, the patch of the world we hoped would be our new place.

For the next several hours, I texted Claire periodically to alleviate my boredom, and I'm sure it was a deluge of astonishingly interesting messages. As we drove inexorably north and I'd write her stupid messages like, "WE HAVE ACHIEVED GUMBOOT." The Gumboot Manor, in case anyone takes the twelve-hour trip between Auckland and Wellington, is a few hours from Wellington and, more notably, where the bus stops for a meal. It boasts a menu that includes a hot lamb sandwich that has lodged in Claire and my collective brain as the most literal meal to be purchased at a restaurant. The hot lamb sandwich is exactly a piece of lamb (hot, if you're feeling generous) with a dab of mint sauce between two untoasted slices of bread and not a single thing more. While the place has its charms (your order number is given to you in the form of a child size six gumboot), Claire and I were a tad nonplussed and we ate our meals with no small degree of amusement. I'm not quite sure what we expected, but I think it was a sandwich that was perhaps a bit hotter and perhaps a bit less... bald. True to form, Claire texted me back asking how people many bought said hot lamb sandwich. Unfortunately, I couldn't observe, as I was outside, busy eating the sandwich she was kind enough to pack me.

Later, we arrived at Rotorua, and I had such a vivid recollection of sitting at the tables by the little corner of a cafe, watching birds hop around and eye prospective providers of food. Claire had bought a Moro Bar from the vending machine with change she had to read to confirm the value of, and we had a discussion about Moro Bars versus Milky Ways versus Three Musketeers. Today, I just sat outside in the much nicer weather, enjoyed the sun and the shade, and watched tourists take pictures and hug each other.

I'm necessarily truncating a thirteen-hour bus ride, but the entire thing was suffused with a sense of familiarity. We eventually arrived in Auckland at 9:20 p.m., almost an hour and a half behind schedule, and I was strangely unworried given the time and the darkness. Rather than ending the journey on an uncertain route dragging a fifty pound suitcase behind me, I had a light backpack and I knew where I was. (Eighty-three days ago, we walked for several kilometers around downtown Wellington with fifty pounds of luggage each in search of a hostel before bumping - so fortuitously - into Derek and Lauren. What a different time.)

I'm not sure how effective this entry is, but I think the key word is "familiar." I was surprised to note how much more aware I am of New Zealand as a cohesive place and how I have a much better awareness of how the pieces fit together. It's not as mysterious, and the distance from Auckland and Wellington is not as overwhelmingly far as it used to seem.

That being said, I also managed to travel to Auckland without my wallet (cash, EFTPOS card, or debit card), without keys, and with a phone with two bars of battery sans charger. On the other hand, I did have my passport, a giant GRE prep book, all of my necessary paperwork, and a bag of food that Claire packed me, so I figured it was a net win.