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.

Day 85: Driving in TERRIBLE RAIN [FILLER]

This is an entry on:

+ HORRIBLE WELLINGTON RAIN! In which we had planned to get up early and take a day trip to Cape Palliser, but woke up to a grey, grey sky and decided against it.

+ WET WET FARMER'S MARKET! But we drove there in our trusty ZIGFROND and possibly overpaid parking, but figured it was worth it to avoid the above bulletpoint. Except for the part where we still got soaked.

+ Driving to Newtown! I'm not positive if the town's name is pronounced "Newton" as in Isaac (someone may have said this to be at some point?) or if it's pronounced "New Town," but we decided to drive somewhere and got as far as Newtown before getting disoriented and heading back. I have full confidence that Newtown is not very far from Wellington at all, but given that it was raining buckets, we had no idea where we were, and our clothes were still freezing and wet, it didn't seem like a bad idea to head back.

Day 84: Double Happy (Feet)

We recently started swing dancing lessons (an indepth review for Claire, a learning experience for me) at Full Swing, and tonight was a swing social! Claire and I did a light meal at Fidel's before heading down to meet up with our lovely Australian friend and her husband for some swing dancing good times.

I am far from proficient at dancing but it was a ton of breathless fun anyway. Many friends were met and made, and it was an evening of good times and good cheer. I briefly tried to learn to lead and found that it requires altogether too much thinking and planning for my skill level. (I am totally going to figure it out, though! I am resolute!)

Only somewhat relatedly, this is also the longest time I've been without access to instruments, and I am starting to seriously consider buying a cheapo ukulele. (A few weeks ago, we went to the Spring Festival at the Botanic Gardens and they had a Ukulele Fest at the soundshell. It was really fun in a cute, stressfree sort of way, and it really appealed to me. Also, as far as instruments go, they are portable and - in my range anyway - pretty cheap.) After the social, the four of us stood outside the window of Alistair's Music and contemplated what color ukulele I should get. I forgot how it came up, but I think it was H who said that if I get one, I should get a green one and paint it like a kiwifruit.

I am waiting for another job assignment to come through, and then I am totally going to get one. Kiwifruit ukulele, you will be mine!

Day 82: ZIGFROND! [FILLER]

This is a filler entry on:

+ PICKING UP OUR CAR! In which Claire is more daring than I am and takes the wheel, masterfully leading us through the streets of Wellington and triumphantly back to J'ville.

Day 73: In which I am melancholy

NB (23/10): I seriously considered not posting this, but I figure that the occasional bits of glumness is a part of the experience. So, why not?

One thing about this blog -- and part of the reason I haven't been writing much recently -- is that I did not want this blog to be about me, so much as a blog about me and Claire in New Zealand. It might be a superficial distinction, given that any personal blog is about the writer, but it's one that I think is important. If I let myself talk about myself, then this whole exercise will devolve into more introspection that I am comfortable putting in a public place with my name attached.

That being said, I am currently feeling glum enough that today will be an exception. Tomorrow, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again -- and, for maximum effect, imagine that in a classic Fred Astaire warble -- but today I am going to allow myself to write out my melancholy.

I am at the Wellington library, again, and unlike the many other entries I've written here, I am not bemoaning my lack of internet and I am not worried about jobhunting. After I am done here (done writing this, done moping), I am going to take the train down to Johnsonville with my Peace Train card, walk the familiar path up the hills to our house, make dinner in our kitchen with our farmer's market groceries, and log onto our internet and post this. I'm going to walk along streets that I've gotten familiar with to a place I am comfortable living in. I'm going to swoop down and pick up the cat, she will yowl her displeasure, and then I will scritch the patch between her shoulderblades that makes her reluctantly, reliably purr.

I mentioned over a month ago that things were beginning to feel routine, and now I realize that they are. It's not actually as comforting as one might imagine. Now that Claire and I have put down roots, I'm starting to remember that we are going to be picking up and moving on and it's going to happen sooner than I'm ready for. My sister is visiting in December, and maybe my brother, and we are going to do a whirlwind tour of New Zealand. Claire and I have theoretical, hazy plans from the new year on, and they are exciting and I am excited, but they are moving.

Everytime we pick up and go, Claire and I are leaving things behind. We will leave behind our grumpy little cat and our lovely little house and this wonderful city. We have a whole cast of characters in our Wellington lives (and, if I am honest, an embarrassing portion is populated by the neighborhood cats), and I am pre-emptively sad about leaving them.

I know that this is all a part of travel, and that these are all wonderful, rich experiences that will contribute to the person I will become, but that does not make it any less sad in the now. Tomorrow will be another grand adventure, and I will have new experiences and make new friends, but today is a melancholy day.

(And to be perfectly, terribly honest, I am still pulling myself back together from what may have been one of the most disappointing birthdays I have ever had. Not to do with anyone I was with, but purely due to an exquisite cocktail of external factors. It was a perfectly botched day, where everything went wrong, including the weather -- can you believe it, on my horrible day, it had the gall to be sunny?-- and I'm still smarting from all the disappointed hope I poured into the day. Everything will be fine, and I know it, but the mental space that holds yesterday's memories still aches a bit.)

It's also distinctly possible that I am all the sadder because I haven't really eaten much today, so I should start my trek homeward. (In a moment of weakness yesterday, I stopped by Burger King, and I learned that BK fries in New Zealand are not the same as BK fries in the States, and that, too, was another fine dusting of disappointment on the day's sundae of awful. Will nothing stop the tragedy!)

So, my friends, family and whoever else, I will bid you good night, good day, whatever it is in your time zone. May your day be better than mine, but let it be as sunny and as full of potential.

Day 69: October!

In which the GST goes up, I bum around, and I backdate a lot of filler entries (and maybe write something here, too).

I am rather out of the writing groove, so bear with me as I get my sea legs back.

Day 68: World of Wearable Art

Today was the World of Wearable Art, or WOW. (Completely as an aside, "WOW" always irks a small part of me with the arbitrariness of its acronym. I would suggest changing it to "World of Wearable Zealand Art" and shortened it into the perhaps more gimmicky but at least more consistent "WOWZA". Come on, I'm not asking for much, just a radical rehaul of what you call yourself!)

So, since Claire and I came to New Zealand, we've been really excited about this World of Wearable Art business. We had read that it had to do with clothes and art (one might say wearable art), but other than that, had a gaping hole where knowledge should be. We both had the vague notion of it being some sort of exhibition or renfaire type event, where people come to take a gander at other people's talent, so it didn't even occur to us that we might have to actually plan ahead and purchase tickets.

Luckily, one day going into town, I sat in front of two gentlemen who were discussing opening night. One of them had gone, and he was expressing to his companion how amazing it was. I wish that I had turned around to talk to the man, because he had the most fantastic observations, made more impressive by the fact that he was speaking so eloquently at 7:20 in the morning.. He talked about how he didn't know anything about the World of Wearable Art and had expected it to simply be a fashion show (which was more accurate than what I had in my head). I wish I could capture the way he described it, but I only remember a few lines, and only then because I was struck by precisely they captured an idea. When he was describing how the show was set up, he said, "I would be surprised if any of the people wearing the costumes were models." He paused, searching for the word for it, "They all moved like dancers."

Then, later, he was trying to articulate the scale of the event: "It almost reminded me of Cirque du Soleil, in the sheer spectacle of it. Of course, it's not really the same at all. Cirque du Soleil is really all about performance. This-- this was art."

After eavesdropping, I was thoroughly convinced that this would be something that Claire and I needed to attend, and purchased tickets as soon as I could.

The entire act of buying tickets was a bit hairy, as we tried to do it online on a weekend when the box office was closed. Unlike Ticketmaster or any other online box office system I've ever used, there was no confirmation email or anything. The website merely swallowed my credit card information and ticket requests and placidly let me know that they'd try to process it within five days. After a few slightly confused days of wanting to know whether or not I'd get tickets, much less have time to physically receive the tickets, I checked my bank account and found that they had taken out the requisite cash. After another day, I was relieved to find that they had, in fact, used the money for tickets and had mailed them out.

Which is a long way of saying that Claire and I managed to get the last tickets in the last row of the arena, and I am so glad we did.

Again, I had no idea what this whole event would entail, so I was moderately surprised to realize that there was a main stage with something like five mini thrust stages (the man on the train referred to them as "pods"). As we took our seats, a lady with an oversize corset draped around her waist and wearing half a doll as a hat stopped by and we chatted for a bit. Anyway, after the anticipation became palpible, the lights went down, the music started up, and there began two hours of me clutching at my chest for the joy and splendor of it.

There were several themed sets where there would be a backdrop of some sort on the main stage with a dozen or so phenomenal backup dancers, while the models, in their visually stunning outfits came out and strutted, danced, and somersaulted from one pod to the next. (I confess, in my ignorance I thought that each set was designed by one person a la individual collections in Fashion Week, and I was absolutely poleaxed. It turns out that each designer submitted an outfit to a theme, rather than submitting an entire theme and collection, which made much more sense.)

Highlights, because otherwise this would be embarrassingly effusive:

• The South Pacific section was the opening set, and it made me immediately understand what the man on the train said about the models being dancers. I was immediately struck by how many of the outfits weren't made for people to stand in, but for action and movement. There were more than a few dresses that just flowed from one pod to the next, more gorgeous in action than in repose.
  
  
• The entire Illuminated Illusions segment. Because I was viewing these as a collection rather than as individual segments, I was enthralled by the idea of this as some sort of deepsea exhibition. The entire stage was dark, except for the fluorescent outfits, some individually illuminated, others brightened with blacklight. (In more I-misread-things news, I was really struck by "Caught in the Maelstrom," which I saw as a whirlwind of autumn leaves rather than a hurricane of human bodies. I think the outfit became even more striking when I saw an upclose image of it after the show. Grim but with such amazing movement!) At the very end of the segment, people (I assume) ran across the stage with huge wings of fabric, lit up white and flowing. I didn't even know what to do with myself, it was all so striking.
  
  
• I am absolutely convinced that the introduction to the Children's Section was actually made specifically for me. Someone at the World of Wearable Art reached into my brain, shook it for all things that I love, and designed this set to perfection. It began with a giant book descending from the rafters, then the book slowly opened and revealed a giant popup castle set, from which people in these fantastic little flat outfits, reminiscent of paper cutouts, spilled out. There were paper princesses and knights and dragons and typography projected onto the castle. At the very end of the set, the projected typography made a crashing noise and the letters spilled into piles against the castle.
  
  
• The introduction to the avante garde segment was another bit that made me think that this show was made with me in mind. It began with a spotlight falling on a single violinist wearing a dress with voluminous drapery and she began to play. There was such drama and theatre to all of the models that I had assumed that the woman with the violin was just another dancer with a particularly convincing false violin performance. When I realized that the woman was doing vibrato and her bowing was actually in line with the music, I clutched at Claire with the hand not pressed against my heart, and then a spotlight lit up a cellist and I think I may have fallen over.
  
  
• The sheer hilarity that was the Bizarre Bras section. As I mentioned, I interpreted these all as single collections, and I boggled at the idea of one person (or maybe even with a team of assistants) sitting down and sewing every possible object onto two wearable cups. On the plus side, it was by far the most wonderfully ludicrous exhibition and the only way to watch it was to laugh and clap and be impressed by the panache of the midriff-baring men and women as they shook their thangs to Copacabana.

Overall, it was awesome. There were so many things to look at that I keep wanting to write about everything (the circus bits! The rose dress! the gumby outfits! the audacity of the giant steel palm trees! The flamenco panache of the Cycle of a Fungus dress! The cleverness of the Matroshka doll dress and the animation of the cat outfit!) but there is a finite amount of space and I doubt my ability to communicate the way the whole exhibition was just a chunk out of a different world.

For a better idea of what kind of outfits there were, do browse the World of Wearable Art website and boggle at human ingenuity. It is all so very, very cool.