We bought a car! It's not exactly cherry red, more like wine-made-from-cherries red. I looked at the engine (saw that it was still pretty shiny) and tried to make my face look like the face of a real auto expert. Poke, pause, peer. Hmmm. Yes, I am a force to be reckoned with, I know how to use a dip stick.
The seller, an older gentleman called Brett, talked a mile a minute and offered all sorts of tips and advice, from when to replace the tires to where to find cheap camping gear. He took us out for a test drive, during which he'd point out the passenger-side window (on the left hand side of the car) and emphasise that to stay safe you just have to keep a good distance from the curb. This is obvious advice, I'm sure that when you drive (whoever you are) you keep yourself towards the center line, and avoid breaking off parked cars' side mirrors. But when Chris got behind the wheel, and I got into that passenger seat, we realised how difficult it is to keep away from the curb. Instinctively, Chris pulled away from the screaming tide of oncoming traffic, and drifted closer and closer to parked cars and cyclists. I'd say, "keep to the left", " but watch out for that biker", "you actually are kind of close to the curb" and my body would tighten and lean towards the middle of the car, away from the inevitable disaster that was gonna happen right outside my window.
In the end we were fine, and after frantically searching--frantically is how we did everything--for a parking lot that wouldn't cost more than the car, we frantically pulled down into a parking garage beneath Sky City. This Sky City houses a big fancy casino, hotel, restaurant and the sky tower (think Seattle's Sky Needle or whatever it's called). I was sure we'd be stuck, paying a million dollars just to exit back out. But I was so wonderfully wrong and for two days parking we'll only pay 10$ (NZ) and know that our cute little stationwagon is safe and sound.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Devonport
This morning we took a passenger ferry over to Devonport, the trip only takes 10 minutes, pier to pier. It turns out the suburb of Auckland is one of the best places in my world. We stepped off into calm. The architecture is Victorian (I know this from a guidebook) so all of the little houses are very sweet and ornate, made of lace and cookies. The busy front gardens flow over the retaining walls and drip colours and scents.
The view across to Auckland is impressive from sea level, and spectacular from 282 feet above, atop Mt Victoria, a defunct volcano. We could see all around the harbours and bays, full of sailboats and green islands. The steep hike uphill was its own reward, for the first time since we arrived we felt far away from the hustle and bustle of New Zealand’s biggest city. The buzz of cicadas sounds wonderful after the relentless drone of traffic and air conditioning.
Back at sea level we ate a delicious lunch—so far from the normal fare—and set off for the beach. King Edward's Parade leads you down along the waterfront, between houses and the gently lapping sea to a sandy beach. We found a public beach, populated by older couples and families, and had a nice swim. Well, I had a swim, Chris had a frantic dive in and out. The current current (that’s not a typo, just an example of how silly English is, you’ll work it out) was a cold one, but it felt gorgeous.
Mentally I've already bought a little gingerbread house, planted some hibiscus and found a job as a letter carrier.
The view across to Auckland is impressive from sea level, and spectacular from 282 feet above, atop Mt Victoria, a defunct volcano. We could see all around the harbours and bays, full of sailboats and green islands. The steep hike uphill was its own reward, for the first time since we arrived we felt far away from the hustle and bustle of New Zealand’s biggest city. The buzz of cicadas sounds wonderful after the relentless drone of traffic and air conditioning.
Back at sea level we ate a delicious lunch—so far from the normal fare—and set off for the beach. King Edward's Parade leads you down along the waterfront, between houses and the gently lapping sea to a sandy beach. We found a public beach, populated by older couples and families, and had a nice swim. Well, I had a swim, Chris had a frantic dive in and out. The current current (that’s not a typo, just an example of how silly English is, you’ll work it out) was a cold one, but it felt gorgeous.
Mentally I've already bought a little gingerbread house, planted some hibiscus and found a job as a letter carrier.
Ramen Noodles versus Salad
The picnic table barely fits in the kitchen, and as soon as you add some Swedes and Germans—who prepare genuine, well-balanced meals—there’s no counter space to assemble a PB&J. Not that we only eat childish sandwiches, we also enjoy Ramen Noodles, or oatmeal with peanut butter. “Do all Americans add peanut butter to the porridge?” one incredulous Swede asks. Well, do we?
The hypoglycemic do. I’m just along for the ride, it’s like when your parents go out and let you have pancakes for dinner, at first Ramen Noodles sounded like a delicious idea. The other night a pack of Germans made mussels in a Thai coconut sauce. More than the cockroaches, the threat of a nightly throw-down keeps us away from the kitchen during the normal dinner rush. It’s only 6:02pm and dinner’s already a distant memory.
Yesterday I went to the National Maritime Museum and it was awesome. There was so much I couldn’t take it all in. My favourite exhibit was a replica of life in steerage. The dark and dingy room was cramped with bunks and the creaking and groaning of wood could be heard all around. Man, I thought, they really hit the nail on the head, my legs even seem a little unsteady. As I looked at a humble wax figure, I noticed the floorboards creeping up the wall. Oh my goodness, they even duplicated the heaving floor!
The hypoglycemic do. I’m just along for the ride, it’s like when your parents go out and let you have pancakes for dinner, at first Ramen Noodles sounded like a delicious idea. The other night a pack of Germans made mussels in a Thai coconut sauce. More than the cockroaches, the threat of a nightly throw-down keeps us away from the kitchen during the normal dinner rush. It’s only 6:02pm and dinner’s already a distant memory.
Yesterday I went to the National Maritime Museum and it was awesome. There was so much I couldn’t take it all in. My favourite exhibit was a replica of life in steerage. The dark and dingy room was cramped with bunks and the creaking and groaning of wood could be heard all around. Man, I thought, they really hit the nail on the head, my legs even seem a little unsteady. As I looked at a humble wax figure, I noticed the floorboards creeping up the wall. Oh my goodness, they even duplicated the heaving floor!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Campervan, tent or hostel?
We're here in New Zealand! I've lost my wallet--but that was in America, so New Zealand's cool--if someone shows up pretending to be me, stop her.
Chris and I checked out of the heaving ACB hostel, it's like a backpacker-factory with some 500 beds. The common room crawls with tanned twenty-somethings, and percussive music plays continuously. The new hostel is "cool" too, but a bit smaller and across the street from the library. The lady at the desk, Valeria, radiates enthusiasm and happiness. We came for the cheaper rates, but will stay (a week) for the cheer.
We're just off Queen St., which slopes down to the waterfront. I discovered the tall ship Soren Larsen yesterday afternoon and had a good chat with a few of the crew. She's a beauty, and the crew are fueled by love, not money. Going on board was a highlight for me.
Up the street is a labyrinth of lights, sounds, staircases that skip floors and elevators that skip floors, all disguised as an entertainment center. Last night we tried to find the cinema's ticket booth, we took an elevator too far up, a staircase too far down and in the end only found an enormous concession stand. Maybe someday we will understand, and then we will know we have arrived.
Chris and I checked out of the heaving ACB hostel, it's like a backpacker-factory with some 500 beds. The common room crawls with tanned twenty-somethings, and percussive music plays continuously. The new hostel is "cool" too, but a bit smaller and across the street from the library. The lady at the desk, Valeria, radiates enthusiasm and happiness. We came for the cheaper rates, but will stay (a week) for the cheer.
We're just off Queen St., which slopes down to the waterfront. I discovered the tall ship Soren Larsen yesterday afternoon and had a good chat with a few of the crew. She's a beauty, and the crew are fueled by love, not money. Going on board was a highlight for me.
Up the street is a labyrinth of lights, sounds, staircases that skip floors and elevators that skip floors, all disguised as an entertainment center. Last night we tried to find the cinema's ticket booth, we took an elevator too far up, a staircase too far down and in the end only found an enormous concession stand. Maybe someday we will understand, and then we will know we have arrived.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Ms. Pack-man
Over the past few days we've deconstructed our apartment, scattered our furniture to the four winds and relegated our worldly possessions to a pile of old luggage in a crawl space. Instead of buying boxes, or scrounging around supermarket dumpsters, we borrowed countless carry-ons, broken suitcases, and outdated purses to hold all of our life.
No matter how much we put away, little piles of crap and mismatched odds and ends litter our floor. For every piece of furniture moved, a dented rectangle of carpet and dust appears.
According to Blogger "deconstructing" is not a word. What about Harry? From what I hear, he was deconstructed...
So to all you naysayers, Ah ha! Here is another post. Not the sort you drive into the ground, mind. Right, so I will continue to bloggggggg, even if you don't continue to read.
No matter how much we put away, little piles of crap and mismatched odds and ends litter our floor. For every piece of furniture moved, a dented rectangle of carpet and dust appears.
According to Blogger "deconstructing" is not a word. What about Harry? From what I hear, he was deconstructed...
So to all you naysayers, Ah ha! Here is another post. Not the sort you drive into the ground, mind. Right, so I will continue to bloggggggg, even if you don't continue to read.
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