Day Three: Meet your new mates
I did not spend much time combing through the travel documents and materials my travel agent sent me before arriving in New Zealand. The last days before my flight were all a mad rush, and then suddenly I was in New Zealand on my own. I hadn't read ahead to see exactly what I was doing when, so when I awoke on the morning of the third day I thought I was simply boarding a bus which would transport me up to the Bay of Islands and drop me off at an accomodation which my travel agent had booked for me.
I woke early and headed out, bags packed, to the hotel lobby. A few other young people were also there, with bags packed. Fellow bus travelers, I suspected. We stood around, arms crossed, our minds too fogged by early morning reticence and fatigue to break the awkward silence.
And then more people showed up, and more, and soon the lobby was filled with roll-ons and backpacks and clumps of one or two or three people, looking around, awaiting guidance and the arrival of this bus. Then a bus pulled up and a man and woman stepped off in matching polo shirts with the word Connections on them and began collecting travel vouchers and loading our bags. In addition, about 15 or so twenty-somethings who were already on the bus got off to stretch their legs. I passed time by reading the newspapers in the lobby, most of which were covering the ongoing United Nations debates over Iraq and the Columbia Shuttle explosion which had occurred the previous day.
Many of us had the same luggage tags on our bags, and I began to suspect I was on a tour of some sort. Then we all boarded the coach bus, and I grabbed a seat near the back in an empty row, still too set in solo travel mode to be social. An Aussie bloke named Ryan, who had already been traveling on the bus for almost two weeks, sat down next to me and the bus departed. I pulled the travel docs from my travel agent out and read them more carefully. The itinerary she had written up didn't mention a tour, but then I found another document in a folder labeled Connections for 18 to 35's. It was only then that it dawned on me: I was on a Connections tour called the 15 Day Grand Kiwi.
If that didn't clear things up, our two guides soon did. The chap in the Connections polo shirt was our bus driver and tour guide, Russ, an Aussie. He'd be with us for the Bay of Islands portion of our trip as he was at the tail end of a tour he had just led in the reverse direction, along with the 15 or so people who were already on board the bus. The woman in the Connections shirt was our hostess, Angie, from Tasmania. They introduced themselves over the bus intercom, and then, as we drove up to Mt. Eden, Russ invited each of us up to introduce ourselves on the microphone at the front of the bus.
It would take me a day or two to wrap my head around the whole tour idea. Not that I had anything against tours, but my mind had settled into solo travel mode and now I had to summon a different level of energy and social spirit. Also, I had still had work and home on my mind--it would be a few days before I hit my travel groove. For some reason I wasn't in a camera-happy mood either, as you can tell from the scant few photos from this leg of my journey.
Mount Eden is the highest volcano in Auckland. I'd already been there the previous day on my own. We stopped and snapped some photos, and then we headed north to the Bay of Islands. During our drive we completed our introductions. The people who had already been on the bus for days were comfortable up at the front, already having broken the ice with many of the others. I don't remember what I said about myself, though two things I do recall.
One was that there were a bit over 20 women on the bus, and about 10 men. Males are not accustomed to such ratios, except those majoring in nursing. There were worse fates.
The second was that the guy sitting next to me, Ryan, got up and, encouraged by Russ, broke into a stand-up comedy routine which apparently had entertained Russ and others over a few beers earlier in the trip. Rule one of comedy: you're never as funny as you think when you're drunk, and neither is anyone else you hear. He went on for about 10 minutes about Lleyton Hewitt and something else I can't recall, and I cringed the whole time because the punch line never came. It was much like watching an animal struggling in quicksand, slowly sinking. Finally, Russ, realizing that he had made a mistake, mercifully cut Ryan off.
We
stopped along the way to admire Whangarei Falls ("wh" is pronounced
like an "f"; thus fang-geh-ray). A short hike took us to the
base of the falls where we sat and soaked in the sunlit view. I still
didn't feel overly social but did meet Alison from England and Laura from
Toronto on a picnic bench down at the bottom. I also chatted a bit with
the Aussie Tim, who happened to be Angie's younger brother and also good
friends with Russ. Tim and a Dutch fellow named Johnny had traveled north
with the tour bus and were finishing their travels in the Bay of Islands.
Alison also had ties; she was good friends with Angie, having traveled
with Connections around the Western coast of Australia. They all filled
me in on Connections.
Connections is a tour company that takes people ages 18 to 35 around New Zealand and Australia. The guides and hostesses like Russ and Angie travel a good 10 months out of the year, with only a day off between each trip. The guides are responsible for driving the bus and teaching us about the history and background of the sights we encounter along the way. They do most of this over the bus intercom, chatting into a headset as they drive. The hostesses like Angie describe and help book a variety of adventure activities for us as well as cooking us quite a few meals. I'm simplifying, of course. They do a whole lot more than that, and it's not an easy job shepherding twenty-somethings while they're on vacation.
The other oddity, at least to me, was that I was the only American on the bus. For some reason I had grown accustomed to meeting Americans the world over when traveling, and in a sample of size of over thirty it was odd to find only one. In retrospect, it wasn't terribly strange given that in February most young Americans in that age range are either in school or working and don't have two weeks to spare for vacation. The majority of the bus was Australian, with a smattering of Canadians, Germans, English, Irish, Dutch, Norwegians, and one or two each from Hong Kong, Japan, and Korea.
While on the bus, we began a routine which would repeat itself throughout the tour. Russ spoke about a number of optional activities we could partake in while at the Bay of Islands, and then Angie walked up and down the aisles with a clipboard, answering any questions we had before we signed ourselves up. Activities were to be paid for out of pocket, and Angie would call ahead to reserve our spots. I signed up for Swimming with Dolphins on the first day and kayaking on day two. The dolphin idea would prove significant.
The Bay of Islands is an idyllic, summer paradise, the most well-known area in the Northland. The weather is pleasant year-round, and the countless beaches and small islands dotting the clear blue waters make it a recreation destination of choice for Kiwis. We pulled into Paihia, near the Waitangi National Reserve, in the late afternoon and immediately everyone hit the beach.
I, on the other hand, had to head downtown to hit an Internet terminal because I had some health insurance issues to hammer out with human resources back at Amazon.com. I spent an hour or so online, trying to print out some forms and sending out a few e-mails. By the time I made it back to the beach everyone was about ready to head in. I'd missed social hour. Tim introduced me to my first Aussie beer, a Victoria Bitter, or VB. It's owned by the Foster's Group, but importantly, it's not Foster's, which as one Aussie girl told me years ago tasted like "horse piss."
We had dinner at the hotel, as prepared by Angie and Russ, and we met Susan, who was a hostess in training. We were not to ask her any questions, as Angie said. Most of what I remember from dinner is Russ pouring various sweet liquors into our mouths to get us in a party mood.
That evening most of us walked to a bar/dance club called Saltwater Cafe in the heart of town. The music was hopping, and lots of folks were out. I like to dance, but it requires a certain freedom of mind which I still didn't have yet. Sufficient alcohol could induce that state, but I wasn't in that mood either. Given that the group contained a bunch of twenty-somethings coming to the end of their vacation and a whole group of new folks, including lots of new girls, I simply tossed back a couple beers and observed the sexual machinations and tensions and flirting from the sidelines. Had a good chat with Judith and Daphne and Russ (not the guide Russ but one of the passengers).
After dancing a bit, I walked back to the hotel with Brendan at about 1 in the morning. Brendan, an Aussie, was there accompanying his cousin Stephanie.
Day Four: Maoris and dolphins and...oh wait, no dolphins
Most everyone had chosen to head out on a catamaran trip this morning and were all gone early. I had the morning free and walked out alone to visit the Waitangi Treaty House where in 1840 the Maoris signed the Waitangi treaty recognizing British sovereignty in exchange for British citizenship. A Maori guide showed us a 117-foot long Maori waka (war canoe) and his father performed a Maori war dance for us outside a beautiful Whare Runanga (Maori meetinghouse). We all learned the traditional Maori greeting in which you touch noses once or twice with another person and say, "Kia ora." (in English it sounds like key-aura)
In the afternoon I caught the Fuller's Swim with the Dolphins tour. Two others from the group were there, Jeremy and Tony. Jeremy was a self-described Lord of the Rings freak. It was a gorgeous day, and our mission was simple--locate a pod of dolphins, and, if conditions were right, hop into our swim gear and jump in to swim with them. Our boat operators cited a 90% success rate but also noted that they hadn't seen any dolphins in their morning excursion. I was hopeful, and as the boat set off most of us stood on either side of the boat scanning the endless blue waters for telltale fins.
Fast forward three hours. A Japanese woman sits hunched over at the back of the boat, having vomited into a plastic bag for two hours straight. The rest of us sit wearily in our seats, eyes windburned from staring into blue nothingness for hours on end. In the end we did spy two dolphins, Lizzy and Gadget, but didn't get to swim with them. They were impressive, especially in size, but all in all it was a disappointment, one of the few I'd have my entire trip. We all had the choice of an NZ$20 refund or a voucher for a return trip. I took the NZ$20.
What happened that evening? I don't remember much. I stayed in, read a lot of Beryl Markham's West with the Night, and turned in early. But not before one of my roommates (I can't remember his name), a strange bug-eyed dude from Tasmania, attacked me with his hand puppet possum. His accent was so thick I could never understand a word he was saying to me, and I'd seen enough movies to realize that someone who derives great pleasure from a hand puppet and dabbles in ventriloquism is likely a murderer or psychotic of some sort. Bloody hell.
I later heard from Corinna that a crew went out dancing again in town that night. It was my last anti-social day.
Next: I get whipped kayaking and turn social on the return trip to Auckland
Bay of Islands travel information network
Connections for 18 to 35's tour company: the tour group that took me around the North and South Islands by bus. Our guides, Johnny and Ange, were fantastic, and I made a lot of great friends during my travels. Highly recommended!
Waitangi National Trust Estate, in Paihia
Fuller's Swim with the Dolphins tour in the Bay of Islands
From West with the Night (a wonderful biography I read during my trip): "I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesterdays are buried deep--leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this, but like everyone, I learned it late."