On The Road Again

January 14, 2007, On Hwy 1 toward Wharhine Road via Wellsford.

We head north on the Main Line—a skinnier shorter version of a bus. After a long and tiresome evening of phoning wwoofing hosts up and down the country we awoke to a response from our original destination.

Months ago, when this trip was still in its planning stages and merely more than a dream we made contact with a family in the northern part of Auckland. Based on the description set forth in the wwoofing guide we expected to be greeted by the largest natural harbor in the southern hemisphere and a rural countryside. Unfortunately miscommunications put our plans on hold for they had other wwoffers taking up residency on their farm when we checked in prior to landing. Fortunately time was on our side this time. I plan to take an immediate dip in my brand new, exorbitantly expensive bathing suit. The New Zealand dollar may not be as strong as the American but that doesn’t keep them from raising their prices to equal stature.

It is early into the bus ride and the driver is not instilling much confidence in me of his abilities. I was taking a pause from jotting down these thoughts when I notice us speeding toward a red light. Unfamiliar with the rules on the roads, I supposed that buses received a go ahead. I was proven wrong as the wheels locked and we slid into place at the stopping line.

We have made it out of Auckland alive. It is New Zealand's largest city with under one million people in its immediate vicinity and just over one million people in it and its outlying areas. Just thinking about the fact that Los Angeles has more people in it than all of New Zealand makes me ever so joyous to be aware from there.

To leave Auckland and head north one must first cross the water. There is a great bridge that spans the harbor Auckland overlooks. From there the city of sails reveals its namesake. The docking yard is filled to the gills with sail boats in varying states of repair, ability and country of origin; even the unique and ancient chinese junk finds a home here. At the entrance to the harbor a small island boasting one rocky edge and a two square meter beach beckons me and I know a sail is not far in my future.

At our first stop the bus doors open manually and a package is handed over for delivery. This bus is a currier of non-human cargo as well.

Passing through the different towns on our route north I notice the unfortunate image of new track homes, but I suppose it was an inevitable epidemic. Backed by pasture land the scenery looks fresh out of a real estate advertisement from whence I just came. And just like that we crest a hill and a light turquoise ocean spans the horizon. Oh glorious New Zealand. Nowhere are you more than 40 miles from the great sea. Unfortunately Kiwis like to speed on the sea and the tranquil azure surface is upset with the wake and exhaust of many a seadoo. As the road curves around again we leave the ocean view for a countryside dotted with grassland and small woods of varying trees and plants. What look like palm trees reveal themselves as yet more King Ferns reaching high above the surrounding branches.