Monday, July 6th
After doing the now-standardized awkward "who's going to turn on the lights first because I don't want to be 'that guy'" wake up, we had about twenty minutes to shower, pack our bags, and throw them onto the Magic Bus. This wasn't as difficult or tedious as it might sound, namely because we had been "living out of our suitcases" and hadn't really expanded our wardrobe out into closets or drawers. With time to spare, we made it to a pretty decent hot breakfast. After loading up on juice bottles, we transferred to the Rotorua Boy's School for our last orientation session. It was during this session that I had yet another brush with "Murphy's Law".
"Alright, I'm going to read out everyone's name and describe who is meeting up with you to bring you to your accommodations." After quickly (for it is not very difficult) recognizing that the names were being listed in alphabetical order, I registered even more quickly that my name was conspicuously absent from the Victoria University read-off. Not Good. For the love of God, all I wanted at this point was a blessed room of my own, and now my name was missing from the accommodations list. Also fantastic was the fact that Alicia decided to read these names BEFORE the information session. This lended me the opportunity to sit in a pool of sweat for about a half hour before I finally had the opportunity to approach her at the end of the session and request that she please make sure that I had a bed to sleep in once I got to the city I had never been to on the opposite side of the world. It didn't strike me as too much of a thing to ask. After sweating it out for a few more minutes, she got off the phone and assured me that it was a clerical error and that Victoria did, indeed, have a place for me to stay. I was happy about this.
It was a great feeling riding on the bus to the airport, knowing that my long journey was soon to be over. I wanted to see where I'd be spending my time for the next five months and finally be able unload all of my belongings into my own private space. It's important , after all, to have somewhere to call your own, even if it's very small. It's somewhere to gather your thoughts at the end of the day and to retain your sense of self. About twenty minutes of driving finally ended at the parking lot of the Rotorua airport. Crutchie made the males and females "guess a number he was thinking", the loser had to get the luggage out. The males lost, and were then required to get out of the van and unload all of the girl's bags. I have a sneaking suspicion that the game was rigged and we would've lost no matter what number we chose. Just a guess.
Rotorua airport was absolutely beautiful. It was the smallest, most low key airport I've ever seen. The building itself was built right on the edge of a lake, and the lake had a beautiful island in the middle of it. Like the guard dog at the Auckland airport, I felt that this establishment further reflected New Zealand and its more casual, simple way of doing things. The sky, as it always is in New Zealand, was extremely dramatic and beautiful. I was excited to get above the clouds and see them from a different perspective.
We passed the ninety minute or so wait time by eating "Salad Sandwiches" which were provided to us by Australearn (I failed to get a picture, but they were genius. They were literally delicious salad put between two pieces of bread. I think I ate three of them) and by playing various card games. Joe laid some card tricks down and blew us all away. I tried my "tell me when to stop and I'll read your mind" card trick. It worked on about two people before they figured it out. I think I need to learn some new tricks.
I was in the middle of an earth-shatteringly amazing card hand when our flight was called. We ran through the "security checkpoint" (which was basically two airport employees grinning like their life depended on it and wishing you a good flight) and walked out on to the runway. It was all quite exclusive and I felt like the president. The pilot shook our hands and we walked up the stairs into the puddle jumper. Rumors suggesting that puddle jumpers are small planes are quite accurate.
Contrary to what I expected, I found the flight on the puddle jumper to be much more enjoyable and bearable than my Southwest flights across America. It may just have been because the weather was infinitely nicer and we experienced little to no turbulence. It was just before takeoff that I again met my dear friend Murphy and his law that "everything that can go wrong, will go wrong". My camera ran out of batteries the instant we left the ground. This prevented me from taking pictures of what were probably the most beautiful and breathtaking things I'd ever seen. About five minutes in, everyone on the plane fell deathly silent and just gazed out of the window. We rose above the clouds and their shapes began to take the forms of pillars and gaseous giants silhouetted by the glorious colors of the sky and sun. I listened to "Love, Reign O'er Me" by The Who on my Ipod as I gazed in awe of the clouds and the various glimpses of valleys, mountains and sea sneaking in through their cracks. It was certainly the most moving and beautiful thing I've experienced on my trip so far. It was about a fifty minute ride down the North Island, but it seemed like minutes. The FASTEN SEATBELT sign came on and we began our descent...into Wellington. The Journey was over, and I had reached my destination. I was grinning for most of the next hour as I took it all in. My camera was able to snap three quick pictures after resting for an hour, but quickly shut off soon after.
So this is Wellington. It's a small city built into a beautiful scenic harbor on the very bottom of the North Island. All of the suburbs and living areas are built on the upper edges of the harbor, so getting to and from town from home always involves a lot of steep downhill and uphill climbing. When you look up, no matter where you are in the city, without a doubt you will see something dramatic and beautiful, as you are surrounded by the sea and the mountains from all sides. The air, even in the middle of the city, is the most beautiful, fresh smelling mountain air I've ever smelled, and I can often taste the purity of it as it fills my lungs. It is winter here right now, but it only really ever gets sweatshirt cold at night when it's windy out. Sometimes it's quite cloudy and it often likes to rain, but the city has a saying that "You can't beat Wellington on a good day", and it's quite true. When the clouds decide to part and the sun comes out, I wear shorts and sunglasses and chuckle to myself at how ridiculously beautiful this place is. Spring comes in September, so it's only getting better from here. Next time I suppose I'll give you a quick rundown of my flat and various places in the city I've been so far. I guess this is the end of my "origin story", though, so I hope you enjoyed. By the way, I want to thank everyone for the great comments, I do enjoy reading them and greatly appreciate the feedback.
Writing again soon,
Bill
