Auckland and Me

Admist a constant stream of backpackers and friendly faces my almost lack of culture shock astounds me. After a seemingless quick flight on a journey that seems to have taken a lifetime to get to--I find myself unable to fully process the fact that I am finally here in New Zealand. The differences between NZ and the US are very apparent right off the bat, whether it's the "give way" signs instead of "yield" or the one dimensional storefronts that lack the sleek and modern day sophistication of most US Cities. But what really seems strikingly different to me is that at 8 am there is an almost surreal sereness that seems to permeate the morning city streets with only the occasional tetris, almost gameboy like noise signaling pedestrians to walk/not walk that jars the silence. I don't know exactly where I am in the scope of the city, but from where I sit the infamous sky tower sits behind me, a calm waterfront ahead and an earie, yet captivating coast line of jagged cliffs, exotic greens and occasional skyscrapers lies ahead. I feel like I'm sitting in tourist central with the sounds of luggage being wheeled over littered sidewalks and hoards of senior citizens toting fannypacks and adorned in wannabe outdoorsy attire that to the real outdoor enthusiast appears just a little too camoflauge and a little too overly pocketed. I am nervous about what's to come--I almost have to laugh when I think about just hw little I know about what I'm getting myself into--constantly finding myself spewing the overly vague "environmental conservation" answer in response to my constnat bombardment about what a young 21 year old girl is doing alone in New Zealand for 6 months. The smell of throwup wafting in the air--not so attractive, time to move spots! After perusing the storefronts along Queen St. I have found myself sitting on a bench in a quiet park tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city--where seagulls flock, unidentifiable birds aimlessly hop around and a cool breeze whips through the intricately bent branches. But alas, let me digress--yesterday or January 31, I spetn the night in what my mom described as the lap of luxury hotel--or at least that's what the oevrly staged picture online of the Hacienda hotel would have you believe. Between the 1970s vending machines, the 12 channel television selection and air conditioning that must have been stuck at 50 degrees--it was definitely a night to remember. The next day after a marathon of quality daytime television I booked it to the airport and with a backpack totaling near 60 pounds and twoc arryons a good 20pounds each--let's just say I gave new meaning to the idea of taking one's time. After going to the wrong Qantas terminal and having to wait until 5pm before I could check my bads--I was pretty beat. I'm not sure what it is abotu me, but old people tend to flock to me--in the chaos of going to the wrong terminal I somehow managed to become fast friensd with a group of 15 deserted Wichita, Kansas senior citizens (who had missed their earlier flight and wouldn't be taking off until the next day.) In between mindless chatter about past travels about why Africa isn't the slight bit appealing to a born again Southern Woman--I made a friend out of Ruby--or at elast that's what her tag said--she alter allerted me to the fact that her real name was Lucinda--talk about starting a friendship off on the right foot--honesty my ass! Then there was the late 20s something kiwi I befriended while waiting for the plane. She singlehandedly make me fall in love with the NZ accent--and although we spent a good 4.5 hours hanging out I can't remember her name, but I do know we both had ungodly awful passport photos and shared a common love and deep admiration for "intouch" "star" and "us weekly." On the flight I sat next to a middleaged English couple whose constant doting on one another and playful demeanors got me to thinking would I ever find a guy who could love me and actually enjoy spending 15+ hours on a plane next to me and act like there was nowhere else he'd rather be? Oh and side note--sitting in the aidle seat blows if you havea solid bladder--6 times count it 6 times, I was awaken from my blissful slumbers by the two bloked squirming to use the bathroom--and to that I say pure rubbish! Thankfully there was quality reality tv to sooth my irritations and distract me from the fact that for the next 6 months I will be sans the hills, eral world and girls next door. Already, off to go kill 4.5 hours before I meet up with my group and go to Circus Olay?