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Published: December 29th 2007
There be a storm a brewin', me hearties!
Yarh! Ah-ha! A vast ye Captain!... and other such piratey nonsense. In the City of Sails (that being Auckland due to it having lots of... boats and stuff that floats).We stopped in Auckland for two reasons. First we needed to make some money - if we didn’t get our hands on some cold hard cash soon, we’d be flying home before we could even say “Whakatane” (much to my own personal amusement, apparently "wha" is pronounced "fuh" in New Zealand - how wha-cking weird is that?) Second we wanted to stop moving around for a while; settle for a moment and recharge our enthusiasm for travelling. A year of going “wow” and “ooo” had taken its toll on our ability to be impressed by anything other than clean, warm showers, real cheese and bedrooms with fully stocked bars and giant plasma screen TV's.
Well, I can report that it is utterly astonishing how quickly a return to office life can recharge any lost enthusiasm for travel. After I'd got over the astonishing and varied range of stationery freely available in the office (including one of those Tipex roller things which I used to give my watch strap a cool white "racing" stripe), I think I managed about twenty minutes of my first day at work before I was humming the “rucksack on my back” song and fantasising about one-way
Spin and twirl and clap your hands!
Take your partners and dosie-doh!
Bollywood style dancing reached Auckland during the excellent Diwali celebrations. Everbody was up and doing the stand on one leg, pat the dog and screw in the light bulb dance. tickets, open toed sandals (my own ones - despite the way that sounded, I'm not a foot fetishist) and fusty hostel dorms.
Those first few weeks of working life were painful. Being at a desk, staring at a computer screen is something that has always come fairly naturally to me. It’s something I’ve been doing since I was about twelve. The difference is that back then I was rescuing hostages in “Rambo III: First Blood” on my Commodore 64, and these days I tend to be better adapted to flicking through travel websites researching potential destinations than I am to writing reports and procedures to a deadline.
Actually, talking about computer games; a few days into my temp job for this water company I was distracted by the screen of a guy who sits infront of me because I thought he was playing some sort of game. It seemed to involve lasers and asteroids. Intrigue got the better of me and I asked him what he was doing. Turns out it wasn't a game at all but CCTV footage of a sewer. What I thought was a laser turned out to be... well, a laser, scanning the interior
surface of the pipe. I won't even begin to describe what the asteroids were...
Wearing sensible clothing that hasn’t been crushed in a rucksack and worn until the smells are creating a visible vapour trail also feels un-natural. I held an iron in my hand for the first time in about 18 months. Fortunately I still remembered which bit of it gets hot.
In these stressful circumstances you take what you can from those few blissful moments of calm, relaxation and contemplation that your daily routine offers you. Personally I’ve always taken great comfort from the journey to work - be it the thirteen-minute walk to work I had in Edinburgh or the hour commute on the tube I had in London. There’s something quite fascinating and comforting about seeing the same people and the same scenery and having that period of time to just think about absolutely nothing in particular, just let your mind do some travelling of its own, without interruption. For me the bus journey to work is a natural extension of breakfast. It’s the equivalent of Victorian men retiring to the drawing room for cigars after dinner. After breakfast I like to retire to
Euston Road
My favoruite road in Auckland. It looks like it goes right to the centre of the city. Actually, with that stormy sky it looks like the advert for that production company whose name escapes me and... I'll shut up. the bus.
The number 10 bus from Ponsonby to Onehunga is never busy. Only on one or two occasions can I recall every row of seats being occupied by somebody requiring the next person that gets aboard to go through the prickly decision of who to sit next to. That’s one of my favourite post breakfast pastimes: guess who the new person’s going to sit next to. Age, personal appearance (which includes the sub categories of size and standards of personal hygiene) and likelihood of the person speaking are all factors to take into consideration. For the most part, people will watch someone as they get onto a bus - critically assess them as they speak with the driver and pray that they don’t sit next to them. As soon as the new passenger finishes their conversation with the driver, everybody finds something fascinating outside to stare at and put on their ‘angry-and-unpredictable-so-don’t-sit-here’ faces.
Another of my little commuting games is to occasionally mess with the system.
This basically involves interrupting somebody else’s daily routine to prompt a reaction. It’s really very simple, involving little scheming or thought on my part, but to begin with you must understand
Pon-snobby
Lots of jolly, happy, immaculately dressed people that made us feel like the local tramps in Ponsonby. But they were all just jealous of the monkey poo stains I had on my shoes (see [diary=93721]). the unspoken rules of the number 10, that is, you must know everyone’s place. For example, I am, by some weird design, a mid-bus, left hand-side dweller. When I get on the number 10, my seat of choice is the seat fifth from the front on the left hand side. I don’t know why, but that’s my seat. I may be a relative newcomer to the number 10 community, but I’ve learned quickly that Knitted Sweater Boy who gets on at the stop after me will always choose the seat directly behind the driver; Mouth-Slightly-Open-in-a-Gormless-Way Girl who gets on at one of the stops before mine always chooses the first seat on the right hand side after the step at the back of the bus, and so on and so forth… Everybody has their place on the number 10.
Two Socks aka Dances-With-Wolves Girl (on account of her two white socks), who gets on the bus two stops after me, always sits on the seat across the aisle from mine, fifth from the front on the right hand side. Like everyone else on the bus, Two Socks avoids eye contact with anyone, stays quiet and never cracks a smile
Travelblog Office Christmas Party
We managed to organise a few Christmas drinks with some fellow Travel Bloggers. Despite it initially feeling a little like a blind date, it went really well and I think everyone had a good night. From the left, Tommy, Vikki, Me, Jo and Clare. (as these are all recognised signs of a weirdo and outcast on the number 10 where the word ‘hello’ is actually illegal). So one day I started a silent rebellion. When I got on the bus one morning I paused at my usual seat before turning and sitting in Two Socks seat. As I took her place I could feel the eyes of the other passengers filling with fear and confusion. Mouth-Slightly-Open-in-a-Gormless-Way Girl let her jaw go a little slacker. “What are you doing?! Are you crazy?! It’s not right!”. From the way they shifted in their seats I could tell I’d rattled them. Their morning routine was in turmoil.
When we got to Two Socks stop, she got on the bus, paid the driver (as usual we all watched from the corners of our eyes… “hair’s a little different today - not sure I like that, same white socks though…”). As she turned to walk down the bus I pretended to be preoccupied watching a particularly large lady giving a tiny collapsible chair the kind of tensile test it prayed it would never get. I could feel Two Socks eyes on me as she walked towards me and
I let my own eyes flick up to meet hers. I even tried one of those smiles you do when you make eye contact with someone by mistake. Not a flicker of emotion; just a stare. I was Goldilocks; she was the Three Bears.
She sat down in my usual seat and ignored me twice as much as usual - which is a serious amount of ignoring. I was so ignored that I began to wonder if she was working on the fairy principle (if you say you don’t believe in them, one of them vanishes). It’s a dangerous thing to play with. I once tried it with mosquitos instead of using repellent and almost died of Malaria, but to try it on an almost human being - Two Socks was experimenting with levels of ignoring previously unheard of in public transport circles. As I am already suffering from serious Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (officially undiagnosed, but I read the blurb on Wikipedia and if I’ve not got it then someone’s been spiking my Weetabix) I was initially concerned that there would be serious consequences - such as the need for a big hug or a surprise birthday party.
Rangitoto from Glover Park, St. Heliers
Rangitoto is the volcano sitting just offshore from Auckland. The museum runs a comforting demonstration of the effect on the city if Rangitoto decided to blow. Fortunately, as any master ignorer knows, the stronger the force of your ignoring, the more difficult it is to control and focus. Two Socks just couldn’t hold that level of ignoring together for long.
But if I thought I was creating a storm by choosing the wrong seat - you should have seen the chaos created by Angry Biscuits and Dip Girl.
It was a quiet morning and the bus was almost empty. Greasy Marks on the Ceiling Man (so called because he always salutes the driver as he gets off the bus, but in doing so rubs his long greasy hair against the ceiling) had taken his usual spot two rows in front of me and Knitted Sweater Boy’s stereo made ‘psh, pshing’ noises from the front of the bus. Mouth-Slightly-Open-in-a-Gormless-Way Girl wasn’t on the bus this morning and Two Socks (who had resumed normal levels of ignoring after training in the ways of ignoring with master Morrisey and learning that “the more you ignore me the closer I get”) sat eating porridge from a wooden bowl (actually, that’s a lie). We were all content in our worlds when who should get on the bus, but the
House, A Street, Somewhere in Auckland
Don't actually know why I put this in here...? I think I just wanted to demonstrate the colourful nature of the wooden houses and gradient of the streets that typify Auckland. scourge of all silent public transport scenarios - Angry Biscuits and Dip Girl.
She took a seat at the front of the bus facing towards the back - sitting directly opposite her friend, I’m-Not-Really-With-Her Girl, with the rest of the bus as her audience. They talked loudly. Or rather, she talked loudly while her slightly more self-aware friend tried desperately to lower the volume of their conversation by speaking really quietly as if her companion should pick up the hint. But it was all to no avail. Angry Biscuits and Dip girl is angry. She’s always angry. And it’s always got something to do with biscuits and dip.
On this particular day Angry Biscuits and Dip Girl was particularly angry about the lack of etiquette her “friends” had been displaying when it came to dinner parties. Apparently, no matter what the circumstances of the party she will always - ALWAYS - take biscuits and dip to a party. It’s as important as the wine. Which is why she was flabbergasted when her “friends”, in particular Fiona - who should have known better and is a 'biatch' anyway - failed to produce the goods at her last party.
We're going to need a bigger can of spray.
After everyone telling us how bad the bugs and creepy crawlies were in Australia, we pinned our hopes on New Zealand being a welcome relief. But as things have turned out we've seen more bugs here than we did in Oz! They may not be as dangerous but they're bloody irritating - especially when they reach the size of the one on this house. Causes havoc with the tiling. For the twenty minutes that Angry Biscuits and Dip Girl was on the bus, the other passengers and myself were treated to a tirade of fury about the pure selfishness of her friends and the distinct lack of biscuits and dip they brought to their oh, so special friendship. And the one time someone did bring biscuits they forgot the dip - I mean; what use is that? And they were only bloody Sesame Crackers. I mean, who takes Sesame Crackers to a dinner party? Duh.
Crackers.
For those of you who are stunned by the fact that after three months in Auckland this is the best we could produce, fear not! The travels begin again on 1st February - and oh, sweet bujesus, it can't come soon enough...
And on that note, as a reward for reading to the very end, we would like to wish you a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hogmanay and all the best for 2008.
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Julie Skillern
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Julie from Brissie
The Skillerns have no need to sightsee the North Island, as you and Vik will tell and show all!! Great to hear from you again. I do miss them - the Blogs and the 2 of you!!