My flatmate, and good friend from way back, Will, was waiting for me the second I stepped out of baggage claim. I suppose he had little trouble recognizing who I was after eight years - same fair skin, same lean (that's right, LEAN) physique, same dashing home-grown American looks.
Modesty aside, the two of us hit it off like we'd been apart for just a short while. Will, with his occasional quips about American laziness, obesity and our war-mongering nature. Me, with my relentless bashing of their silly pronunciations (most recent decisive victory in my favor: their utterance of the letter "z," which they say as "zed." After pointing out that no word with a "z" uses that sound, including their own country - New ZedLand - Will was forced to admit defeat. Chalk one up for the red, white and blue.)
We set off on a few initial errands, including a mouth-watering Swiss butcher where meat-eaters of the world could quickly empty their wallets if they weren't careful - Will practically did. We left with sausages, spare ribs and a packet of "air dried beef," a sort of beef jerky without the toughness and way more flavor. Pictures of said feast to come...
That evening we took a short walk nearby to Mt. Hobson, where I was able to get a better look at the town I'd be calling home for four months. Mt. Hobson is one of the many volcanic cones in New Zealand, part of the roughly 65 dormant and extinct volcanoes spread about the country. Little is left that points to its volcanic existence, except for some interesting terrain, including a particularly large dome near the top where the volcano once blew out the side of the mountain, forming a large crater. Side-note: there's 28 volcanoes in Auckland alone, one which occasionally releases fumes and smoke causing the locals to get a little restless. To make matters worse, a local museum put together an exhibit to demonstrate what would happen if said volcano went ka-booey. The shockwave alone would take out much of the city, and then some.
We ended the night by taking a quick trip down to one of the local beaches to watch the sun set over the horizon - something I'd never had a chance to see, at least not like this. It was absolutely gorgeous, although we had made it just in time to see what was left of big yellow's departure. Completely aware that the moment was terribly romantic, and as much as I love my kiwi friend, I couldn't help but wish my girl was there with me to share it.
When we arrived home I cracked open my first Kiwi beer, a Monteith's Radler. It's a fruity lager that's perfect for the summer heat, tasting more like a lemonade than beer. Although I still felt great, even with the copious amounts of jetlag, I crashed early for tomorrow's hike up north.
Updates coming every day or so. Thanks for reading.
Stay classy,
John
who doesn't
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