Days 2 & 3: Auckland

It's time to tell you about Auckland.

On the morning of the 22nd of April, my arrival day, I missed my bus stop and so I walked back a little way to a Starbucks that I'd seen as we passed, where I got some tea and a muffin and plugged in my dying phone. What I really needed was the WiFi, though--I had no idea where I was, due to missing my stop, and only a vague idea of where I needed to go. It was pretty exciting, come to think of it. Turns out I wasn't too far off from the hostel, but I was enjoying the familiarity and security of the Starbucks, so I stayed for a while.

A quick note on NZ electrical outlets: you have to flip the switch for power. It isn't your adapter or your power cord. Switching out devices and jiggling cords repeatedly won't help. Neither will relocating to a different outlet while everyone stares at you. Flip. The. Switch. You're welcome.

Aotea Square: waiting for me right around the corner from Starbucks

Right, so it took me a while to decide that I was ready to step outside the door onto Queen Street and face this entirely new city, but once I did, I cannot tell you how lovely it was. First thing, I ran into a student from Denmark named Frederich, who was with a group campaigning against deep sea oil drilling off the NZ coast. He noticed my ukulele sticking out of the top of my backpack, and a minute later he was playing the intro to "Sweet Child of Mine" on it.

 
I don't remember what my plan for the first day was, besides get to the hostel and of course skydiving, but I ended up in Albert Park pretty quickly. It had just been a green patch on the map that I figured I might kill some time in, but almost as soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew it was much more. Spread out on a steep hill overlooking Victoria Street, it is a wonderland of enormous, twisting trees, spaced far apart but still blocking out the sky due simply to the massive reach of their branches. It took me a full walk round the path to get up the courage to venture among the trees themselves--they seemed too sacred for me to be allowed to go near them. I sat in the ivy that covered the ground, letting my feet finally breathe among the leaves and taking occasional photos when I wasn't playing my uke. When I left, it was more because it was check-in time at the hostel than because I really wanted to go.


 
 
And then it was time. Time to jump off the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere: the Sky Tower. The original plan was to jump out of a plane, but the runway was closed for repairs, so 630 feet would have to do (sarcasm). I grew very nervous as the moment of truth approached, and even more so when there was conspicuous mention of "death by falling" in the waiver that I signed upon arrival. The entire staff was incredibly friendly, though, and I asked the girl who suited me up if she jumps off for fun all the time, half out of curiosity and half to reassure myself. She said she does, and between that knowledge and how chill yet methodical the guys at the top were, I decided I would love it. The process and verbal commands/responses at the top reminded me a lot of rock climbing, so I felt secure.

Plus the British lady in front of me had just jumped and was back for seconds. She went off backwards.

So, with my Converse laced extra tight and a GoPro strapped to my wrist, I held the poles on either side of the walkway, leaned out over the edge, and let go.

I FLEW. The rush was immense, and I fell long enough that I actually had time to adjust to the stomach-lifting sensation and enjoy the view.

I had the mother of all wedgies when I landed, but I remembered to bend my knees. And I didn't die, so that was good. I was so disoriented, though. I guess falling over fifty stories'll do that to you.

From there, I found my way to the harbor in an attempt to beat the sunset at the Harbour Bridge.

A quick snap along the way that turned out to be one of my favorites so far

I found, however, that the view was better from the Heritage Landing, which was much closer and had no noisy car traffic. Bonus: yachts that probably cost more than most houses (of which I, for some reason, didn't take any photos).

After sunset, I walked back along the harbor and Quay Street, bought some Hokey Pokey ice cream that's apparently an NZ favorite and that I have already developed a devastating addiction to, and then walked back up to the Sky Tower to redeem my free Sky Deck voucher (for not dying?). The view of the city at night, so alive with countless lights winking up at me, was remarkable. There is a peace that exists up there. I walked on 32mm-thick glass, through which you can see the streets fifty-three floors below, and somehow felt as if I was cheating death.

I laid low for a lot of the second day because I was fairly tired, but I did end up in Albert Park again, with my breakfast.

After eating and climbing around a little bit, I pulled out my big, beautiful, green notebook for the first time (I bought it months ago in anticipation of that moment) and wrote the foreword to my trilogy, followed by the first page of the prologue. It felt wonderful to just sit and write, away from distractions or any inkling of what time it was.

After dinner, I went down Queen Street to Event Cinemas to see Age of Ultron, which did not disappoint. I may have rubbed it in a little bit to my friends back home, who had to wait another week to see it.

The experience of going to an NZ theatre was as different and interesting as I hoped it would be. For one, the cinema had self-serve kiosks where you could buy your tickets and select your seat. And yeah, all the seats were assigned.

Secondly, we went up two escalators to get to the actual theatres. American theaters are all spread out, with long hallways, but this one was laid out vertically.

Finally, Kiwi audiences just laugh more. I don't know if it's because they're more laid back, but they laugh long and loud where Americans would probably just chuckle. The sheer volume of the laughter made the audience sound even larger than it was. Each bout of audible joy that I released was less restrained than the last, until I felt that I was finally reacting honestly rather than making any attempt to stifle myself. Being in there somehow made me feel free.

And last but not least, one of my favorite and most unexpected moments in Auckland:

I was walking by on the street with my camera resting in my hand and they said, "Take a picture of us!" 

So I did.