A Recap

Back to Civilization, and the bustling city life in Auckland - lattes, business suits, and internet connections. I think I miss the country already. I was under the impression I was going to be able to access the internet down south and provide periodic updates, but it seems I was mistaken. So I apologize for the data dump, and I’ll try to be as terse as possible, but this may get a bit lengthy. So… a “summary”:

I left Auckland (which I have since been informed is not the capital of NZ, I’m not sure where I got that idea in my head) two weeks ago to head for the center of the north island where there is suppose to be a little hostel setup for climbers in the midst of infinite country farmland. This involved catching a bus down to the city of Hamilton, the last real city until you get all the way down to Wellington (the real capital) at the south tip. Nearly half the country’s population lives in Auckland, and close to three-quarters lives in Hamilton or north. A city bus got me south another 60 km or so to the sleepy town of Te Awamutu. Such sleepy towns close shop at around 5:00 or so in the evening, so I soon found myself wandering the lone street through town looking for life in the last hints of remaining daylight as the sun waved goodbye in the northeast. The plan, as explained to me by the lady on the phone, is to hitchhike from town into camp, which sits some 30 km away and involves several direction changes identified by landmarks with traditional Maori names that I can’t pronounce. It’s easy, people do it all the time, she tells me. Oh, and there are no markets out there, so get some groceries before coming in.

I stand on the side of a road less developed than most driveways back home, loaded with 70lbs of climbing gear, photography equipment, groceries and the three t-shirts I will be wearing for the next six-months, sticking my thumb out hoping that is the local signal for a need for a ride and not telling someone to f-off. Two tractors and a grain cart in 25 minutes makes me question the viability of this pursuit. A man with a thick Kiwi accent finally stops and I try my best despite the language gap to convey that I am trying to get to a place called Wharepapa (“Where-papa”) South. He’s never heard of it. It’s dark now, there are no street lights, there are no motels back in town, and last of my optimism has faded with the last rays of sunlight in the sky. I eventually tuck my tail between my legs and hoof it back into town to call up for pick-up. So much for being the adventurous traveler. It is later explained to me that ‘Wh’ in Maori tongue is pronounced as a soft f, and a syllable will never have more than one vowel. The Kiwis also add ‘R’s onto words ending in ‘A’ and butcher vowels in general. Unfortunately this wasn’t explained to me until I got to Fah-rey Pa-Per Sooth.