Auckland, July 2012

Pic of my Quantas Entertainment screen featuring a giant plane that isn't quite to scale on the map.


So after a very long time (I wasn't counting, I wasn't in any fit state to count the numbers beyond my fingers and toes) it came to pass that I landed in Auckland. I had a paranoid moment when I spotted several posters warning instant incarceration / potential death by firing squad if I should bring so much as a seed into the country, so I threw away my pricey nut granola bars before putting my belongings through an X-Ray. It turns out I probably could have just declared them and carried on, but I don't think I was capable of salient thought or speech at the time.

Sailing through immigration with some friendly advice from the officer regarding where I should find jobs, I met Justine Ross, who is a friend of my cousins' side of the family, in the arrivals hall. We had emailed a few months previously and she had been kind enough to offer me a bed for as long as I needed one, and to pick me up from the airport, something I think I will be eternally grateful for! Despite said arrivals hall being about two foot square and containing about 20 people, I failed to spot her until I had looked around the room twice, hauling my beloved backpack on one of those airport trolleys that have a mind of their own (so that's pretty much every trolley, ever).

As Justine drove us along the highway to their home in Coatesville, a small village in the Albany district of Auckland, I got to see some of the 'City of Sails'. Although the wind was up high and it was about to chuck it down, the multitude of sailboats sitting in the harbour looked very pretty, bobbing up and down a little too fiercely in the water for any actual sailing to take place, but pretty all the same. Driving on the left again was somewhat of a novelty, and I was amused to notice that at first glance, New Zealand was as green as the UK, with the same sort of roads, but with American style advertising and signs everywhere. It seems we Brits are about the only Western lot that doesn't go for big, garish signs, which although preferable in an aesthetic sense, is actually less useful as finding things is more difficult. Anyway, that's a jetlagged observation I had, so let's move on.

I couldn't quite believe my eyes when I got to Justine and Al's house - it was enormous, with lovely spacious rooms, beautifully decorated, incredibly clean and tidy - after spending so much time in hostels and tents, it was rather luxurious. I was to stay in their guest room, which had underfloor heating, a walk in wardrobe and an ensuite bathroom! I seem to remember after a delicious cup of tea, which made me feel like I was back at home in Blighty, we chatted about my trip so far in front of a roaring fire in their living room, and I met their son Jamie. We had roast beef, one of many delicious dinners to follow, and I had an early night. Happy not to be surrounded by mental druggies and the clattering din of people playing pool and getting roaringly drunk in the room below me, I slept like a proverbial log.

The next day Justine dropped me off at the shopping complex in Albany. The drizzle persisted, and after a month of gorgeous American sunshine I felt a looming sense of dread that my 'tan' would fade within about three days. Just in case you were wondering, it did. I did some necessary administration including opening a bank account and acquiring an NZ simcard, and then decided to potter down to Auckland CBD on the bus to have a look around and meet up with Bree, who happened to be back in NZ momentarily before going off to China for the forseeable future. Having done little in the way of research before reaching NZ, I was surprised to note that Auckland wasn't a city easily negotiated without a car, and was in fact sprawling and made up of a multitude of districts, all miles apart. After some initial confusion involving a bus map which didn't correspond to any of the stops I was at, I was eventually shepherded onto the right bus by a nice ex-pat British lady and a Maori gent and reached Britomart (aka Auckland CBD) without much more in the way of mishap. It wasn't the most enjoyable afternoon I have ever spent. I wandered about in the drizzle, still a little the worse for wear due to the jetlag, and settled down to have a bowl of pumpkin soup about a five minute walk from the bus stop. I managed to grab some wireless time and get in touch with Bree to agree a meeting place. WiFi in NZ is not a free commodity - pretty much everywhere charges for it and it is slow and prone to lag and cut out during a really important conversation on Skype or when you really want to check your email.

Anyway, after wandering like a wet, lost soul along Queen Street, I happened upon Whitcoulls, which I believe is the NZ equivalent of WHSmiths. In fact, I noted that they sold WHSmiths branded stationery, the really cheapo stuff you can pick up on a 3 for 2 offer all year round, as a premium brand. More well-travelled souls than I, who have been this way down the Southern Hemisphere before, have told tales of NZ being incredibly expensive, much like Australia is at the moment. With almost $2 to 1GBP I didn't find it too horrendous that far, but then I saw how much they were selling books for. Just your average paperback, something that has been in the charts for a few months - prices started at $30. $30! For a book! I decided there and then to look around for a second hand bookshop, and in the meantime I settled myself in a quiet corner and read some dreadful self help book on... well, I can't remember what now. Anyway, it killed time while the rain beat down outside and I was rain jacket-less and waiting for Bree to show up.

She eventually did, after some traffic issues, and I met her boyfriend Hayden and friends Ankit and Sarah, and we headed to a Japanese restaurant to have some warm sake. As it was getting pretty late and I had agreed to head home for dinner with the family, Hayden kindly offered to drop me home and I managed to forget which house they lived at as it was dark by that time, I had only been there once and, let's face it, I am a total dolt.

Guessing the house next door, I rang on the doorbell and started chatting away to the occupant, who asked me if I had got the right house by the time I was midway through a cheerful but vague explanation of my day. Woops. "Justine's house is the next driveway." Oh.

Anyway, I got there eventually, wished Bree all the best with the move, and had another piece of culinary wizardry in the form of fish pie for dinner. I met Jo, Justine and Al's daughter, and we played several rounds of the delightfully named card game 'Shithead' which I'm sure you're all familiar with. As with most card games, it involves trying to pull the rug out from under the feet of your opponent(s).

The next day I spent the morning applying for jobs - I hadn't really thought this bit out. I was planning to be more organised and spend some time in America researching where to look for jobs, what to do etc, but the frenetic pace of the U.S portion of the trip meant that I actually spent all my time just enjoying being there, but I suppose that was the whole point really.

I applied for about ten jobs in Auckland through temp agencies and TradeMe, which is the NZ equivalent of Gumtree and EBay mashed together. I didn't really know when to expect replies, so I left it at that. Justine had mentioned the day before that she was to visit her mother, Mary, in Mount Manganui in the Bay of Plenty area, and would I like to come, to which of course I said yes, so off we went.

I was surprised by how long it took to get there, but NZ isn't so much a network of roads as a couple of major through roads with little ones leading off of it. It's also pretty mountainous, so it takes a while to negotiate your way round. It turned out that I had asked at the right time to be let out for a loo stop, as there wasn't another one for a few hundred miles down the road. There's not much in the way of service stations here, which is a good and bad thing I suppose.

We reached Mary's home at around teatime, and settled in to watch telly for the night. Being the rock'n'roll sort I am, I fell asleep on the sofa at around 8.30pm in front of Masterchef Australia. As the Kiwis say: BOOM.

The next day Justine and I took a day trip to the Rotorua area which is known for its natural thermal pools and hot springs. As you drive over the hill, you can immediately smell a strong eggy, sulphuric whiff which pervades throughout the area. We visited Hell's Gate where we inspected several of the pools, made some traditional Maori carvings (mine a kiwi bird, representing determination and Justine's a hammerhead shark, representing strength) and stuck our feet in some mud which made for much entertainment and skin softening fun. We then visited the Hidden Village which is a village where a pesky nearby volcano exploded over Lake Tarawera and surrounds in the 1800s, killing many people and destroying homes and hotels. We stopped by the lake to see some friendly ducks and swans and then headed back via the shops, where I was able to purchase a Lemon and Paeroa (or 'L&P'), the national soft drink of NZ. As someone who doesn't enjoy fizzy lemon-based drinks it didn't appeal much, but it was worth a go.

We headed back to Mary's and watched some more NZ TV. The TV here is pretty terrible. As the Olympics were on at the time, we were treated to several thousand repeats of Mark Todd's equestrian success, and the joy of news anchors cocking up every five minutes. Each time the weather report came on they would say something wrong or randomly correct themselves, and whenever it came to a reporter interviewing someone in the name of investigative journalism, there would be a stream of invasive and bullying questioning that Paxman himself would be proud of. Bit like Channel 5 really. But what really put the icing on the journalistic cake was the news anchor muttering about the Korean Olympic fencer who got booted out of the semi final: "She should just bugger off really". Stirring stuff.

'Animal Rescue' was another gem, a programme which, yes, was about rescuing animals in distress. An unintentionally hilarious clip featured a drugged up Australian driving his car 100km/h down the emergency lane on the freeway with his parrot attached to the windscreen wipers, accompanied with dramatic string music. The parrot was fine, in case you were wondering, but for some inexplicable reason was handed back to his obviously mentally-incapacitated owner. Aussies eh?

We bid our goodbyes to Mary and headed over to walk up Mount Managnui, grab some fish for lunch and continue on our way back to Coatesville. We drove through Paeroa on our way home, which is the home of Lemon and er... Paeroa. A giant lemon and a lot of yellow banners later, we were out the other side and soon enough, home in time for me to begin an epic sort through of my America snaps and reply to an email offering me an interview in a call centre the next day in Auckland CBD.

I went to the interview, but my heart wasn't really in it. I am so not call centre material. As I read through the script all I could think about were the hundreds of elderly people I would be asked to scam into donating to various Australian charities. However, at the interview I met a nice girl called Kiekie who hailed from Tonga and seemed like fun, and so we hung out for the rest of the day, eating Nandos, drinking coffee and wandering into the modern art gallery to ooh and aah at some very bizarre, toilet themed pieces. It turned out she had never been into an art gallery before and I wasn't sure this was the best one to start with, although it did have some pretty good crazy metalwork piece that I took a crummy photo of on my phone. As I am not really cut out to Brian Sewell-like standards of art criticism, and my cheap K-Mart pumps were cutting into my feet, I decided to call it a day and hopped on the bus back to Coatesville.

I got an email later that day offering me the job, so I guess my script reading must have been... well... accurate. Although, obviously, it's always a nice feeling when you get picked for a job, I had the distinct notion I would probably manage to get myself fired within the week, and, more importantly, I hadn't come all the way to the other side of the world to sit in an office in midwinter and persuade people to part with money they didn't have. Instead, I got online and booked myself a flight to Queenstown in the South Island & three nights' accommodation at a hostel for the following Monday. I had heard murmurings of good chances of employment there, as well as gorgeous mountain ranges and general magnificent scenery, and I really didn't want to impose on the Rosses any longer (though it was hard to leave the luxury room and food behind!).

We spent a leisurely weekend celebrating Al's birthday with a walk on the beach and an excellent lunch up the Skytower, which is the highest building in the Southern Hemisphere, fact fans.

Monday morning rolled round, and Justine dropped me off at the airport with assurances that there was always room for me if it didn't work out in Queenstown, which, when you're zillions of miles from home, is always a comfort. The flight was fortunately uneventful and I found myself in what seemed like a completely different country. I reached the arrivals lounge and saw enormous, craggy, snow-capped mountains looming above a turquoise skyline and a brilliant winter sun, the like of which you really only get in ski resorts, shining with a surprisingly fierce heat. It was also the tiniest airport I have ever been to. I went in one door, almost left without my backpack, and then lugged it out of the exit towards a diminutive stop at which a bus into central Queenstown would hopefully arrive. After a few minutes of mole-like squinting at my bright surrounds, a bus trundled up and I paid my $6 to get into the CBD. The views of Lake Wakatipu and the surrounds on the way in really were magnificent, and I felt a bit more lighthearted at the prospect of randomly wandering about trying to find employment.

I got dropped off outside McDonald's (sigh) and used my guidebook to navigate to the backpacker's hostel where I would be spending every day in Queenstown to date. My initial thoughts upon arriving in Queenstown were 'I'm hungry' and 'Bloody hell, this place is small' in that order. The 'CBD' is about four streets that run parallel to each other and are lined with souvenir shops, restaurants, bars, cafes, and tourist information bureaus that will happily gobble all your cash in return for 30 seconds of sheer hell as you jump from a bridge on a piece of elastic. I have never got the bungy jumping 'thing', and I'm not sure if there's anything to get. I am still trying to work up my nerve to do a skydive, but looking at the prices ($500 odd!) I might leave it until I get to Asia.

Anyway, here I was, and I huffed my way to Bumbles Backpackers, backpack aptly in tow, hoping I'd find somewhere clean, tidy and relatively quiet in which to pass a few nights before I got my really well-paid job and luxury flat (ha!). I was pleasantly surprised when a friendly Irish girl called Fiona checked me in and, after hearing me moan a bit about how I was here to find a job, mentioned that one of the cleaners at the hostel was moving out, and asked if would I like to take their place in return for free accommodation at Bumbles. I agreed pretty much straight away - not knowing when I might make an income again and facing the prospect of paying out around $26-$29 a night for a bed in Queenstown meant money for the next few months was looking tight, and besides, my obsessive tendencies naturally lead towards constantly cleaning and tidying things anyway. I may as well get something out of it. I headed off to Fresh Choice, which appeared to be less expensive and bigger of the two supermarkets in the area, with a light heart and a spring in my step. This was soon dampened by having to carry five shopping bags full of tins all the way back to the hostel, a 15 minute walk away. Doh. I don't know why I didn't just empty my backpack and put it all in there, I don't have these ideas until it's way past the point of being any use. As I was rounding the corner, about 30 seconds away from the front door, one of the bags split and tins rolled all over the pavement. Bollocks.

Then a bizarre thing happened. As I was cursing under my breath, picking up tins and scrabbling about in the gutter, two men with snowboards stopped by to ask if I needed help. Before I could answer, they were swiftly followed by one of the staff in a nearby hotel popping their head out of the door to see if I was ok. A woman appeared ten seconds later waving a spare plastic bag in my face. I was quite taken aback by this display of goodwill - where I come from, I would have probably been stepped over, ignored and my misfortune heartily laughed at. I decided I quite like New Zealand, and managed to drag my shopping into the kitchen and shove it all in the fridge before anything else broke. It was about $70 worth of food. Oh yes, I forgot to mention, food is ridiculously expensive. Even if it's grown in New Zealand. A pepper (or 'capsicum' as they call it in these parts) is about $5. That's over 2.50GBP. For a pepper. Madness! So you can take it as read that I don't eat a whole lot of peppers.

So I was staying in a lovely room facing the lake, with fantastic views of the Remarkables mountain range, but after the initial euphoria at finding I would be able to save a few bob wore off, I sank into a bit of a low. This may have been due, in part, to spending four days getting up early, spending money printing CV after CV, tweaking my CV when I found nobody was interested, writing cover letters, writing more cover letters and wandering from door to door with the following responses:

"We just hired 1 / 2 / 1,800 people" (even in a small corner shop that was clearly run by only one person, ever)
"No, we're trying to find customers" (rookie mistake on my part number 1 - I had turned up when all the jobs ad pretty much been filled or roles were being reduced, as the ski season was trailing off)
"It's a bad time of year to look for work" (in today's economic climate, when is it a good time to look for work?)

Additionally, people in the hostel were always coming and going. I met several cool people, all of whom were only there for a few days and were then booked to move on via some backpackers' bus to Wanaka or Milford Sound or elsewhere. I realised that when you're having a downer, some social stability is always handy, and relied heavily on family and friends back home to be a sounding board to my moans and gripes (thankyou, family and friends back home, as always!). I needed a job in order to meet people that were going to be around for longer than a few days or a week, but I couldn't get one. It was all pretty frustrating.
(N.B: I learned later that four days is an incredibly short time to secure a job in Queenstown, and I was actually very lucky, but at the time it felt like forever and I was miserable).

Things started to look up though. One day, after applying for my 80,000th-odd job, I got an email from a girl called Jodie about being a massage maid at 'Maid to Massage', a company that, like 'Urban Angels' in the UK and Oz, do shoulder massages for people in bars on weekend nights. Yes, initially, I was slightly concerned about the nature of the massage, but Jodie seemed very normal and friendly, and as I had no other money coming in I decided to give it a shot. More on this later...

On my first day's cleaning, at which I was incredibly slow, Fiona called me into Reception as I was walking past, waving a piece of paper. 'Laura! Someone just dropped this off. You should give them a call.' It was an ad for an F&B Attendant (aka a 'Food and Beverage Attendant', aka a waitress) at a hotel up the hill. I ran for my phone and left a message right away, trying to maintain a balance between desperate and enthusiastic and forwarded them one of my many CVs. I got a call back to attend an interview later that day. I scrambled about, attempted to comb my mane into some sort of presentable fashion and jumped into Fiona's car just in time to wheeze into the reception area and announce myself.

It seemed to go well, at any rate, and I was impressed with the place. There was a nice log fire and lots of wood in the bar and restaurant area, which gave the impression of a posh but cosy ski lodge. I didn't think I'd pull it off in a million years with my lack of waitressing experience, but I was over the moon to get an email from the lady who interviewed me saying she was very interested and asked if would I start on Saturday. Wahoooo! There was only a minor ripple of fear at the fact that I have never pulled a pint, couldn't carry three plates and am generally a clumsy git but I decided I would attempt to figure it out later.

So that brings us up to the employment stages of my travel. I have since done slightly more exciting stuff than look for a job, but as my hands are now at the beginning stages of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from constant bad typing, I will give it a rest here.