The transit was interminable, essentially 24 hours from MSP to Welly. Mercifully, the flights were uneventful, as was our passage through immigration and customs. Once debarked in Auckland, we had to scramble (as Prudence had predicted) to catch the connecting flight to Wellington. We shared this experience with a young lady, also American, who had come to NZ to play competitive amateur softball. Rosie met us at the gate, and very graciously took us on a brief motor tour of the city en route to our motor lodge, where Eliot the manager helped settle us in. Almost immediately on arrival, we were struck by the friendliness and even temperament shared by most Kiwi's. Also noted was the accent, which consists of a slurry of vowels and clipped consonants, very distinct from the UK and Aussie accents. In a haze of exhaustion we attempted a couple of errands, managing only to buy a couple of Avanti bikes and lunch at the Peppermill in Porirua. We managed not to get killed on our brief driving foray, keeping left and navigating roundabouts in a team effort. We watched some local rugby, guessing at the rules but captivated by the flow and physicality of the game, but soon after nightfall lapsed into a comatose sleep. Unfortunately, nobody told our pituitary glands that they were in NZ, so we woke up around 0330. Once the sun was up, we walked to the station to take the train into downtown, noting many unfamiliar plants, including masses of thorny scrub plants festooned with bright yellow flowers. Halfway in, our train was diverted to a bus, which promptly broke down. The conductor cheerily herded us onto another bus, and we eventually made it into the central station, which was supposedly modeled on Penn Station. It is very early spring here, and while yesterday was glorious, today is cool, blustery and overcast. As I write (R), we're sheltering in a quaint little cafe on Lambton Quay (pronounced "key") as the streets begin to bustle.
cheers, K&R
