Travel Tales: New Zealand Part 1
As the saying goes, "the adventure is in the journey." The thought that experiences 'on the road' might leave better memories than the destination is magical; and the longer the journey, the more the magic may present itself. Thinking back on the mad-cap trains, planes, and automobiles stories in my life, I believe the saying is more than happenstance- it's akin to gospel. Even during breakdowns, flat tires, and miles of lost driving, I've often come away with fonder memories of 'getting there.' Because of those magical experiences, I prefer traveling to far away destinations in slow segments, soaking up the experience and dipping my toes in the cultural pond along the way.
Naturally, when planning a journey of over 23 hours to New Zealand, I reasoned a couple of breaks would be a good antidote for my restless mind and body. Besides, our hidden-fee driven airlines promote segmented travel to swindle customers from cashing in their miles, so I had no direct flight choices anyway. Perhaps this is a blessing, because flight crews on long journeys get pissed when chatty fat guys block their galley and prevent them from sleeping. (As an aside, I recommend any Europe bound traveler to enjoy the free layover offered by Iceland Air. The place is stunning, and the Norseman, unlike their greedy American counterparts, haven't learned how to pillage their patrons from the skies yet.)
On the first leg to Los Angeles I was dealt a double whammy of obstacles. The forecast on departure predicted yet another snow storm to New York's worst winter in many decades. My flight was scheduled to depart at 4:30 pm, but a winter weather advisory was set to begin around 6 pm. While boarding, I watched rain turn to snow and hoped not to spend my vacation on the runway. Even if the take off succeeded, I was headed to Los Angeles where a week of biblical rain had caused mudslides and surpassed rainfall records. Either of these two events could interfere with my three hour layover and connection to New Zealand. And who wants to be stranded at an airport overnight? Los Angeles sucks as a city in general, but there are some ghetto fabulous late night activities to be had close to LAX airport, and they deserve credit where credit is due.
Boarding a brand new plane at JFK, I hoped for an incident free take off. After all, like a bungy cord or a parachute, I don't want to be the first to sample the new model. So I crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best, but that couldn't happen. With a full west coast flight- complete with b-movie actor Eric Roberts reading a script up front- one passenger's seat belt needed to be replaced. But because the plane was new, a special part had to be found. As I watched the darkening sky, and the rain harden and bounce off my window, somebody was paid triple time to search for plane part. The repair took 90 minutes. Fortunately, the in seat entertainment offered hundreds of films, shows, and electronic books to peruse as the snow began to fall. For the record, personal in-seat entertainment is the greatest innovation in air travel since the Wright brothers stole first flight headlines from two previous New York inventors.
Upon landing in Los Angeles, the plane was delayed another hour before connecting with the gate. The added delay left only thirty minutes to choose between a duty free purchase of Grey Goose vodka to bring to middle earth, or a quick meal at the shitty food court. I'm not sure I made the correct choice, but at $41 for the bottle I was scammed. How do these scoundrel merchants get away charging more for tax free liquor anyway?
Either way, the connection was made, and by midnight, the Air Tahiti stopover flight to New Zealand took off without incident.
The plane for the pacific crossing was a clunker, but I was able to score an empty center row and jockey across four seats on the overnight flight. Unfortunately, there was little rest. Because I'm a poor sleeper, laying across abrasive polyester seats on a warm plane of tan skinned, French Polynesians was a discomforting affair. As the red-eyed passengers drifted off, I fumbled with the vintage entertainment system. The in-seat television consisted of one English film and two channels in French. Watching the continuously looped 1994 remake of "The Bounty" twice, I sympathized with the flight crew thinking how many torturous years they had to endure this. The bastards at Air Tahiti did not even offer English subtitles for the other programs on board. Two children tore up and down the the aisles as both their parents and the flight attendants slept soundly. Instead of gently beating both of them, I began writing this passage. During my bouts of pacing the plane and trying to trip the children, I know for sure everyone has slept well but myself.
Landing for a layover in Tahiti, the airport resembles some hip Asian fusion restaurant in NYC. The terminal is an open aired pavilion with hanging cylindrical lighting fixtures wrapped in soft white paper. The local birds seem to favor the lights as a high indoor perch out of the sun, and their narrow stream of droppings stain most of the fixtures. But the locals greet every passenger with smiles. A trio of grass-skirted dancing girls welcomes every newcomer just like they do to Mel Gibson four times a night during the in-flight movie.
Weather worn wooden shingles line the peaked roof of the terminal, and at 6:30 in the morning the day's sun and humidity is beginning to stream through the untreated wood. There is a large and inviting garden adjoining the open aired terminal, and only two boarding gates for flights to the secluded island territory. During the 90 minute layover enroute to Auckland I stare with disdain at the same two rotten children running around the garden. They are still full of 'piss and vinegar' as my dad would say to me while I tore shit up at a young age. I've never heard anyone else use that phrase.
The ladies at the duty free shop are eager to make contact as our layover is only one of a few arriving planes all week. I look at the same overpriced bottle of Grey Goose that I was hustled for in Los Angeles and feel a bit eased. At $52, I was assured by the smiling local that was the best price on the island. In no time the third leg of the journey begins. Fortunately, the evil children are starting to run out of steam.
In Auckland, the duty free airport hustle seems more like an open air bazaar. Departing passengers are looped passed many feverish merchants itching to sell duty free items that no inbound traveler wants or needs. One gets a sense that the 'duty free' enterprise is just another retail job in New Zealand, as very few items are a bargain in this remote nation. Here, the same bottle of Grey Goose that I've carried like a purse between the hemispheres costs $72.
The airport in Auckland is a 30 minute commute by bus to the city center. While not close, the city provides many frequent buses making the travel convenient. The route also makes express stops along the way picking up very friendly locals who are eager to give travel advice and points of interest along the way. The few I talk to scoff at my interest in seeing the more dangerous parts of the city- a hobby of mine for many years and the proud reason I can get stranded overnight at LAX. It's during these talks that I learn of the social tensions that exist between the native "Maori" people and the westerners. The situation is similar to the racial experiences in South Africa, where the New Zealand natives were not uprooted as much, but rather subjugated by western powers who now try to exploit Maori culture for tourism revenue.
PART 2 TO FOLLOW...
Naturally, when planning a journey of over 23 hours to New Zealand, I reasoned a couple of breaks would be a good antidote for my restless mind and body. Besides, our hidden-fee driven airlines promote segmented travel to swindle customers from cashing in their miles, so I had no direct flight choices anyway. Perhaps this is a blessing, because flight crews on long journeys get pissed when chatty fat guys block their galley and prevent them from sleeping. (As an aside, I recommend any Europe bound traveler to enjoy the free layover offered by Iceland Air. The place is stunning, and the Norseman, unlike their greedy American counterparts, haven't learned how to pillage their patrons from the skies yet.)
On the first leg to Los Angeles I was dealt a double whammy of obstacles. The forecast on departure predicted yet another snow storm to New York's worst winter in many decades. My flight was scheduled to depart at 4:30 pm, but a winter weather advisory was set to begin around 6 pm. While boarding, I watched rain turn to snow and hoped not to spend my vacation on the runway. Even if the take off succeeded, I was headed to Los Angeles where a week of biblical rain had caused mudslides and surpassed rainfall records. Either of these two events could interfere with my three hour layover and connection to New Zealand. And who wants to be stranded at an airport overnight? Los Angeles sucks as a city in general, but there are some ghetto fabulous late night activities to be had close to LAX airport, and they deserve credit where credit is due.
Boarding a brand new plane at JFK, I hoped for an incident free take off. After all, like a bungy cord or a parachute, I don't want to be the first to sample the new model. So I crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best, but that couldn't happen. With a full west coast flight- complete with b-movie actor Eric Roberts reading a script up front- one passenger's seat belt needed to be replaced. But because the plane was new, a special part had to be found. As I watched the darkening sky, and the rain harden and bounce off my window, somebody was paid triple time to search for plane part. The repair took 90 minutes. Fortunately, the in seat entertainment offered hundreds of films, shows, and electronic books to peruse as the snow began to fall. For the record, personal in-seat entertainment is the greatest innovation in air travel since the Wright brothers stole first flight headlines from two previous New York inventors.
Upon landing in Los Angeles, the plane was delayed another hour before connecting with the gate. The added delay left only thirty minutes to choose between a duty free purchase of Grey Goose vodka to bring to middle earth, or a quick meal at the shitty food court. I'm not sure I made the correct choice, but at $41 for the bottle I was scammed. How do these scoundrel merchants get away charging more for tax free liquor anyway?
Either way, the connection was made, and by midnight, the Air Tahiti stopover flight to New Zealand took off without incident.
The plane for the pacific crossing was a clunker, but I was able to score an empty center row and jockey across four seats on the overnight flight. Unfortunately, there was little rest. Because I'm a poor sleeper, laying across abrasive polyester seats on a warm plane of tan skinned, French Polynesians was a discomforting affair. As the red-eyed passengers drifted off, I fumbled with the vintage entertainment system. The in-seat television consisted of one English film and two channels in French. Watching the continuously looped 1994 remake of "The Bounty" twice, I sympathized with the flight crew thinking how many torturous years they had to endure this. The bastards at Air Tahiti did not even offer English subtitles for the other programs on board. Two children tore up and down the the aisles as both their parents and the flight attendants slept soundly. Instead of gently beating both of them, I began writing this passage. During my bouts of pacing the plane and trying to trip the children, I know for sure everyone has slept well but myself.
Landing for a layover in Tahiti, the airport resembles some hip Asian fusion restaurant in NYC. The terminal is an open aired pavilion with hanging cylindrical lighting fixtures wrapped in soft white paper. The local birds seem to favor the lights as a high indoor perch out of the sun, and their narrow stream of droppings stain most of the fixtures. But the locals greet every passenger with smiles. A trio of grass-skirted dancing girls welcomes every newcomer just like they do to Mel Gibson four times a night during the in-flight movie.
Weather worn wooden shingles line the peaked roof of the terminal, and at 6:30 in the morning the day's sun and humidity is beginning to stream through the untreated wood. There is a large and inviting garden adjoining the open aired terminal, and only two boarding gates for flights to the secluded island territory. During the 90 minute layover enroute to Auckland I stare with disdain at the same two rotten children running around the garden. They are still full of 'piss and vinegar' as my dad would say to me while I tore shit up at a young age. I've never heard anyone else use that phrase.
The ladies at the duty free shop are eager to make contact as our layover is only one of a few arriving planes all week. I look at the same overpriced bottle of Grey Goose that I was hustled for in Los Angeles and feel a bit eased. At $52, I was assured by the smiling local that was the best price on the island. In no time the third leg of the journey begins. Fortunately, the evil children are starting to run out of steam.
In Auckland, the duty free airport hustle seems more like an open air bazaar. Departing passengers are looped passed many feverish merchants itching to sell duty free items that no inbound traveler wants or needs. One gets a sense that the 'duty free' enterprise is just another retail job in New Zealand, as very few items are a bargain in this remote nation. Here, the same bottle of Grey Goose that I've carried like a purse between the hemispheres costs $72.
The airport in Auckland is a 30 minute commute by bus to the city center. While not close, the city provides many frequent buses making the travel convenient. The route also makes express stops along the way picking up very friendly locals who are eager to give travel advice and points of interest along the way. The few I talk to scoff at my interest in seeing the more dangerous parts of the city- a hobby of mine for many years and the proud reason I can get stranded overnight at LAX. It's during these talks that I learn of the social tensions that exist between the native "Maori" people and the westerners. The situation is similar to the racial experiences in South Africa, where the New Zealand natives were not uprooted as much, but rather subjugated by western powers who now try to exploit Maori culture for tourism revenue.
PART 2 TO FOLLOW...
pictured: Tahiti airport. airplane in background. annoying child in middle ground...
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