Aotearoa

Leaving New Zealand was difficult. Not physically. Well, actually YES physically. God, my backpack was heavy.  Jesus.  I would have packed a Hernia Repair Kit, but worried that the extra weight might finish me off. Anyway. Caro and myself ran about doing many ineffectual things and only getting half the things we wanted done on our last day in New Zealand, before it was time to go and Ronnie and Janette packed us into their cars and off to Tauranga Airport. 
 
We sat there for a while, feeling a bit sad. Finally it was time to board our plane, and we said our goodbyes and got on board. The plane itself was this tiny 7 seater thing (and that includes the pilot). He sort of wandered around, like any Dad trying to get his kids settled in the back of the car before going off to Blackpool. I half expected him to tune his radio away from the Air Traffic Control station onto Solid Gold FM and then turn around and tell us that if we didn't Keep It Down Back There he was just jolly well turn around and Serve Us Right. 

Flying in a tiny plane is an interesting experience. And by interesting I mean, "likely to make you throw up". The plane was basically the air equivalent of the Robin Reliant and wobbled its way through the turbulent crowds like Shelly Winters across the deck of The Poseidon. I tried to reassure myself that we were in no real danger as the plane bounced from one cloud to another, and that flying is essentially like sex. Getting up being the only really worrysome part. However, one look at Caroline's face made me realise I wasn't the only one with sweating palms and loosening bowels. 

On arrival in Auckland we were picked up by Feona's flatmate Michael - a jolly good chap who very generously used up what little spare time he had between study and work to ferry us about in search of one last batch of Toffee-Pops and other essentials. (I can't BELIEVE they don't have Toffee-Pops in Australia! And they call it a civilised country!) 

Feona arrived home shortly thereafter and took us out and about for one last look at Auckland. It still strikes me as a rather unimpressive city, if extremely pretty around the bay area. Then it was off to Borders, the huge bookstore where I scored a few bargains, and Caro received a goodbye phone call from Ella. Borders is also a Huge Pick-Up Joint by the way. Open all hours, it's apparently the Place To Go for the discerning literature lover to give the eye to members of the opposite sex. I suppose it's a good idea. I mean, in a night-club you really have no idea about the person you're flirting with, especially if you're arseholed (which is the only time I have the bottle to flirt anyway). However, in a bookstore, you'll immediately have some notion of the person you're interested in by the section they are browsing through. Homebodies in the cookery section, intellectuals in poetry, nerds in computing and perverted deviants poring over the Japanese comic-books.