NZ10+ : Day 04 : SINGAPORE to AUCKLAND
Thursday 20/03/08
Currently sat in a shuttle bus
waiting to hit my first hostel. Slightly nervous about the whole
dorm/socialising thing, as it is my first time out on my own. Hope a pub/bar
will still be open by the time I get in! It’s 12:20am already, hope I can check
in!
Airports aren’t great for first
impressions, but already I feel a bit more at ease, check-in was less
intimidating than Singapore. No machine guns!
Didn’t quite sleep on the plane,
just “rested my eyes” but I hope it doesn’t jet-lag me like in Singapore! I
don’t want cat-naps; this is not Spain. Just writing to commemorate landing
here actually. That, and I am bored waiting for the shuttle bus to depart…
Anyhow, it begins!
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I hate it. Got off the bus in the middle of the ghetto. It was loud, horrible, messy. Presumably from all of the backpackers, part of whose ranks I’ve now joined. Still, checked in, got into room and had first dorm experience. I have bag paranoia. Maybe it was/is because I don’t know anyone (hopefully I’ll get a gang of some sort once the tour starts) but I couldn’t lock it up as there were no lockers (my allocated one was broke) so although our room was locked, I didn’t sleep well for worrying about by bag, passport, keys etc.
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| Auckland at Night. Original Photogrpah by 111 Emergency @ Flickr |
I hate it. Got off the bus in the middle of the ghetto. It was loud, horrible, messy. Presumably from all of the backpackers, part of whose ranks I’ve now joined. Still, checked in, got into room and had first dorm experience. I have bag paranoia. Maybe it was/is because I don’t know anyone (hopefully I’ll get a gang of some sort once the tour starts) but I couldn’t lock it up as there were no lockers (my allocated one was broke) so although our room was locked, I didn’t sleep well for worrying about by bag, passport, keys etc.
Heat, noise and a French guy
singing IN our room meant no sleep for me, just more “rest eye.” Finally got
over the fact that if you want to do anything, you have to make noise, so I
went for a wee at 6:30am.
Still obsessed with finding
somewhere to stow my bag, I was waiting for 3 guys I briefly got chatting with
to leave on their roadtrip. This meant I could a) Stick my bag in their locker
b) Go buy toothpaste, shower gel, etc. c) Have a shower before the rest of the
hostel got up d) Get out to enjoy Auckland.
Instead, being me, I bumped into
an absolute raving pill-head in the corridor at 6:30am. He could have been really
threatening, but I joked myself away out of the situation, but the whole thing
gave me the willies and pissed me off a little. I came here to escape this kind
of drunk idiot.
I’m going to say it up
front here, and then try to not repeat it throughout my subsequent commentaries.
My diary entries do fall almost entirely on the negative notes on some days.
Whilst I have no wish to contradict my past self (I was genuinely upset) the
retrospective allows me a certain amount of alternative insight on what
happened at certain points on the trip. But when you’re in that place, and
feeling miserable, the stand-out moments and emotions of any given day
gravitate towards the bad stuff. That’s what gets put on paper. So, one last
time just to get it done with;
1) On this trip, being lonely was a major issue, but well over half of it (in retrospect) was spent in the company of some amazingly brilliant people.
2) I never, ever, really got over the invisible umbilical cord between myself and my bag. The idea that my money, passport, credit card, Sony PSP, clothes and anything else I had on my back, when not in my sight at all times meant that some bad people were going to grab it, meant I rarely ever truly switched off and relaxed. Other folks manage this, no problem. Part of this was due to me taking too much stuff (including a games console / movie player worth £100+) and partly it was (is?) just the way I’m wired. So yes, this “bag-paranoia” will be a running theme.
Back to Auckland. All
this being said about my arrival, I do remember getting into Auckland around
midnight, and immediately hating the hostel. I’d never ever stayed in one
before, not with mates, or on my own. The picture I had in my head was from
their website; pristine rooms, glorious sunshine, smiley happy beautiful
people, and a place to lock your bag away securely. A dark, messy, smelly room
full of stoned teenagers, in the middle of Auckland’s equivalent of
Manchester’s Northern Quarter (if bordered with the red-light district) was not
particularly welcoming at midnight.
All of the above could
have been forgiven though, were it not for the encounter with the “raving pill
head.” I had gotten up to go to the loo. All over the hostel were signs saying,
“do not let anyone in, who does not have their own key-card”. Yet when I
stumble out into the corridor on the 6th floor, a fairly large dude
is knocking on the door that separated the stairwell from the corridor. I
assumed (wrongly) that if he is on the stairwell, he must have gotten past
reception, and so must be a guest who simply couldn’t unlock the door, or perhaps
who had lost his key on another floor. So, stifling a yawn, I buzzed to let him
in on my way to the loo. Error.
As soon as he stumbled
into the corridor I got a “Hey! You!”
Oh shit. “Yeah?”
“Where’s the party?”
“Er, what party?” (It
is 6:30am at this point.)
“The party.” His eyes are rolling in the back of his head.
“Erm. I think there
was a BBQ advertised on the roof, but that would have been hours ago?”
“Oh. Where are the
pills then?” (Oh F***.)
“Pills. No pills here
mate.”
“Where’s your room?”
(Double F***).
“Down there… Sorry
mate, I’ve gotta go loo pretty bad…”
“Who do you support?
Do you like the military? Do you support our armed forces?”
What??? First of all,
I just want to wee. Secondly, you are off your face. Thirdly, this is evidently
some sort of alpha-male tribalistic trick question, which justifies you punching
me into a pulp. Do I support our armed forces? I don’t even know where you are
from! You sound South African-ish? Maybe?
“Well, obviously,” I
begin, “I have the most tremendous respect for anyone, any service-man or
service-woman, from any country, who dedicates their life and their service for
their country. I mean, that is obvious. It goes without saying. Absolutely,
nothing but 100% respect for anyone who does that.” A true statement, but
probably more than what this guy was expecting?
“Ha! You were worried
there! You’re alright! English yeah? You’re alright English!!” An unwanted
bear-hug ensues. “I’m going to check this BBQ, then I’ll come back to your room
for the party. I need to find the pills.”
He staggers off up
another stairwell. I run for the fastest wee possible, then sneak back to my
room hoping Mr-Armed-Forces doesn’t come back down and find out which room I’m
in.
I spend the next hour
and a half in the dorm bed, questioning all of my life decisions which have led
to this point. As soon as seems sensible, I get up and go to reception to
request a private room for myself later that afternoon, throw my bag in a
locker until I can check in, and head into an Auckland morning, counting the
days until I can go back home.