The Sun 'll Come Out Tomorrow: Auckland to Wellington, New Zealand

If you ask any Kiwi to name a song that perfectly describes New Zealand, chances are they will start off with "Four Seasons in One Day" by the band Crowded House. The song celebrates the famously unpredicatable weather of this area where it is entirely possible to feel like you've been through spring, summer, fall and winter all before tea time (It is an English commonwealth, after all). Most of the country is smack dab in the middle of the "roaring forties" a particularly nasty set of latitudes in the southern Pacific that has been the bane of sailors since the time of Magellan. Although the national weather service does issue regular forecasts, at times it makes you wonder if anyone has any idea what tomorrow will be like.

Our first encounter with this schizophrenic climate was in the country's largest city, Auckland. We arrived on a plane from Fiji around noon. From the plane window we could see the sun shining from an azure sky while wispy, cotton ball clouds floated lazily by.  

We landed smoothly and hopped on a bus that took us into the City of Sails. The first thing that struck me was how clean the city was. There was not a speck of trash anywhere to be seen. You could literally eat off of the ground. In fact, it seems that one of the many quirks about New Zealanders is that they love to walk around with no shoes on, even in the city. Molly and I wandered up Victoria street, past gleaming skyscrapers and old Anglican churches to Albert park, a beautiful expanse of gnarled old trees and lush green pastures that sits on a hill overlooking downtown.

That week Auckland was celebrating the 40th anniversary of diplomatic ties between China and New Zealand, so many of the trees were strewn with Chinese lanterns of every size and shape. From peppers to parrots to pagodas, every limb seemed to be dripping with festive paper mache lanterns swaying gently in the breeze.

We stopped briefly to rest on a bench when we noticed a peculiar sight. It was bright, full sunshine and blue skies, but a huge rainbow spread out across the sky.

I stupidly asked the question, "Why is there a rainbow if there is no rain?" One second later, as if in answer to my query, the skies opened up and a deluge of water poured down sending us running for cover. Then, almost as soon as it blew up, the storm blew away again leaving bright sunshine in its place.

We spent the sunset at the port watching impossibly expensive yachts cruising silently through the waters of the harbor in the golden evening light. Auckland is call the City of Sails, but it could just as easily be called the City of Tax Evaders since almost every single one of those enormous, phallo-compensitory super-schooners was registered in the Cayman Islands. I looked high and low for the Romney sloop but couldn't find it.

Early the next morning we headed to the Aukland art museum. The architecture of the museum itself actually lends a clue as to its content. One half of it is a beautiful turn-of-the-century (last century) Victorian-style mansion with delicately carved stonework, soaring towers and l peaked roofs. The other half is an ultramodern conglomeration of wood, steel and glass that seems to float on air. The juxtaposition of these seemingly incongruous elements had a wonderful, harmonious effect that may be a reflection of the country itself; the ancient and the new stand side by side and flow into each other with surprising grace and ease. Inside the collection was just as eclectic, ranging from renaissance masterpieces to a child's training toilet resembling Munch's "The Scream" hung thirty feet high on a wall.

Will the real Molly Waterhouse please stand up?

When we walked down to the port later we had food on our mind. In case you had any illusions about us being wealthy gadabouts, we have about $28 dollars for food and drink each day for BOTH of us. This, in a town where a cheeseburger runs around $19 and beer can range anywhere from $8-$15, should tell you the kind of budget we have. For lunch we split a plate of New Zealand green lipped mussels, which were huge and delicious.

We sat on the wharf for a bit and I played guitar while Molly sang. Passersby graciously tossed us a few dollars and then, out of the clear blue sky, the rain started coming down in buckets. We ran for cover and waited about forty minutes for the rain to stop. When we started again, the rain must have loosened the Kiwi's purse strings because the money started rolling in. In just over an hour, $30 dollars had been dropped into my guitar case which more than doubled our daily budget. "Hey Jude" was the big money maker.

The next day we hopped on a bus south to Rotorua. The bus ride was lovely. The bright sun shone golden on green rolling expanses that would bring a tear to old Bilbo Baggins' eye. When we arrived, the clouds had rolled in and threatened to rain while we found a hostel. The owner of the hostel told us to wait out the rain. "The weather report says it is supposed to be nice tomorrow."

Rotorua is built on a geothermal hot spot. And when I say hot I mean HOT! Thermal vents are everywhere and steam rises from the ground while boiling water creeps up from crevices in parking lots and along storm drains. In places, the ground is so hot that it will burn your bare feet. This is great because there are an abundance of thermal baths, but also unfortunate because it makes the whole town stink like rotten eggs.

The next day was grey and cloudy as Molly as I made our way down to an old Maori village on the edge of town. The Maori here built their village, Tewhakarewarewatangaotepetauaawahiao (pronounced Tewhakarewarewatangaotepetauaawahiao). The town stands on the most geothermally active spot in the area and is awash in geysers, mud pits, vents and hot springs. Below the bridge into the village, children wait in the water to dive for coins thrown into the river by tourists.

The boys are sitting in a hot pool next to the freezing cold river, just waiting for us to throw coins (which we did)

The people here put the heat to good use. Hot springs are used as communal cooking pots while the vents, known as Maori microwaves, will steam food to moist magnificence in mere minutes. They are fiercely proud of their heritage and  keep their culture alive through songs, stories and even the architecture of their homes. The carvings on the houses represent the legends of their people and their ancestors. The predominant colors of red, white, and black represent birth, death, and the afterlife. To the Maori, death is merely another part of the journey.

Corn cooking in the thermal bath

Show me your metal face!

Like good hobbits, we knew we needed to head to Mordor, so we boarded a bus and drove to Turangi just outside Tongariro National Park, home of Mount Doom (AKA Mount Ngauruhoe) which can be seen from the Alpine Crossing day trek. Dark storm clouds covered the land as we neared our destination. "You guys are lucky you aren't out on the trail today," said the woman at our hostel. "It's awful, windy and raining up there, but tomorrow the weather is supposed to be lovely."

The next day the weather sucked. Tolkien's description of Mordor as a labyrinth of razor sharp rocks, where the very air you breath is a poisonous fume, perfectly suits the park which has been continually battered by volcanic eruptions, most recently in 2007. This trek was not for the faint of heart. The entire time we were enveloped in clouds which meant we couldn't see more than 30 feet in front of us. That, coupled with 60 mile an hour winds, temperatures hovering in the high thirties, sulfuric gases, loose volcanic rock, and a 1000 foot ascent to the top of an invisible crater made the 12 mile hike a journey that would test the mettle of even the most stout hearted of Shirefolk. One hiker just ahead of us actually collapsed and stopped breathing for a bit and had to be medevaced out of the park. It all seemed rather fitting considering where we were.

Our last stop on the north island was the capital city of Wellington. "Welly" is a quaint little city situated on a large bay. The surrounding hills are dotted with tiny cottages and offer spectacular views of the surrounding area. We stayed the night at a hostel by the docks, rising early the next morning to catch a ferry to the south island. The wind whipped up white caps and shook the boat a bit as we crossed the Cook Strait. Early in the journey the captain came over the loud speaker. "Well folks, there are some strong winds and clouds out there so the crossing may get a bit bumpy, but I just checked the weather report and tomorrow is supposed to be beautiful..."