So it begins

In the final weeks before I left, a handful of my closest friends made extra special efforts to see me off. One took me up to Indy for dinner, drinks, and a band at Radio Radio. Another climbed the fence of a closed pool with me. And then others planned a beautiful good-bye dinner followed by a night out with everyone I knew in town invited. The last few days in Bloomie were sunny and lovely, with the heat even dropping into the 70s just for me. And my last day in town I got to sit outside with a few of my favorites for lunch and a few beers, and then head up to Indy for dinner with more favorites. I spent the last few days at my mom's house in Indy, and my lovely mother helped me with the daunting task of figuring out what to pack for 5-6 months in a very different climate and then figuring out how to pack all of that into TSA approved specifications. She also took me for my very first mani-pedi. Unbeatable.

And then the adventure began. Indy to Phoenix. Phoenix to LAX. LAX to Auckland. Normally I’d be amped up for travelling just the Indiana to California bit of the trip, but I didn’t care at all about it. I had a book and a couple of issues of The New Yorker, but all I could think about was the exchange in LAX. Since I booked my domestic and international flights separately, I had to collect my luggage from Southwest at LAX and move to another terminal to check in at Air New Zealand. But each flight was on time, and my bags came around the carousel quickly. The first flight I was in an empty row, but the Phoenix to LAX leg I was in a full row, and apparently it only takes one Jack and coke for your seatmate to begin explaining to you how Obama is stripping away our very freedoms and liberty. Excellent.

I was so nervous about a delayed flight or lost baggage that I gave myself four and a half hours of leeway at LAX. Naturally because I’d prepared for a problem, all of the flights were punctual and my luggage was fine. So by the time I was through security in the new terminal, I had about three and a half hours to blow. But once more, the flight was on time, and I was soon in the air with an empty seat between me and a woman in the aisle seat. Fabulous.

Special thanks to Abbey for insisting that I would want a full size pillow for the twelve and a half hour flight. By the time I’d watched a movie and the crew served dinner, I was ready to sleep. The flight had taken off at 11:45pm, which meant it was about 2:45am at home, and I’d been up since 7am. I figure I slept about 6 or 7 hours and had only one little bout of panic when there was some pretty good turbulence and we were over the Pacific AND OBVIOUSLY GOING TO DIE. But then we didn’t. I’ll mention for the first time here that I love wine, and I particularly love New Zealand wine and always have, even years before this opportunity came into my life. The dinner tray included the cutest, tiniest wine glass ever (it may have found its way into my carryon), and you can get wine or soda or whatever with dinner, and then the crew comes back around a little while later with bottles of wine offering top ups. When a crew member came around with tea later, he asked me if I have milk. I looked at him dumbly. Struck with a sudden case of the stupids, I repeated, “Do I have milk?” Even though he realized I was an idiot, he gently rephrased: “Do you take milk with your tea?” Oh ha ha. Yes thank you.

For breakfast you could have a fruit plate or a hot plate, and I obviously got the hot plate which consisted of eggs with chives, a few little tater tots, and a tomato wedge. Plus a little bowl of fruit and yogurt. And orange juice. And a flight attendant comes around when you’re halfway done with breakfast and you’re groggy and says, “Bubbles?” And I look at her dumbly, which is becoming a recurring theme, and say, “Pardon?” And she holds up a bottle of champagne. Why yes, dear lady. I would love some champagne.

After winding through customs and assuring immigration that I only had processed, packaged foods with me, no nuts or seeds or plants or fresh fruit at all I SWEAR SHEESH, I was greeted by the university representative Maarten with a sign that read “University of Auckland.” I’d kind of been hoping the sign would have my name on it, but this service is for international students arriving in New Zealand for the first time, so I suppose a uni sign is more efficient. Maarten took me to the hostel I’d booked, made sure I was checked in safely, and gave me a little tote bag with pamphlets and maps and candy and a juice box from the university.

So here’s the thing. I moved to New Zealand without a place to live. Sure I had a hostel booked for 8 nights, but no real place to live. There was the option of university housing, which varies from 8 little apartments with a communal kitchen and cafeteria to 100 little apartments with a communal kitchen and cafeteria. But they all come with dorm-like rules like all visitors must vacate by 1am and you need written permission to have friends over to drink. I’m too old for that crap, so I decided to learn from the John Hursh School of Moving to Another Country Without a Place to Live. There’s a website here that is very much like Craig’s List, and also plenty of real estate agencies that manage and rent out apartments. The real estate agent way is by far the easiest way since you just walk into an office and pick an apartment and pay them money. This is probably a very popular route to housing for those who arrive without a place to live sorted out. The problem with that for me is that you pay them lots of money. You pay them overpriced rent, and you pay them a nice bond, and you pay them a nice agent’s fee since they worked so hard to find you the apartment. I came close to thinking about caving and just going with that since it’s so easy, but I kept calm and carried on.

Day 1

Arrival. I can’t check into the hostel until 2pm. It’s 8am. Crap. I leave the luggage in a room for early arrivals and venture out to put a sim card in the phone Abbey let me borrow. I need to be able to make local phone calls if I’m going to arrange to look at apartments. Have I mentioned it’s 50 degrees and windy and raining? It’s winter here. It’s 90 degrees at home and the sun beats you into a pulp, and here I’m shivering because I’ve forgotten how to be in cold weather.

Once I’d dealt with the phone, I headed to the university to get me some internet. I got my student ID and internet password, and then I stumbled upon a computer lab. After dicking around on the computer for a while, I went and found a buffet sushi lunch, and then checked into the hostel. I know that taking a nap on the day of arrival is generally regarded to be a cardinal sin when trying to avoid jetlag. But by 2:30 in the afternoon I’d been awake for something like 9 hours already, and I knew I’d never make it to a normal bedtime. So I set an alarm for one hour, snoozed it for another hour, and then got up to take a shower. By the time I’d gotten ready and went back up to school, sent some more emails and walked around the city more, I was tired enough that I knew I’d be able to sleep. But not before I got some delicious lamb kebab for dinner.

more later...