16.1.11 Arrival in New Zealand- Boots, buses, boats

New Zealanders are very hospitable – you have to take your hat off to them for that, or in our case, your boots.  No sooner had we stepped off the plane (with considerable relief) than we had our hiking boots cleaned for us courtesy of the Government.  Part of the biosecurity system here apparently, provided by a jovial Kiwi (man, not bird) who referred to us as ‘Team’ throughout – ‘How are we today then, Team?’  as we delved into the depths of our cases to retrieve said hiking boots, embarrassingly crammed with knickers and socks.  ‘These won’t do, Team!’ as he inspected the collection of Speyside mud and grass adhering to them. ‘Don’t worry, Team, I’ll sort it!’ and he returned minutes later with two pairs of immaculate but dripping boots, knickers still inside.  And so we entered New Zealand.

We located the bus easily, got on, and asked whether we counted as Seniors.  ‘You don’t look like seniors to me.  I think your suckering me!’ said yet another jovial Kiwi, promptly providing two seniors tickets, presumably because we actually resembled the living dead rather than seniors.  He gave us an impromptu commentary as we travelled into downtown Auckland – a very verdant city, the shallow roofs of bungalows peeping out amidst the vegetation.  Our hotel – large, modern, bright – provided a room on the tenth floor with a spectacular view across the bay and harbour. 

As darkness fell, we wandered the harbour, pointed to yachts chasing each other across the bay, watched the ferry to the islands leave as we ate ice creams in a waterside cafe.  Then back the hotel.  Bill set about repacking the cases while I went in search of broadband.  Returning shortly thereafter I beheld him slumped fast asleep on the bed amidst an explosion of underwear, bathing costumes  and the now famous boots.

And so to bed.