The Rocky Horror Picture Show

It's so dreamy, oh fantasy free me
So you can't see me, no not at all
In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention
Well-secluded, I see all
With a bit of a mind flip
You're there in the time slip
And nothing can ever be the same
You're spaced out on sensation, like you're under sedation
Let's do the Time Warp again!

That’s it for the continent of Asia; I shall miss thee dearly, much fun was had and knowledge of one’s self gained. It was all I hoped for, more than I ever wanted it to be and also far more challenging than I anticipated, though strangely Moorish – like those Fox’s Millionaire caramel shortbread bis-kwits (I miss them). It’s a peculiar feeling being on Cathay Pacific flight CX107 bound for Auckland; the pilot is an awfully well spoken Brit, the flight attendants are all fluent English speakers, food is strangely Western (mashed spud, gravy and lamb chunks), yet this is sadly another long haul overnight flight ruined by the wailing, spoiled, tantrum-throwing screams of an appallingly raised little girl. I’m awoken by sights of beautiful landscape, the kind I’ve never seen before. Grass almost luminescent in nature, rolling hills hiding violent forces beneath the surface and roads with such lack of cars to make you wonder why they were even built; the approach to Auckland airport makes for an incredibly scenic flight.



It’s a large city, sprawled across an even larger area of land, but surprisingly lacking in human beings. Hong Kong to Auckland is about as contrasting a difference as you might imagine; there are few tall buildings here, queues are non-existent, negligible traffic (the radio mentioned a traffic jam of a few thousand cars that may add an extra 10 minutes to your journey, for example), and sadly not a great deal to do, possibly as a result. The sky tower offers a walk around a metre-wide platform at a fair height, but comes in not far short of a skydive price; if I’m doing one, I’ll go all-out. Numerous Churches dotted around, along with the adverts on Radio for salvation, help with marriage and other crazy Christian money-making schemes litter the place. I wouldn’t mind, but the occasional TV adverts and even highway signposts make it something to seriously consider if you’re looking to immigrate. The dedicated radio station blaring College-rock tunes singing of Jaaasuuuuuus Aaaiiich Chriiiiist is the icing on the cake; it’s like stepping in to a Time Warp and heading back to the UK a good half-century ago; if not longer.

As a result, cynicism doesn’t seem to have affected Kiwis much; it’s not got quite that far out here yet and at 18,500km back to roots of Queen and Country (ergh), no wonder. What this means is that people are endearingly friendly and helpful; a Maori couple of behemoth proportions helped me push car from being stuck in the mud and wheel-spinning, and blushing is commonplace when striking up random conversation. So, swings and roundabouts it is then; in the UK everyone is an unfriendly git (that’s a nasty person, as opposed to the action of collecting something), trying to get (that would be the word for acquire), as much as they can and sneering at anything less than a six-figure salary. Here bar workers are happy to work in sleepy towns like Thames as “it suits me, no one’s in much of a rush to do anything”. I think I’d go crazy with this few people around in the outlying towns (nah, villages more like), that I’ve visited; lack of companionship and any even remotely attractive females, and I’m wondering what the suicide stats are like for this place.


This is banter of course (or is it), though it’s easy to see why so many Kiwis head to the UK or Australia as soon as they’re able. The bright lights, bustling cities, immense opportunity and travel options around Europe or SE Asia are a seriously flavoursome carrot dangling from the end of either flag pole, exhibiting the same tricolour emblem as motherland in the top-left corner. Plainly it doesn’t take a genius to understand why New Zealanders in London or Australia become overnight, instant hedonists; it must be like the first night arriving at University and Freshers night at the Union; just, every night. What is less expected is the sheer number of ex-pats I’ve met that have done the same in reverse, though with scenery like that in Paihia (pronounced something like Pie-hah), fihr plae toe ya maet.


Back to the radio, and I’m scanning through FM stations to find something with a half-decent tune to while away the next few hundred K of straight roads. Some are so long that the horizon is barely visible, and with cows (there’s more of them than sheep I rikkan), falcons occasionally eyeing-up rodentia in the fields and trees that are positively pre-historic, it’s absolutely stunning. To photograph it, I’d need to stop every few dozen K – though capturing on CCD simply can’t do it justice – it really is something you need to see with your own eyes. The scanning radio has landed on 96.4 and the DJ is talking about putting “pigs” on his face; I’ve conjured a strange image in my mind. It takes a few more sentences for me to realise that, of course – he meant “pegs”. Some of my favourites include “Ciptimbah”, which is actually the ninth month of the year, “Pit” which isn’t a large hole in the ground, but actually a domesticated animal of some kind, “Ghisst” used in sentences such as; “Oah, Ihyd nivorra ghisst it!”, and “Dick-Aids”, which though sounding like the source and cause of a rather serious disease, is actually the period of ten years. I’d love to know the origins of how the accent came about (there are hints of the Scottish lilt), but it is somewhat endearing, inoffensive and in a strange way rather sweet.


Travelling off-season and it’s fair to say the country is baron, void of life and decorated with wooden-built houses (having enough give to survive a relatively strong earthquake, but sacrificing longevity), and small towns that resemble something from 1940s America. The grid system is used extensively here, as are other American influences such as post-boxes on a stick featuring a flag to designate letter arrival, Laundromats and Subway shops in the strangest and most random locations: The first time I was asked; “Doe ya want chiddah, smoakd or taestee?”, I actually had to ask three times before I realised she was referring to cheese. Food is easy to come by, though savagely expensive considering the source of meat and dairy products is literally a few hundred metres in every direction; everywhere. Singapore featured Hawker Stalls selling curries of incredible quality for $4 – here it’s twice the price given the parity in currency. My first meal in Auckland at the International Food Hall on Ponsonby Road and I’m starting to feel the bite of developed country pricing. Worse still is the frequency at which Fish ‘n’ Chip shops are to be found; being the only influence of British cuisine (and possibly the only addition we’ve made to worldwide culinary offerings), they’re truly loved here. Most are owned by Japanese, who in addition to dominating this lucrative trade have also opened a vast number of Sushi joints. If you enjoy raw fish as much as I do, knock yourself out.

Remaining cheap in comparison with nearby Australia, though painfully expensive compared to Asia, hostels will offer you the loveliness of a 6 or 8 bed Dorm for around a tenner. Private rooms are usually around twice that, though centrally located hostels in cities will exacerbate the situation by another multiple. Of the four I’ve slept in, it’s become clear that the German government needs to be seriously concerned about emigration; for they’re all here. I’ve met many Deutsch whilst in Asia (usually the cheaper countries), though New Zealand – and Australia too I hear – are being surreptitiously invaded by young, fluent English speaking backpackers bitten by the travel bug.

One thing stands out here however, and that’s the environment; it’s incredibly safe and blissfully lacking in Vampitos, sweaty humid atmosphere, although frighteningly cold at night. Running in this weather reaffirms how much I love it and makes 10k an easy jaunt – my heart rate is 10bpm less at the same speed and there’s no need to carry water. With fellow runners to be seen everywhere, pounding the streets in the city or trails outside, it’s awesome how many ground pounders there are. Perhaps it’s due to a lack of acclimatisation; what with 8 months in Asia I’ve become used to sweating on a daily basis – here I can wear the same t-shirt as long as I like and it won’t stink. Well, it doesn’t smell just yet anyway.