The hunt

The bits and pieces we gathered from the short conversations with locals on our long walks were giving us the impression that we needed to find an apartment before many more were snatched. I had forgotten how necessary my cell phone was and how searching for a place to live was becoming even harder without one. The residences here are quite secure. I appreciate that, especially after tea time with SWAT last fall. The rub is how to even talk to anyone to get inside to find out how to use that security to our benefit. Being that Paul and i are the self-sufficient stubborn types, it was going to take a little humility or an open door or a lot of leg work to get a roof over our heads. Or all three. We'll brief you on the highlights since we've spent the past two and half days searching. In our search for food we happened upon The Docks Apartments. The office was open so we walked in. Mr. Santer offered to show us a one bedroom since a 2 was out of our price-range, first the unfurnished, then the furnished. The unfurnished was tight, and by tight i mean really, really small. I've said it before, Americans take their square footage for granted. He showed us the furnished. We tried hard not to laugh. The furniture looked like it was made out of matchsticks and the couch was size: Paul-and-half-of-one-of-my-butt-cheeks. The bed, well, we'd have to take turns sleeping on it and when it was Paul's shift he'd have to be diagonal. Picture the scene from the movie "Elf" and you'll have an idea. We thanked him for his time and started to work the rest of the city in a zig-zag sort of formation. Our quest gave us one thing...a scale of comparison for fair prices and weeded out our need for a furnished apartment. We'll take our chances with what sticks we can find once we've secured a roof. We walked some more. We came upon the The Towers, or what Paul refers to as "The over-priced holes jetting into the sky". The Tower actually consists of two elevator shafts, each surrounded by a series of cubbie-holes, called apartments. The guy at the desk handed us a key stating the tenant hadn't checked in yet so we could inspect it for ourselves, and added that water, electric, phone and a weekly cleaning was all included for $350NZD a week. We found the elevator, easily, since it was the mitochondria of the cell, and rode up to the 8th floor. The door immediately opened to a hot-plate, a sink the size of a cereal bowl, and the smell of pee. Immediately (and i mean immediately) off of the kitchen was a room with a double bed, a larger room with a twin bed and a toilet room. I was trying to think positively when i suggested it wasn't so bad and that we could turn one of the rooms into a study/living room/guest bedroom and the other just a bedroom. Paul was thinking realistically when he pointed out that you couldn't stand at one end without touching someone standing at the other end. Then we discovered something even more alarming. We noticed the numbers on the bedroom doors (if you could call them that) and realized...we were standing in two apartments at the same time. While quite impressed that we could be in two places at once, we were equally unimpressed that we would actually be sharing our spit of a kitchen and whiff of a toilet with someone else. We returned the key and ran. After more searching and examining and inspecting and walking so much i wanted to take my legs off and carry them we decided we still liked The Docks the best and the price they were asking was actually looking more and more reasonable. We sent an email the Mr. Santer stating we were interested in the unfurnished one bedroom and we'd be by Monday to apply. Sunday, in another attempt to explore the city and blister our blisters we unintentionally ended up at The Docks. Surprised the office was open we walked in to inquire. Mr. Santer hadn't gotten our email but that if we wanted a place we should probably get it ASAP since the two he showed us last week were already gone and he had one left that he had just shown to another lady only minutes before. (I knew he wasn't lying since i'd seen her leave and confirm the apt no. as she did, unless...it was just an elaborate performance) He showed us Apt. 133. After all we'd been through, it looked like paradise. "What do we need to do to get it?" (Thinking we needed our visas and credit approvals and such.) "Just sign some paperwork, pay the fees and its yours."

We have an apartment and we still can't get a library card. This is an unusual country.

Daytime, we got one for you.

"So what was your favorite argument last night?" (These are the first words out of Paul's mouth this morning.)
"Um, probably the Brit and the Indian cab driver." "Yours?" (These are mine.)
"The two Italians."
"I don't remember that one, must of slept through it."
"How 'bout the cat-fight?"
"That was the loudest."

We've been at the hostel for 3 nights now and even though our days are filled with walking the city for hours and all the wonders that brings, it's our nights that contain the most blog-worthy commentary on life in Auckland. We're considering writing a series for CBS entitled "Out My Hostel Window". We think we'll get a daytime drama spot. You know the ones, with love, broken hearts and various people mysteriously coming back from the dead. The cat fight started with 2 main characters and one girl standing there. Girls A and B yelled it out for a bit then A walked away leaving C to defend A to B; something about bad names and insinuating something about her not being in a gang when indeed she was. Not sure, just that it was loud and long. The Brit and the cab driver was more intriguing. The Brit asked the cabbie about when the bus would come again to take him to the airport. Cabbie informed him that the bus had stopped running a couple hours ago. Brit asked if he could bring him, Cabbie said maybe but that he already was taking someone and would still charge him full price. The next part of the conversation got really quiet so i can only guess as to what words were exchanged. All i do know is that about 45 seconds later the cabbie yelled at the top of his lungs, "I AM NOT YOUR PORNO!" An interesting statement in and of itself. Even more curious since he grabbed the Brit by the arm and dragged him to the other side of the street and told him not to talk to him anymore and to find a different cab.

While we enjoy the blog material conveniently at our window sill, we crave a full night's sleep. We found an apartment and signed the papers today. We love it. (More to follow with description and pictures.) Suffice to say for now, we are beginning to see how much we'd taken square footage for granted. We found our Mouse House, but at least its our Mouse House on Wednesday and for the following 6 months of Wednesdays.

Hostel Environment

We feel the need to share with you our hostel living situation. If you have ever tried to fit yourself, your 6'2" hairy husband, and 4 larger than life duffels into a mop closet then you'll have an idea of what living in an Auckland youth hostel is like. Paul had pre-arranged for a double bedroom. I don't want to even ask what a single looks like. The double bed is pressed against four walls and they still find the space for a desk. Put our bags on the floor and you have to leap from the door to the bed. (which actually isn't that far.) What would be the head of the bed is an open window. I say open because we'd suffocate if we closed it, being that we consume all the available oxygen in the room with each breath. There is no screen, so i worry every night that my pillow is going to fall out to the street sidewalk 10 feet below. In the nights that have followed i've realized i needn't have worried since the usually quiet street becomes mardi gras central at 10pm and ends with a cacophony of birds at sunrise. All i would need to say is "Hey mate, do you mind tossing my pillow back up?" "Cheers!"

Last night was especially interesting and educational as we were able to observe and listen to with extreme clarity (that would rival any Dolby Digital surround sound), a kiwi's version of "getting dissed" at say, oh, about 2am.

Actual conversation:
girl kiwi: "Oy!" "Do you have a light?"
boy kiwi: "I don't smoke."
g: "Good Boy!" (pause as she rethinks her approach) "Do you want to go clubbing?"
b: "I can't, I'm working."
g: "Are you the security guard?" (Finally noticing his uniform)
b: "Yes"
g: "Do you want to go clubbing tomorrow night then?"
b: "No, i work tomorrow too."
g: "oh." (dejectedly exits scene)

Today we searched in earnest for apartments.

flew to summertime

We are two pasty-white, travel-weary souls stumbling around a foreign city, trying desperately to blend in amongst tanned, eclectically dressed locals who call this place home. Like the orphans tripping through the fur coats in the Wardrobe, we had found the time portal from winter into summer and a land entirely unknown to us. We traded our jeans and winter jackets for shorts and t-shirts. We found comfort in the fact that we weren't the only non-kiwis. Neither of us expected the incredible Asian population here. It makes complete sense but i don't think, in the midst of packing and preparing for this journey, we'd stopped to even consider it. Exhausted, we weaved through the masses on Queen St. in search of food, both feeling overwhelmed and wondering how clearly we thought this venture through. After a night of rest, or stone-dead slumber if we're being completely honest, the city took on a more promising hue. (i awoke with not one but both arms completely useless.) We donned our running shoes and crossed Grafton Bridge toward the medical school. We found what we think is Auckland's version of Central Park. It is absolutely gorgeous. After climbing the hill toward the Museum we had a view of the northwest harbor and ocean. We crossed over toward the south side rugby fields and the district beyond. You can't flick a flea and not hit a cafe/coffee shop. I couldn't believe the sheer number of starbucks on queen st. and now on the other side of Grafton Bridge were even more privately owned cafe establishments. Wearing our exercise duds we skipped the first two, observing ties and high-heels. We settled on "Jones the Grocer". Which may be too early to tell, but could very possibly become our new favorite specialty shoppe. We selected two fresh cranberry/maple syrup muffins and lattes to-go (i mean, take-away) and walked back to the park to sit and process the last 48 hours. We are still reeling but not feeling quite so frantic. Last night we had acquired a loaf of bread, peanut butter, boysenberry jam and fresh strawberries. We sat on a bench outside of the UofA International building. Lacking utensils, we spread the pb&j with our fingers. Sparrows gathered at our feet, waiting not in vain for crumbs. Spending the past month at my grandparents house, which should probably be given national recognition as a premier coastal bird sanctuary, had given me a new affection for our feathered friends who skittishly hopped near our feet. I tossed chunks of crust. One brave beaked fellow grabbed a piece from my fingers. Another two shared a piece between them. The rest practiced their agility at grabbing crumbs and flying to the rooftops to indulge. I think word spread over night because by this morning we were discovered and implored by some new winged buggers, who this time waited in vain. It's a little harder to give up a cranberry muffin than a crust of bread. Disappointed they returned to their friends on the other side of the bridge to call them imaginative liars.

A Quote to Live By:

I ran across this quote again and it changed my view of the world again. So, I thought I'd share it with you.

We can do no great things; only small things with great love

-Mother Teresa