My epic journey started a few days before I arrived. I packed up my apartment in New Orleans, put what I could in storage, and put everything else on the curb. Considering I furnished most of my apartment with these types of treasures, I felt it only fair to return them from whence they came, completing the circle of life. After spending the night babysitting my nephews at my sister’s house, giving her and her spouse a little time to celebrate Valentine’s Day, she drove me to New Orleans airport where I flew to Phoenix to see my mother. I spent time with her, her husband, and my step-siblings as well as their children. My mother, a relatively recently converted Catholic, gave me a scapular that she acquired on a trip doing the Camino to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. I am not Catholic, but given the multitude of obstacles I knew I would encounter, I figured a little extra help from the Man Upstairs would not hurt.
I then headed to Los Angeles, where I needed to meet the new addition to one of my friend’s families, his son. After paying homage to San Dimas High School, I headed to the Airport Holiday Inn. I had dinner with an old girlfriend; then, at 3 in the morning, I headed to the airport to catch my flight to Hawaii.
It was one of my very many brushes with luck. I made the flight under the name ‘Greg’ and not ‘Gregory’ as I was still recovering from vehicular trauma when I made the reservation and was not thinking clearly. The attendant said that it would cost me $200 to fix the reservation. Thoughts of what I could spend that $50 a letter on filled my mind when she interrupted my daymares and said that just this once, she would change it at no cost. I thanked her profusely, headed to security, and waited to board.
I arrived in Hawaii for my layover. It was to be about four hours. Having already been on a plane for five, and about to be on another for nine, it was a nice little stop. The tropical air was inviting. I sat down outside, texted, and called those I could as I waited for my next flight. When flight 446 was called, I got up, took a deep breath, and then made my way to seat 25A. I was filled with conflicting emotions: happy that I was traveling, trepidatious because I was alone and hopeful because I was alone.
After some sleep, I arrived in Auckland, 23 hours ahead of my departure. I realized that when I was booking my trip that traveling west would be much more comfortable with jetlag than traveling east. Even though I lost a full day, I was still relatively only one hour behind Los Angeles. I arrived at the airport, went to passport control (where they did NOT stamp my passport) cleared customs, and then found a bus to the city.
As someone in the tech world, I know how much information can be garnered by logging into someone’s internet hotspot: from the commercial such as receiving your email address to send promos and collecting demographics, to the more nefarious of stealing your identity. Therefore, I realized that I would need to make an account that I would use for garnering free access to offered internet. I entered my new address BiteMe08@gmail.com and logged on to the bus’s network, getting a much-needed map for where I would need to travel.
I got into Downtown Auckland at 11:30 pm and was able to find my way rather quickly to my hostel. It was a good thing. As I arrived, I was told that had I been one minute later, the reception desk would not have been open, and I would not have been able to check-in. I was led in the dark to my room, housing my seven sleeping roommates. I dropped off my bags in the dark, unpacked enough to change my clothes, took a shower, and then went to sleep.
I woke up the next day at about 7 am, and then headed out on the town. Auckland is a lot like San Francisco in that it has incredible urban hills. The street I was on naturally flowed down to the harbor, so that was the direction I took, looking for a greatly desired cup of coffee and food. Sitting in a Starbucks, using their free internet, I decided what I wanted to do that day.
The first thing I wanted to see was the War Memorial Museum. Walking through a beautiful park, passing boys playing cricket, I made it to the outside of the museum. In front, there is an obelisk, which is in so many countries memorializing their dead. It was disheartening to see joggers using it as a slap turn, but it was not my place to chew them out. In front of the memorial was a fountain and appropriately etched in stone on the façade of the museum is a quote attributed to Pericles from History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, which states:
‘For the whole earth is the tomb of famous men; not only are they commemorated by columns and inscriptions in their own country, but in foreign lands there dwells also an unwritten memorial of them, graven not on stone but in the hearts of men. Make them your examples, and, esteeming courage to be freedom and freedom to be happiness, do not weigh too nicely the perils of war.’
Considering how much of the population of the ANZAC force died in Flanders Fields and beyond, this quote is apropos. I would see many of these obelisks throughout the hamlets and villages of my voyage. While in the museum, among all the interactive displays of World War I, I took a pause and eavesdropped as a mother explained to her son, who must have had only five years, what all those little white crosses, row by row, signified in pictures on the walls.
In yet another room, I got goosebumps when I came across a plaque dedicated to Americans that died on New Zealand’s shores during World War II, matching the epitaph that graced the front of this building. In this room, with other plaques commemorating the heroism of the war dead from this land and their brothers in arms, I had a haunting realization: like in Arlington cemetery, there was space for many, many more.
The museum was not only a memorial to those that fought and died in the wars of Europe but also a natural history museum and one of Maori culture. The name of New Zealand in Maori, which is still used by native and settler alike, is Aotearoa, meaning the land of the long white cloud. 
There were many facts I learned about these people. The most interesting is that while they were a seafaring people, they never traveled out of sight distance of their previous island.
I also learned that given the fact that the Maori were very well armed, the settlers (including those of the royally sanctioned New Zealand Company) had to reach an agreement with them, called the Treaty of Waitangi on 6 February 1840. This allowed the Queen’s sole authority the right to purchase land. This is important because while it ceded sovereignty to the Crown, it also stated that the Maori were allowed to keep their lands. Also, through the years, disarm. As the colonizers continued encroaching on the Maori land, they were left without final redress. Throughout the ’60s a 70’s, the Maori tried addressing these encroachments by the Crown but were repulsed by police and the military, leading to evictions from their rightful lands.
After the museum, I headed out to grab some lunch and continue exploring. It was early afternoon, and I decided to head up Queen’s Street to Karangahape Road. This is a lovely part of town filled with trendy shops, cafes, and bars. I found a nice little bar, Cafe Verona, had two glasses of cider too many and needed to head back to my hostel to nap. I awoke, made dinner, and then relaxed the rest of the evening.
I woke up with the intent of walking all the way to Mission Bay, which was about a 90-minute walk from my hostel. I was woefully unprepared. It is a lovely walk, mostly flat, but damn it was hot. I walked past what I dubbed America Central
as it had a McDonalds, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a Subway, and a Pizza Hut all in a row. I continued walking along the water and finally reached my destination. If Auckland reminded me of San Francisco, the Mission Bay reminded me of Sausalito.
It was a charming little beach town. Even though it was still mid-Winter back home, signs were out welcoming summer. I had some lunch, then turned around and headed back. The entire trip took about 4 hours on foot, as I needed to stop and take breaks. Luckily there were benches with trees offering shade, restrooms at beaches, and even a giant swimming pool complex. I headed back to my hostel, took a nap, then headed out again, with the hopes of climbing Mount Eden, a dormant volcano that now served as a vantage point for the city. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other ideas. A torrential downpour started. Again, being unprepared, I sought shelter in a local Asian market. I had myself a Coke and waited for it to stop. When it didn’t for an hour, I braved my way back to my hostel. In total, I walked about 20 miles.
As mentioned before, I got some intel from my former Kiwi Uber clients about a place I had to see. I got up early the next day and caught a ferry to Waiheke Island.
Passing through Auckland harbor, I saw the path I took the day before to Mission Bay. About 45 minutes later, passing large, barren islands, our boat docked in Waiheke. This island was home to over 20 vineyards, but the one that was recommended to me was called Mudbrick. I walked from the port to the vineyard, which was about 45 minutes away, uphill. It did not faze me as the scenery was stunning. Mudbrick stood atop a hill that had a fantastic view of all of Auckland and the surrounding areas.
I walked into the shop as it was before lunchtime, and there I had a surreal moment. The steward asked me where I was from. I told him the States. He said that he could tell based on my thick Amazon Prime credit card and my accent. MY ACCENT!?!?!?! I had an accent? It was at this moment that it sank in how far I was away from home. I sampled my wines, accompanied by a description of them all, and then walked around the property, waiting for lunch. I then caught the ferry and headed back to Auckland, thoroughly stuffed. Later, I made a small dinner and then started cooking in the communal kitchen. I heard people talking about where they were from and what they were doing. A lot of people from South America and Europe come to New Zealand for seasonal work, as the NZD is much stronger than their local currencies, or that there is available work for people that cannot get jobs back home. After dinner, I read a little, wrote a little, and then went to bed.
The next day was my last day in Auckland, so I needed to make it count. On my voyage, whenever I needed to do client work, book parts of the trip, or required to do any administrative task, I tabbed it an Admin Day. I tried talking with some clients, but my internet connection was not very good, so that was a wash. I needed to get a haircut, some passport photos for my coming entry visas, and attempt my summit of Mount Eden again. 
I was glad that my first attempt was washed out, as when I reached the top, it was an almost cloudless azure sky overlooking all of Auckland. It was at this moment, as Sia’s Alive was pumping in my ears, that I realized that all the bad that happened in 2018 got me here to this spot at this moment.
It would become a custom for me on this journey to send my nephews postcards from everywhere I had gone. It was here atop Mount Eden that I wrote their first one. I remember saying that one day, I hope they could all come here together. On my walk back, I headed to Verona, again, got some more cider, and then headed back to have dinner. I then took a walk by the harbour, got some gelato, and saw the largest sailing boat I had ever seen, the Aquijo, then I started winding down, and making sure I was packed for my brief stay in the New Zealand capital, Wellington.
