Arrival in Auckland to the Coromandel

The man chose a seat reasonably far from the other passengers, the airport waiting lounge was filling slowly with passengers as they passed through the routine security checks but most chose to sit close together by the door to the jet bridge. Fine beads of perspiration clung to his temples, the guards at the terminal gate had almost derailed his plans when they found he had no printed boarding pass, however he somehow convinced them using all his nerve and just a little pressure from his imposing height and English accent he had convinced the military police guarding Chennai airport to let him pass straight through their routine terminal security checks.
His large bag passed into the airport baggage handling system easily and in spite of his travel-wearied appearance he had sailed through the hand baggage and metal detector tests. The staff had not been interested in his possessions.

If only they knew.

The man stroked his bearded chin as his laptop computer started up, two policemen in khaki walked closely by, swinging their long bamboo sticks, but didn't stop. When they had passed he removed a small plastic sandwich bag from a hidden compartment in his bag  and selected a SIM card from the range of international cards available to him. He turned off his phone, took off the plastic casings, removed the Indian card and replaced it with a more useful one. The clutter on his lap and the smooth practiced hand motions attracted the attention of an undercover security man. He sat in his shabby blue suit a little away and opposite the man. A quick glance revealed the policeman's trousers wrinkled around the knees and jacket slightly frayed at the cuffs. He wore this outfit everyday in an effort to blend in with the diverse herds of multinational passengers but had ended up just looking like an undercover policeman. The man finished adjusting his phone and began to log into the airport free WiFi. His smartphone buzzed with an incoming message and he carefully and efficiently transferred the code from the phone to the open pop-up window on the laptop. His face showed little emotion, there was little sign of what he had just accomplished on his person, just a bead of sweat clinging to his temple. The security man got bored by the lack of activity and got up to stretch his legs, moved his stiff muscles back and forth and rocked off from the heels to walk around behind the man. He had sat in an awkward spot making it difficult to see what was on his computer screen, the security man was quickly losing interest in the stranger, his manners did not arouse any curiosity, in fact it might have been contrived to do the opposite.

Half the way around the world a small amount of money was deducted from a modest current account and routed to two organisations, one was to provide transport from the man's destination on the other side of the world and another was for a place to spend the night. The man had a special interest in making sure that this was a particularly safe place, a place that would draw no particular attention to himself. Just as the last transaction was complete the internet session timed out and the connection closed. The man closed down his electrical devices and put them carefully away in another set of well-practiced operations. He then walked over to buy a black coffee from a bored-looking salesman in a shabby looking coffee stand near the entrance to the departure lounge. He handed over the last of his small change and walked briskly to the line at the departure gate joining the end just as it reached the passport check. The airline staff were briefly puzzled by the difference in appearance between the man standing in front of them and the photograph in the passport. The quality of the photograph left a lot to be desired however and the man did now seem to have grown his beard which could indeed explain the differences in appearance. Of course the check was too brief to go beyond confirming the passengers identification and it's corresponding boarding cards. 

24 hours later, two long breaks in Kuala Lumpur and Sydney airports and 10 hours of flying the man looked from the oval window next to him to see the sun setting over the Tasman sea. In minutes his flight would be  landing in Auckland and the preparations he had made in in India would come into play. Sleep had been difficult during the journey but he had snatched two hours in the shortened night of an eastward flight. The landing jolted him alert in any case, it was time to act. He was one of the first to leave the parked aircraft and moved in the leading group of passengers to passport control, trying to find which line would get him through the fastest with the least possible hassle. 

Storm clouds over the Indian Ocean

If he arrived after 2200hrs local time it would be too late, but first the almost insurmountable obstacle of Anglo-Saxon bureaucracy: 
The man waited his turn behind a German-speaking tourist who was trying to explain his travel plans to the immigration officer, something about the tourist's story wasn't adding up to the man behind the desk. Where was he going? How long was he planning to spend there? How was he planning on getting home? The man did not let his irritation show externally, any sign of restlessness could be misconstrued as an outward sign of a person who was hiding something. Finally the tourist was granted his visa and the man advanced from the yellow line. The man had taken time over making the details on his immigration form match up. The contact details were correct and the addresses were accurate. The immigration officer stamped the passport without even looking up and did not reply to the friendly thank-you he received in return. The man walked quickly to the baggage claim area to see if his bag had made it through the two transfers successfully. It emerged from the chute after a few minutes and the man carried it toward the 'nothing to declare' exit aisle.

Hours of preparation in a budget hotel room in Chennai were now about to be put to the test; the 100 Rupee flip-flops had to be discarded in spite of their mileage and novelty value, they had too much of India ingrained into them. Too much of where he had been. They scrubbed up fairly well, yet they might well have attracted the attentions of an diligent customs official on the lookout for filth. Invited a more detailed search. Given the game away.
Before cleaning the outside with a wet cloth the man had turned his bag inside out, shaken and beaten it over the shower tray and made sure that all that would fall out did so there, an orange seed from somewhere, possibly Kalamata, fell out, one or two insect wings, a Karnataka bus ticket, several pieces of tissue and a lot of grit could have made his arrival in Auckland quite difficult and expensive. Moreover he had no time to deal with customs; he had a mission to carry out. His shoes were spotlessly clean for the same reason. A great achievement considering where they had been.
The man walked calmly but purposely by the sniffer dogs, trained to detect smuggled drugs, explosive and contraband fruits and vegetables. To his surprise they payed him no interest whatsoever. The levels of residue on his clothes must have diminished over the past 48 hours, in any case, he was over the first hurdle.  He handed the customs declaration form to the official waiting behind yet another desk. All available 'NO' boxes were crossed, The female officer ran through the list of questions quickly, the man replied in a tone appropriate to the situation, he made sure not to give non-verbal cues that would betray one negative's difference to another. 
The official made a joke about the man having nothing with him. They both laughed. The backpack weighed 25Kg. The man was waved through. The metal detectors did not present a problem, of course.

Transport was waiting just outside the terminal, it would take him directly to his destination. His bags were loaded into the trailer and after a short wait for more passengers the minibus moved off into the night. After a 45 minute ride that the man used to exchange small-talk with the travelers on the seat behind he arrived at his destination.
The building was square, squat, modern and extensively glazed over it's two above-ground floors. It resembled an anonymous office building from the 1980's. The ceilings visible in the lit rooms had florescent lighting strips set among the suspended rockwool tiles. the tops and ends of bunkbeds betrayed the buildings current but not intended purpose. The man carried his bags to the only entrance, two guards dressed as backpackers stood around smoking and chattering in french. "Bonsoir" and he was through to the operations desk where he checked in using his cover as a tourist, paid up front in cash and was given the key. He walked down several flights of stairs, past another set of French guards in the kitchen, and down a further flight of stairs into the subterranean levels. Finding the room gave him some difficulty as they were not numbered sequentially. It was also incredibly hot and airless. The man did not ponder the inhumanity of confining people down here, the prisoners would soon be free. He found room 26 and opened the door. In the darkness he saw a room barely large enough for the two bunk beds placed within it. There was no natural ventilation only a hastily constructed vent in the wall leading to the corridor. The only light was from an adjoining room through a narrow strip of glass bricks which presumably could be switched on and off when ever the captors wanted in order to disorientate the prisoners and make them susceptible to interrogation. At the moment it was on bathing the room in a orange half-light. Under the row of glass bricks a figure lay unconscious, presumably overcome by the heat and airlessness, below a roughly bearded face peered out of the shadows in expectation. How long had they been here? How long had they waited here without hope of rescue?

The man would save them.

Auckland by night

Sorry 'bout that.

I'm not joking about the room, it was an airless former boiler room in the basement of the hostel. I met Hendrik and Beccy from Germany in exactly the same circumstances (almost), the next day I negotiated a better room for the three of us with an actual window that opened! On the first night I went for an orientation walk around Auckland, I was still in awe that I hadn't been mobbed at the airport by unscrupulous rickshaw drivers, the streets seemed almost too clean and the air smelled almost too fresh. Sure I was hassled for a cigarette and asked for change a dozen times, but I could get that back home. Arrival in New Zealand was the anti-rude shock. It feels ever-so familiar. 

I took a little while to get used to being in Auckland, I decided to stay in the city for a week or so in order to take advantage of the shops and services but also to immerse myself back into 'western' living, whatever that is.
Increasingly I've been noticing a growing lack of awe and wonder when confronted with the worlds greatest sights. What this effect is caused by I have no idea. It may be my own personality overloaded with so many experiences and too much beauty. More and more often I've noticed that when I should be shouting "WOW!!!" I'm actually standing there smiling a bit. I wonder if other travelers have noticed this 'beauty fatigue'?
I'm hoping my time in New Zealand will restore some of the hunger for travel. It least it will be nice to stay in one place for a few months.

Hendrik, Beccy and I took a trip to Waiheke Island one day, the weather was fantastic and the ferry ride was worth the day trip by itself. The bay is filled with curious little islands created by volcanic activity, the sea is interesting to watch by itself as it changes colour according to a variety of physical conditions.

The escaped prisoners, free from the dungeon. Don't they look happy?

We traveled around the island by local bus, the tours were approximately twice the price of the ferry ticket and the one day bus-pass combined, plus they wanted you to see things you didn't really want to see and move on before you're ready. Who'd go for those?
First stop was Onetangi (I think) for some nice fish 'n chips, a beer and a swim in the lovely sea. The scenery was great and we saw an Gannet diving for fish while we swam!

Nice spot for a swim!

The vinyard

There are a number of fancy vineyards on the island, I like vineyards, I like wine, I have fantasies about owning one. The vineyard we ended up going to was called stony ridge, and boy was it expensive. However there were a quite a few young people there drinking copious amounts of wine and chilling out in the ambiance of the vineyard after a yoga afternoon all to the sountrack provided by the resident DJ. It was all very cool. It was all very expensive! Hendrik and I tried a glass of the cheapest Merlot, Beccy had the water and left 10 dollars richer.

The wine :)

Another short ferry across the bay by ferry is the district of Devonport, as the name suggests it is where the NZ navy is based, however it's a very nice little trip with a naval museum if you're into that kind of thing. I am.

Devonport

After around a week it was time to take a bus to the Coromandel peninsula to meet up with my cousins, of course I was a little nervous; I had arranged to stay with them a while, what if they were a bunch of jerks? What if I was a jerk?!
The North Island countryside flashed by the bus window, I stopped worrying and enjoyed the view and the way everything is small and sparsely populated here. 

After a longer ride than I realised based on the distance the bus dropped me in Whitianga, the late summer sun was hot but a beach and a nice warm sea waited for me just across the road from the hostel!

The beach across the road

Whitianga is a small town and it's dreadfully quiet at 6pm in the evening

After a night in a hostel by the beach I walked into town to meet with the cousins, look there I am.

The NZ Neesons have a boat in Whitianga, they invited me to go on a Marlin fishing trip with them (as part of a competition in their boat club). More firsts! I'd never been sea fishing before let alone MARLIN fishing, slept on a small boat, at sea, on a fishing expedition! 
Eventually in spite of me best efforts to get lost, my cousin-aunt and uncle found me in the wrong car park, the first job was to get supplies for the weekend, to the supermarket!

Lynn and Alex, I didn't mean to get them heading towards the booze section, honest!

The boat, Formula Four Play

We spent the first evening getting the boat ready and getting introduced, then early to bed. Waking up on the water was quite an experience. Dawn over the water never fails to impress.

We're off!

Another cousin, Dorrien, drove up overnight to come fishing with us. Lucky really as I had absolutely no idea what I was doing the whole time so was no help whatsoever! However Dorrien has a talent for these kind of things as shown when he filled two chiller boxes with fresh fish for the table during a break in the Marlin hunt.

Marlin fishing seems to involve setting a couple of lures on heavy duty lines and rods then towing them around at a particular speed until something bites, over the radio we could here other boats announcing encounters with fish, I guess we were unlucky. Later in the evening we anchored in a little cove. Dorrie and Alex caught a load of fish, I sat upstairs and went green from the motion of the boat. 

One of the best things about having a boat; just mooring anyplace you feel like!

That evening the weather began to deteriorate and the wind began to raise a healthy chop on the sea surface, Alex decided to head into a well-know anchorage for a bit of shelter for the night. Thank goodness as the sea there was much calmer than the cove we anchored in earlier. Seasickness can be quite debilitating so I was glad of the calm in order to be able to eat something and feel human again. The little natural harbour filled up with boats and yachts from the competition and also from other clubs and ports. After a beer and some of Dorrie's venison (he'd shot it himself) It was time to crash out after such an exhausting day. A day of firsts and great fun.

Dropping the anchor

The bay was filled with boats looking for a calm anchorage

Gutting and cleaning the days catch for storage

At sunrise the next morning we woke, the boat had wiggled all night on the end of it's anchor chain but sleep had not been affected. In fact a sleep is goo for gaining one's sea legs. I felt much better on the second day and was even able to join in on the fishing, we caught some more for the table but the Marlin were biting even less on the second day, I don't think anyone in the competition had any luck that day. We took a leisurely route back to the harbour, less sickness meant I was able to enjoy the view more, the islands off the Coromandel  are really impressive with the evidence of the geological violence in which they were formed.

That night there was a ceremony to present awards to the crews with the best catches, it was quite reminiscent of the allotment society's awards, similar humour, but with big fish not big potatoes.
The next day we tidied up and cleaned the boat (salt is your enemy) and put it to bed until the next trip. Doing this trip was a great way to meet the cousins and to be introduced to their way of life and of course their hobby. I was already noticing the similarities and differences with our branch of the family and with the initial nervousness over I was keen to meet the rest of the family and to see where they lived. We closed up and left to drive south to their farm. By now I was really looking forward a change of pace. 
What I get up to on the farm will have to wait until the next post!

Packed and ready to go