A North Carolina Yankee in Auckland

    In the airport, there are a lot of people tired from sitting. I was one of them. The high ceilings, beams, and vast balconies suggest perfect order. Everything white gloss and brushed steel. An escalator transports you from Gate 3 to a Starbucks. I am speaking mainly of the mega structure that is the San Francisco airport.
    On the flight to Auckland, my brother Tyler and I were provided with a wide selection of movies via the screen on the back of each seat. The flight attendants served us two meals which were very nearly what one might call food. My buns were numb from hours of sitting, and poor circulation gave me a headache. All this could be taken more broadly as a picture of modern life. We landed in Auckland and discovered fresh air once again.
    Northern New Zealand is tropical. Birds sing in the canopies above, and the sun shines warm between passing showers. Sprawling oaks and wild palms shade the sidewalks. The breeze blows cool, sweet with the scent of flowers.
    It is difficult to cook without a stove. We have been relying on instant oats and canned lentils by microwave.
    There is a large Asian population in Auckland, and all the signs on this side of town sport Mandarin. People never nod to each other when passing on the street. I have had to break the habit. Apparently, it is also the fashion for girls to wear cropped hair and mullets.
    When Tyler and I were leaving the local Ramen joint, a Chinese family approached the door to enter. I searched for some way to open the bug screen until they laughed at me and the young girl in front pushed through it.
    We'd eaten some bitter plums that had fallen onto the ground in the park. Later, when we were returning on foot from a short hike on Mount Eden, I picked a strange fruit off a tree to nibble on. I had seen a bird eating one. It tasted sweet, like an apricot. We passed a tall Kiwi man with gray hair. I asked him if he knew whether the fruit was edible. He laughed, "There's no telling, mate. I wouldn't risk it." I tossed the remaining bit, disappointed.
    One market near the mountain kept crates of free books outside, "For a Donation of Your Choice." We bought some odd looking things called apple cucumbers, which are really just round cucumbers the size of an apple. I gave the change to a lady there in exchange for a book. In her Kiwi accent, she said, "That's an interesting choice." She emphasized the point by repeating herself. The book was In Patagonia by Bruce Chatwin. I suppose she said that because Patagonia is nowhere near New Zealand. In any case, I am enjoying it so far.

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