Auckland to Rotorua-New Years Eve

Not sure why this post didn't publish. It should have been the second in my New Zealand series.

This morning I ran from my house in Auckland to the bus stop downtown that would take me to my next destination, Rotorua. Harry, my gracious and informative host told me that it takes him 35 minutes to walk to the bus stop from his house. He thought I might need some additional time because he is a fast walker. A giant hill was also alluded to. I took this as a personal challenge and decided to run to the bus terminal with 25 pounds of luggage strapped to my back and about 10 hanging from my neck and shoulders. When I send Harry my thank you message I’ll be sure to mention that it took me 20 minutes to get to the bus station. Fortunately I have a sister who is smarter than I and had some nice wipes to re-bathe with in the bus station restroom. 

This may be racist, but certain New Zealanders remind me of hobbits. The cute accent doesn’t help. For instance, the driver of the bus was loading up the bus undercarriage with the big luggage items. The luggage for Rotorua was set to go to one bin while the luggage for those traveling to Hobbit town was set to go to another. With his shorts, blue basketball socks, bright blue eyes, short stature and wizened face hollering about hobbit town, it seems perfectly normal to liken this particular kiwi to a hobbit. Don’t get me wrong. Not all kiwis look like hobbits, but some are dead ringers. 

The bus made it’s way through the hills of Northern New Zealand and Hobbit town to my destination of Rotorua. In September I had booked an airbnb for this leg of my journey. I thought it would be nice to be with a family for the holiday and the price was the same as a hostel. Determined not to spend unnecessary money I decided to hoof it from the bus stop to my airbnb destination three miles away. This time I lacked the vigor, shoes and competitive spirit necessary for the trek. I wondered why I didn’t simply book a room at one of the hostels practically sitting on top of the bus stop. I thanked the universe I had taken the Routeburn hiking trip out of my itinerary. I wondered what drugs I was on thinking I could RUN through a national park for 20 miles with this pack on my back. I meditated on the magnitude of my frequent unrealistic expectations and plans. Sometimes my detachment from reality helps me to achieve great things. Other times it knocks me on my ass. As I huffed and puffed up the final hill and arrived at the host’s house, I found it backed up against rolling hills of sheep. In the end, it was all worth it.