Traveling Dina - Explore. Dream. Discover.

Say what you will about the vices, faults and follies of the people who go to Burning Man (aka “Burners”) — we’re all vain, shallow, polyamorous body-painting nudists with ridiculous hairstyles, stupid nicknames and dubious definitions of “art” — but the majority of Burners that I have met outside of the event itself — in NY/NJ, in Toronto, San Francisco, and now New Zealand — have been some of the friendliest, most welcoming and fun people I’ve ever met. Being a part of this vast communty — along with a little reliance on the Internet — has opened up doors and opportunities pretty much unimagined in other parts of my life. It’s really an amazing networking tool; suddenly, wherever I go, there’s somebody, somewhere, somehow, who wants to take out a traveling Burner.

And so I found myself on Day 4, back in Auckland, anxiously awaiting 5:00 when Hana and Jon, two NZ Burners I’d never met before, were going to pck me up at my hostel and take me out for drinks, Kiwi-style.

Much of the rest of the day was spent on logistics. I met up with Greg in the morning, and we spent some time talking with a travel agent, finally deciding to rent a nice, Nissan “Sunny” for four weeks — I’ll ride with him to Wellington, and if we get along, continue on together to explore the South Island, else part ways there.

That squared away, I set off for a City Day. I shamefully hit the Starbucks for a Venti Iced Latte (officially adding entry #3 to the “Countries in Which I Have Had Starbucks” list) before heading to the Yarn Store, where I indulged my Yarn Porn addiction, squeezing skeins of 100% New Zealand Wool and rubbing hanks of mohair against my cheek. I finally settled on a dark grey skein of a NZ wool blend. A NZ wool and possum blend. The possum may be a hateful invasive exotic species who preys on kiwi birds and destroys native tres, but I bet it makes a damn warm skullcap.

I then spent some time exploring “K’Road”, so called because the true name, Karangahape Road, is probably cumbersome for even the Maori to pronounce (although not quite so as Whakarewarewa, but that’s a different story…) It has a vibe reminiscent of Haight Street in San Francisco, with record shops, takeaways, restsaurants and LOTS of used clothing stores. I had some extemely average sushi — disappointing ,as I’ve heard sushi is supposed to be great here. I also had a bit of a cultural faux pas as I waited, and waited, and waited at my table for the check after asking for it from the waitress. It was obvious that they were trying to close, but eye contact, pulling out my credit card, coughing, stopping writing in my journal, nothing brought the check. I was pretty embarrassd when I finally realized one pays at the counter most of the time here in New Zealand. D’oh! I apologized, and went on my way, taking note of some of the other “cultural differences” as I walked home: how revolving doors spin to the left, the flow of crowds is opposite to home (took a few blocks of swimming upstream to figure that out), how the lights are so long that on “walk”, the throngs of people cross the street diagonally, from corner to corner. Unheard of in NYC!

About 5:15, Hana, Jon, their friend Sam and I headed to the waterfront, where a strip of bars and restaurants line the “Viaduct”, a fancy development which was built when New Zealand hosted the America’s Cup. Hana is a very cute, very short (though not actually shorter than me, as she reminded me throughout the night) young girl with a great smile. Her father is half Maori, and her full name means “Warm, peaceful standing house” which we all found quite charming. Jon has a bit of the “Burner” look — cropped hair a faded pink, lip ring, bare feet throughout the evening (”A very Kiwi thing to do,” he says) and a super-friendly, knowing and warm attitude. His family has been in NZ for 5 generations, originally coming from England and Wales to become landowners and find a better life. Sam was a longtime friend of Hana, blonde, with an attractive eagerness about him. We joked about how the New York “Bridge and Tunnel” crowd wasn’t really all that unlike the New Zealand “Cattle-n-Farm” kids in some ways. We drank New Zealand beers and strange mixed drinks and chatted about things besides traveling (like the Kiwi practice of tipping no one, and how in the US even Americans aren’t always sure who to tip and how much) which was a welcome, welcome relief.

Although the bartender had gained my devotion by carding me (when he finally figured out where the date was on my ID, he turned a bit ashen and choked out an “Um, I’m sorry…” before quickly grabbing our drinks) we decided to hit another bar or two.

The next bar was remarkable only in that it had a small, refrigerated case of something called “Pulse” on the back counter, and that all 3 of my companions ordered it, as did Karl, another young Kiwi Burner with a dark, brooding look who joined up with us there. Similar to what we in America might call a “Vodka Red Bull,” but all combined in one can, Pulse is an energy drink containing Vodka, Soda, and Guarana, a preported stimulant. I stuck to beer, thank you very much. But if you’re thinking of hitting the stock market, I strongly suggest Pulse.

Next we hit Lenin, a Russian vodka bar. Not only did the bar have a ten page menu of vodkas, including some from countries that probably have no right making vodka at all, but next door one could pay extra for the ultimate in vodka drinking. Called “Minus 5″, patrons are given warm, possibly sheepskin coats, and escorted into a bar made completely of ice. The seats are ice, the tables are ice, and there are ice swans and other decorations, with a window onto the “regular” bar next door. Apparently, you drink your (extremely) chilled vodka out of ice glasses for the ultimate in the “I’m getting drunk on the tundra” experience.

We passed, and chose a booth made of a nice, ordinary leather (or possibly naugahide) and ordered the best chips (Americans call them fries) and wedgies (seasoned potato wedges) I’ve ever had. Although I’d given up vodka for my own basterdized version of Lent (which technically ended March 2nd, anyway) I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have New Zealand vodka in a Russian bar in Auckland with a bunch of crazy Kiwis.

So I ordered a “42 Below” kiwifruit vodka and soda, which was quite tasty and refreshing, if a bit different. I sipped on Hana’s 42 Below feijoa and lemon-lime (aka Sprite), which was a bit sweeter and rounder than the kiwifruit drink. Apparently, feijoa is a fruit similar to kiwi, but so common that it just falls of the tress into people’s yards and into the roads when it is in season — so comon that the stores practically have to give it away. I wonder why we’ve never heard of it here. One of the things, however, that amused me the most was Karl and Sam drinking Coronas — quite an expensive beer here — in the Russian vodka bar, and drinking vodka in the more typical tavern. Huh???

Eventually, Jon left us, and several more people joined up, including a loud, bedreadlocked American college student named Josie. We all headed up the hill to a more happening (and college) bar, and the rowdy crowd slowly progressed through the fairly empty city streets. The conversation became louder, more heated, and more obnoxious — I haven’t partied with 20-year-olds in a LONG time. We agreed to disagree on the relative merits or faults of the “Shandy” (1/2 beer, 1/2 Sprite) and the Bloody Mary (which they deemed “Sooooooo fucked up!!”). At some point, the phrase, “My pimp is shorter than me!” was uttered (perhaps shouted), and here is where, were I at home, I would insert a picture.

I really enjoyed the silliness of the banter, and the final bar had a fantastic vibe. It had dim lights and great music, as well as a raised deck overlooking a garden, the public courtyard of an office building and the arts quad of the local college.

As my night grew to a close — I had an early morning planned the next day — the whole group walked me back to the hostel, with just enough time to get a decent amount of sleep. We clicked a few last photos, and hugged goodbye. A truly fabulous night. I hope to run into them all again someday!