Eleven hours across the Pacific first of all, inside the veal crate of the central section of a 747. A matter of minutes after devouring the evening meal and I start to get hayfeverish. Runny eyes. Most strange, given it is gone 10pm and I'm over 30,000ft in the sky. Grasping for an explanation, my internal monologue hypothesises the on-board conditioning system is comprised of Fijian air samples and, with it being summer there, is pollenated. Which is ludicrous, obviously. Then parts of my tongue start to tingle too. Odd pollen, I think. And what's this? A mildly swollen throat? Well, in 30 years of hayfever suffering that's never happened before. Anaphylwhatctic? I don't know how to say this, I mean, I know I don't really know you, but I've never been with a man before. Surely I can't be serious. I am serious, etc.
Headphones on, hoodie up, eyes shut, the condition and its' associated concern relent after half an hour.
The flight is largely overnight, and I arrive into Nadi in Fiji at 5am local time, serenaded by a local gent playing guitar and singing songs about sunshine. I managed a small amount of 'sleep' on the way. The international date line has been crossed. The 12th January 2012 never existed. Three hours become four waiting in the departure lounge for the transfer onwards to New Zealand. It is a relatively short hop -- two-and-a-half hours -- to Auckland, near the north end of the North Island.
Because of my change of itinerary (see #017 pt.4), I require some inoculations over and above those administered before leaving the UK and have arranged to attend a travel clinic in Auckland, so will be here a few days at least. The stay is welcomed - I'm fairly exhausted from the journey here and will probably take a few nights to stop automatically waking at four in the morning. I also still need to decide where it is I wish to go while I am here in New Zealand.
A couple of days in to my stay and I'm still not quite with it; I achieve little more than eating and sleeping, a general malaise preventing anything mildly adventurous. This state gets me thinking: even the smallest fluctuations in diet or sleep or daylight can have a massively detrimental effect on ones mood. On my last day in the States I was really excited at moving on and discovering somewhere new, but that feeling has disappeared completely. Following consideration, I've also become aware of how I can reflect this mood onto others, no matter how subconsciously. Choice of words or tone of voice, or a gesture, however minor or seemingly inconsequential, has the power to bring others down with me. And this is quite apart from all the world-shattering events that can befall us, on both a global and - just as importantly - an individual level. So I've decided that the 'negative' emotions are rubbish. Groundbreaking stuff.
I turned to visual entertainment to distract myself and watched Project Nim - a documentary about a 1970's experiment to teach a chimpanzee, Nim, to communicate. [Possible spoilers] At times even the most well-meaning carers were totally disastrous at meeting the needs of the primate protagonist. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was ripped from the hands of his mother aged two days. "But the mother won't mind because we did it with her five other children before this one, so she's used to it." [End spoilers] I think to myself how this experiment would work better the other way round, if it is necessary at all. Place a single human in a cartload of chimps (that is the actual collective noun, awesome hey) and try communicating then. À la Dian Fossey. As I watch Nim the thought of living with chimp cousins for a time is actually quite appealing. I hope my adjustment to New Zealand summer time happens soon!
So, yeah, New Zealand. A day or so of internet research and opinion gathering leads me to the conclusion that a hire car and five weeks touring round the hostels of the country would be the best option for me. The dirt cheap cars work out to about £18 a day to hire, which is much more appealing to me than a busload of 18 year olds. I think.
As I take my seat behind the wheel, it feels like I'm in a race car, so low to the ground I am sat. The bonnet stretches away out in front of me and half the vehicle off to my left. Three months in the van has conditioned me somewhat; this might take some getting used to. Good, then, that my charge for the journey is something of a living legend. Road trip royalty, no less. A Top Gear presenters wet dream. For the next five weeks I shall be piloting a king of the road: the iconic Nissan Sunny Super Saloon.
That's Super Saloon.
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