[Day 27] Walking Around Auckland

3 nights of going away parties settles you into an exhausted state of repose. The clock hands are sitting with their feet together. No sunset, too much drizzle. Thinking about the many kind people who encouraged me to write of a book. Perhaps it's a good idea. Try some meditative posts. Emotions, thoughts, intimacies. Ponder and recount them often.

Go to the Belgian cafe where you chilled on your birthday morning, where that sweet French waitress brought you that amazing omelette, the one called 'The Hang-Over', and those two perfect soy Lattes. Damn the coffee's good here! iPod's dead. Take it as a blessing, an omen to plug into Auckland. I'm at a big wooden table; could easily accommodate 12 yet it's only me and an English couple; we exchange smiles. They talk like old lovers. They behave like old lovers. Beautiful.

Got well acquainted with another Swedish girl last night. Wonderful bird. That uncanny aura that surrounded her. Such wholesomeness. Such grace. Eyes so blue, that rare electric shade you see in adds for contact lenses. Sincere eyes that emanate joy and goodness. Purely positive eyes that contain the humble secrets of the universe. I'm longing for the opportunity to stare into them again: they taught so much. It was a beautiful night. In Sydney she awaits.

Prneella tugs at my heart, yet the futility of any serious love affair is clear. Finish my drink and notice the cafe filling up; leave and walk down the main drag. A million gentle rain drops kiss my face. A group of Chinese, perhaps 150 deep from all generations, are parading down the opposite sidewalk protesting the travesties of Red China. One sign reads “Stop the harvest of live human organs. 3,200 innocent people tortured.” The suited man in front chants a demand over his megaphone. The procession repeats. Another demand. The choir repeats.

I arrive at a 24 hr coffee house. Half past 6. Another soy latte. Damn the coffee's good here. Backpackers are a new breed indeed. The vast majority naturally share interests, values, and freedom; there is a common understanding that each has his or her own agenda; close relationships smoothly form and dissolve. Most seek simple happiness—to talk and laugh and party and play like old friends, knowing they will never cross paths again. Open, curious, and accepting... neither judgmental nor materialistic... a wondrous return to innocence... beautiful. We live with these people and they live with us, completely out of our backpacks. A consequent trust exists and deepens these fluid friendships.

That funny round boy at our hostel. Pale stubbly face. Bald. 30ish. He wanders around talking to himself, often complaining about something. Plays a violin in the streets for money. Needs lessons. Strange lifestyle choice. In Taupo there were the 2 honeymooning video-game programmers who were kind enough to share a few drinks. Not the most social people: semi-awkward, spoke little, used unnecessary intellectual vocabulary, dude had a receding hairline and a curly red ponytail, girl never really looked up. But we had a ball together and wildly danced the night away. At Blue Lake in Rotorua there was Lee the English Army Officer who was on holiday with his lovely girlfriend. What a couple. Talked guy things with Lee and within 10 minutes he ran off to pick up beer. Rad. Returned with 2 cases of Corona. We were pretty pissed up after the first lot but he jabbed “the England finish.” OH YEAH!? Stayed up 'til 3am immersed in enlightening conversation, namely travel, military, and home. Demanded when we go to London we call him so he can take us out for proper English pub-life. You're the man Lee!

Had a Snicker's bar and 2 lattes for lunch. Stomach ache. Worth it. Sydney tomorrow at 1:45pm. Stoked to meet up with Maskell, Kary, & Crystal. They'll be the first of our SD friends over seas. Greek Aztecs are a different breed as well... gnarly debauchery is guaranteed. Smiling. Fuzzy feeling. Lol.

Small birds keep flying into the coffee house. Harmless little buggers. Help out the staff by cleaning the floor. Look at 'em. Just hopping around. All beige and cute and shit. Just twitching their heads. Checking things out. Pecking at crumbs. One has a single yellow feather.

Del made an impression. 6'3”. Keg belly, steel-toe boots, dirty jeans, faded Slayer shirt. 32ish. Those two demon wings tatooed on his shaved scalp and all the other hellish tats. Teeth stained grey. Left canine missing. Heavy silver decorating his hands. I ate bacon and eggs (sunny side up) and he downed beer. Told me about his two friends who scaled the 20 meter rafters at a Metallica concert. James Hetfield stopped the show and asked them to get down. One of those guys died last month. He was on the toilet. The other was named Chaos. Took off 2 years back. Nobody's heard from him since. “To each his own right man?” He looks down, eyes glaze over, slowly smiles a grin of somber nostalgia. “Ye. But I mes tha dam cuont. Ya know?”

Catch a girl staring at me from across the cafe. Plastic chain necklace, green jacket, pink skirt, black tights, orange timberland boots. 18ish. There's room for everyone in this wild world. Individuality keeps things interesting.

Coffee house keeps playing Beyonce songs. Time to go. Indian food tonight: chicken korma and naan bread: Mollin's favorite.