It’s really been a wild few weeks around here. On the 21st I graduated with my bachelors degree and celebrated in the most appropriate and least stressful way possible — by immediately shoving all my possessions into my parents’ car and flying to New Zealand. New Zealand isn’t exactly a vacation for me. I’m lucky enough to have earned a spot in my university’s International Tour Band, a position I auditioned for back in November and which lets me go on a two-week, some-expenses-paid trip to New Zealand and Australia. We’re stopping in five cities in New Zealand, plus Sydney, and playing six concerts as we go.
It’s mildly stressful.
We left the U.S. on Monday morning, gave Tuesday a miss entirely due to the International Date Line, and landed in Auckland on Wednesday morning at about 6:00. We spent a completely brutal nine hours wallowing in our own post-airplane grossness and exhaustion until we could check into our hotel. Our bus driver Sheryl kept telling us to “go have a wander until you’re good and ready” until the band directors managed to convince her that it’s best to keep college students on a pretty tight schedule.
We stayed at the Hilton on the Auckland wharf, which was thoroughly lovely and had the greatest breakfast I’ve ever experienced in my life. We had a half-day of free time, which my friends and I used to take the ferry out to the suburb of Devonport. The Victorian seaside town of Devonport is completely adorable and, like most of the Auckland bay, has several volcanic (or formerly volcanic) mounds. We climbed both Mount Victoria, also called Tikaronga, and North Head, both of which were used as military installments during World War II due to their elevation above the harbor. We had a great wander before heading back to get changed in time for our first of many concerts.
We played at the Bruce Mason Centre in conjunction with the West City Band, an event which was sorely unattended by the people of Auckland (a city of 1.5 million people in a country of only 4 million) but a good time nonetheless. The West City Band’s conductor was, interestingly enough, from Ohio.
After Auckland, we embarked on a very long bus saga, starting with a trip to Rotorua, the center of New Zealand’s Maori culture. We were treated to a very delightful tourist trap called the Agrodome, which is apparently famous for its Sheep Show.
I cannot accurately describe to you the depths of weird that went on at the Sheep Show.
It started off normally enough, with a very enthusiastic and heavily-accented man bringing different breeds of sheep to the stage one by one and explaining what they are used for. He also showed off his herding dogs by having them herd ducks around the stages and run across the backs of the thoroughly bored sheep. He then got out a pair of clippers and opened a small side door to reveal the sheep he was going to shear onstage. The sheep flew out of that door like a fluffy little rocket and the Sheep Show MC fully intercepted it mid-air and tackled it into submission. He plopped it on its bottom so it was sitting like a person, at which point it went totally limp and let him drag it around the stage for a bit before shearing it and letting it run offstage.
If you don’t believe me, I have this on video.
He also allowed a two-year-old to try to milk a very patient cow and invited us all onstage to take photos with the sheep. The band bus still smells like a barn.
After the Sheep Show, we went into Rotorua and got settled into our hotel before dinner. Dinner included a number of New Zealand delicacies and a very delightful performance by traditional Maori dancers. They sang songs, danced gorgeous dances with traditional props, and also tried to teach 25 American boys to do a haka, which was hilarious. The haka is a Maori battle dance that, when done correctly, is extremely intimidating. When done by a bunch of mostly-white American tourists, it’s extremely funny.
Rotorua also smells very very strongly of sulphur, due to its many geothermal pools. They’re equally lovely and smelly, so needless to say we were pretty ready to find some fresher climes on Saturday morning. We went on a very whirly journey to the tiny tiny town of Gisborne, the easternmost point in New Zealand.
I meant to continue on to my tale of Gisborne, Hastings, and Wellington, but as I’m currently lying in bed in a very lovely Hastings subdivision realizing that I’ve already written several pages too many for a single blog post, my southern hemisphere saga will continue tomorrow.