Wednesday, September 28, 2011

48 hours. And 25 minutes.

In two days we leave the country.

48 hours and 25 minutes to be exact. Which in itself is probably also incorrect as the plane will be in Dutch airspace for some time after take off, and it also doesn't factor in the length of time it will take for me to write this which just confuses me even more so we'll say two days and let that be the end of it.

On Friday, one rucksack, one duffelbag, one borrowed toddler carrying backpack (it's the backpack that's borrowed, not the toddler), one actual toddler with accompanying mother, one wide selection of carry on luggage, and er, myself will all squeeze into a taxi that is already booked but I'll no doubt have to ring in a last minute panic anyway, and head for Amsterdam's Schiphol airport.

Our destination is New Zealand. Home to extreme landscapes, the Maori people, the All Blacks, oddly rubber feeling money, and Tiger Wood's former caddy.

I say our destination is New Zealand in a manner that betrays the underlying truth that the destination is in fact very far away. Very, very, very far away. Somewhere in the region of a week and a half's flying time. Or maybe a day, depending on your attachment to the truth. Either way, it's going to take bloody ages to get there. Ages on a disease riddled plane with a 19 month old. A 19 month old that has 2 modes, sweet chatty smiley mode, and red faced screaming make the exorcist seem like Mary Poppins' dear old granny mode.

Ready for the off
Ideally, should no terrible fate befall us as we traipse from North to South and back again via car, campervan, ferry, airplane, and good old walking boots, I might just keep this site updated with whatever adventures come our way. Having said that, our first accommodation in Auckland is charging NZ$19.95 an hour for WiFi so you might all just have to go and pleasure yourselves for entertainment instead of reading tales of outrageous jet-lag, crippled body clocks, ferries, camper vans, glaciers, rugby fans, funny accents, and me pretending that I drive an automatic all the time.

So that's it for now. Tune in next time when we might be answering questions such as 'did the taxi show up?', 'is the WiFi really that expensive?', and 'how much cash bribe does it take to have a stewardess seat me 15 rows away from my screaming daughter on a 22 hour flight due to an 'error' ?'