Getting four hours sleep by 9pm was great. Getting only two more for the rest of the night was definitely not. I gave up in the end, got up, packed for the flight and headed out. When I left the motel I didn’t set the satnav. Instead I vaguely headed towards where I knew the city centre was, a bit like someone in London driving towards the City. Not the ideal way to see a major town but Auckland is too spread out, no central hub of interest anyway.

I found signs saying City Centre and followed them. They stopped so I assumed I was there, tall buildings with company names on them, bland concrete everywhere.

I kept driving, found myself on a road going north. In the distance a large bridge, then a sign telling me it’s Auckland Harbour Bridge before the road swept around in a large curve and took me over it. Looking behind I could see the city centre, tall buildings indistinguishable from any other urban nightmare.

Leaving the bridge behind I soon reached signs warning that the road would become a toll road. I abandoned it at the next junction, found myself in a seaside town, holiday makers already on the beaches or heading there, paddle boards or children under their arms.

I stopped for fuel, asked where to stop for coffee, got sent just a few hundred metres further. The coffee shop wasn’t cheap but I needed food.

New Zealand knows how to make breakfast.

The village of Manly caused much amusement. I’m sure that the Manly Takeaway has an excellent menu choice.

I passed through on my way to Army Bay, a New Zealand military live firing range. They had a waterfall so I ignored the grim warnings of exploding munitions and richeting bullets.

It was a disappointment on all fronts.

I headed to a different one, hoping for greater success. Someone had said that to find it, “Follow the creek upstream.” What they didn’t mention is that you park next to a different stream. I got some exercise, and it was again not really worth it.

By 1pm I was handing the car back. There was time to get to another waterfall and back, probably the best of the day if I’d made it, but I was too tired. Dangerously tired.

Today’s drive in New Zealand:

My suspicions the car hire company were a small limited outfit were backed up by their offices, a single sign in another company’s building. That wasn’t a large company either, just a single employee, a classically blond German from Kreuzfeld, her English so good I’d assumed she was Scandinavian. She found the man that I hired my car from, a young Asian chap that seemed to be owner, mechanic, admin and also the person that drove me to the airport, in the car I was returning.

He was a nice enough person, all his company paperwork in Japanese and a Japanese couple picking up a car from him when I arrived so he was probably bemused that I’d found him, rented a car for a week in English. He asked where I’d been, expressed surprise that I’d done 1940km in a week, expressed even more surprise that I’d only put around 150 litres in it. The car isn’t meant to get that good fuel economy.

We’d discussed the fuel situation midway through the drive to the airport when he noticed the gauge wasn’t reading full. I pointed out that it matched the level when I picked up the car, the needle just below full. He asked when I’d filled up so I told him mid morning, although in hindsight it was probably nearer 9am than 10. I didn’t mention driving to find two waterfalls since, but is also filled it up properly, well past the full indicator, so I’d had some fuel to spare.

I checked in for my flight at 2pm, got told I looked tired at the baggage drop. Sat for an hour unable to sleep then went hunting for a drink. A litre of water, a coffee and concern from the waitress that I looked tired.

Maybe I should’ve added bacon.

Auckland airport lacks the comfortable seating available in Sydney and Singapore. I sat on a plastic bench and failed to sleep. Too tired to do anything else I pulled out my tablet, put the new keyboard to good use. Over a thousand words in just over an hour, connected to the internet, posted the new short story I’d written.

Before boarding the flight i managed to upset a New Zealand border official. He said that to make the US TSA happy they have to ask stupid questions before you leave New Zealand. (He didn’t use the word stupid, but that’s how it turned out).

I was patient with him until he got to, “How did you hear of New Zealand?”

Apparently “We get taught geography in school” wasn’t the right answer.

He did eventually smile though when he asked me what type of car I’d hired. “A shitty Nissan” appears to be an officially recognised model.

By the gate a couple were preparing for the flight. This would’ve looked less dodgy if he hadn’t been pushing her hips back and forward in a rhythmic motion

The flight itself wasn’t good. The aircraft was almost full, very few empty seats anywhere. There was one behind me but I had people in front and on both sides. The family to the right were Indian, the father sat nearest to me, smelling of curry for 12 hours. To my left a young couple with colds, the constant sniffing pausing only when they fell asleep.

Air New Zealand have the world’s most irritating safety announcement, a music video by third rate singers that made me block my ears and so miss out on the entire message anyway. Fucking great safety planning there.

Their in flight entertainment is also horrific. The software is fine, the media choices perfectly ok and playback is as you’d expect but it ruins a film when they interrupt it 17 times with announcements.
“The captain has put the seatbelt sign on.” No shit, that’ll be why the seatbelt sign is now on.
“The cabin crew will be offering you dinner now.” No, they offered me dinner two bloody minutes ago. Now fuck off and let me watch this film.

I did manage two painful hours of sleep in between the cabin crew kicking me. One got upset that my foot was in the aisle, told me to watch out where i put it. Given that putting both feet in front of me left so little room they were touching I pointed out that there was nowhere else to put it but she ignored me and went past. It’s bad enough having a seat so narrow the slim lady next to me hangs out both sides of hers, let alone the additional obstructions they’d put underneath.

The cabin temperature was set to “American aircon” the whole trip, even while people were asleep. I decided to get up and go for a walk, an attempt to warm up and escape the obnoxious stench of curry. Before I could even stand the seatbelt light came on, stayed on for over an hour. The flight suffered turbulence throughout, sometimes enough to stop me reading.

The woman next to me put on a blindfold to sleep, curled up facing her partner. Later she shifted, stretched a little and leaned towards me, face turned my way. I leaned towards the aisle; I needed a cuddle and a woman sleeping against me would be welcome but this wasn’t the time or place.

At least San Francisco airport proved painless. No queues for passport control, no customs checking at all. Even with a wait for checked luggage it was four hours quicker than flying into JFK. I caught the skytrain (i.e. a train) to the car rental depot, drove back out in a Mitsubishi Mirage.

It’s called a Mirage because from a distance you can mistake it for a car. You can’t push the seat back, or down, and it has a classically American engine: Big, thirsty, noisy and very low on power. Accelerating sounds like an articulated lorry going up a hill, and gains speed at about the same rate.

I picked up the car some time after 11am, drove through San Francisco, admired the Bay Bridge. Driving under that got me to the pier from which you can catch a ferry to Alcatraz and a little beyond that I could see the Golden Gate bridge. The Bay Bridge was better but both cost money to drive over so I turned and went through the middle of San Francisco to find my hotel.

San Francisco is terrible for driving. Four way stop signs everywhere, making you drive through a dozen of them just to go a single mile. Haven’t these clowns heard of give way signs?

The hotel charges $50 to check in before 2pm. At 1.52pm I offered to sit and wait for a few minutes but the receptionist insisted on finding me a room anyway. I wont be paying $50. The room she found is functional, with a bed, a chair, a chest of drawers and a Keurig coffee machine that I daren’t use, unsure if they charge for the capsules it uses.

Instead I drove to find food, a list at reception helpful in suggesting easily found options. I ended up going for lamb meatballs followed by meatloaf, tasty American takes on Greek cuisine.

It was a big lunch, especially after such a massive breakfast the same day, but the two meals were 27 hours apart. Crossing the international dateline is weird.

San Francisco has fireworks tonight. I wont see them, I’m going to bed. I’m tired, so very tired.

Tonight’s hotel is by the airport, so I did drive to the bridges and then pretty much return to where I started. Shrug.