New Zealand - Mordor, old friends and snot‏

The most widely accepted Maori name for New Zealand is Aotearoa, which translates approximately as 'land of the long white clouds'. As we flew into Auckland it was clear that the place has been named well. Huge banks of fluffy, white mountains reared around the plane and the illusion was only shattered when it became necessary to descend through them, which triggered some impressive turbulence. Thankfully we were both too wrapped up in the splendour around us to be overly concerned.

Our subsequent two hour passage through the Vale of Morgul, otherwise known as New Zealand's border controls, was anything but splendid. Indeed, getting into Mordor would probably have been easier. Our first quest was a huge snaking queue for passport control, populated by weary travellers, belligerent trolls and tantrum-inclined toddlers. The shuffling line of undead took an hour and a quarter to traverse before we were finally interviewed by a disinterested dwarf who scanned our passports with the thinly-veiled boredom of one who has been unfairly condemned to a repetitive and boring task. After a perfunctory glance at our passports, he released us to claim our baggage.

Mercifully our cases were waiting for collection, but relief was short-lived as were then herded into another queue, this time for customs and quarantine checks. We waited a further 15 minutes for another interview, this time with a Gollum-lookalike, who scrutinised us and our Customs Declarations. Fo seemed to pass this test but I, by now producing copious amounts of Orc snot, was given a look of deep suspicion and side-tracked into a full body X-ray scan. After subjecting me to a gratuitous dose of radiation, and having found nothing more menacing than yet more Orc snot, they finally released us into the arrivals hall where our poor friends Bruce and Julie had been waiting patiently.

Good friends Bruce and Julia. Camera -shy Brit
retreating in the distance.

After hugs all round, they whisked us north through the city and onto their home in Albany, a pretty suburb adjacent to Lucas Creek, one of the many rivers on the North Shore of Auckland that feeds water into the main harbour inlet. We spent a great evening catching up on each other's news before my steadily worsening cold (shivers, headache, razor blades throat and, unbelievably, even more Orc snot) forced us to retire. It felt great to be in NZ finally, even with man flu.