Auckland - Paihia
Nighttime in Auckland is an experience I will never forget. The clock reads 9.30pm, but the sky reads 6.30pm. The sun is still visible in the distant horizon, colouring the clouds a slight shade of tinted red. Civillians stride by quickly, their large coats draped over their shoulders like shields, shoulders hunched and heads bowed low to evade that cold, fickle wind. I inhale deeply; the feeling is indescribable, as the cold air fills up my lungs like a rush of cold water inside my chest while exhalation projects a brief mist of tiny water rivulets abut a foot into the air, and then evaporates instataneously.
.
The Auckland Sky Tower looms over the city; an ominous spearhead protruding into the sky, casting long shadows, dark scars, across the city landscape in the setting sun. Or so it would have appeared if it was not illuminated brightly in a thousand blinking lights; of course, Christmas was coming.
.
Inside the Atrium, the air-condition certainly did not do justice to the freezer outside; it was noticeably warm enough to shed one layer of jackets. The elevator ascends quickly, increasing pressure inside the ears and causing them to blot out sound immediately, alleviated by the simple blowing of the nose. When one steps out of the lift and looks out of the dome, a resplendent sight beholds the eyes. Even though it is dark, the view is magnificent from the top of the tower. Houses extend the neighbourhood by a few miles at least; while traffic below moves by silently. The streets are illuminated softly by the glow from lamps while people, unaware of the envy I felt, carried on their night activities. Some areas of the floor are made of fibre-glass, thus one could stand on top and stare three hundred feet at the Earth below. I reel back, acrophobia quickly screaming in protest for me to return safely to the ground. More to avoid this sight than anything, I swivel around and look at the nearest person next to me. Immediately, I saw Auckland in its twilight majesty reflected in the glass and I knew that that moment would last forever.
End Auckland
.
The morning sun is vicious in Paihia. I lay down groggily, sunlight streaming through the gap in my closed eyelids and I willed myself to go back to sleep. But once you have been touched by the sun, it will never leave you alone. So, grudgingly and moodily, I get up.
Paihia is a small town in the Bay of Islands, in the northenmost part of the Northland. It is scenically located by the sea, and the neighbourhood closely tails the coastline. The shore is unspoiled, pure white sand covers the beach like a polished tarp. The salty smell in the air originates from the sea, and the sea breeze puffs into your face every moment of the day. As you stand on the beach, you observe the buildings along the coast. The infrastructure is relatively simple, but its excellence lies in its simplicity. At least six motels comprise the neighbourhood, other buldings are modern-day shophouses. Then to the east, the sea gives way to large, craggy cliffs, tumbled rocks enduring the harsh waves at the base. But for far north, it was all nature in its revelment. Just then, you turn to face the sea. Large pockmarked boulders peek out from under the water and frame the horizon. A wave strikes the rocks; water sprays up, drenching your garments and skin very lightly with tiny drops of seawater while the breeze blesses you again with its undying breath.