THE ROAD TO TURANGA

Briefly.

I repeat: BRIEFLY.

The night is bright, ripe, and full of color, food smells, laughter, street noise.

Yuki and I are seeking wine—Merlot, specifically—we find ourselves in a small, dimly lit place squeezed into a corner. It's filthy with atmosphere, and yeah, the wine is outstanding. Four guys are crowded together amid the vines and potted plants on the patio, sweating, slamming out a set of jazz that you wouldn't believe. We enjoy our wine and it's a scene out of a film noir—minus the cigarettes and fedoras.

Wow.

We work our way to the harbor and enter a very legitimate place called the Snapping Dragon, its three stories tall, lots of wood and glass, and the walls are shelves of vintage LPs. We each order a second glass of Merlot, and also a very spicy Pinot Noir. We're seated on the deck and I meet this waitress who's full of life—dancing while bussing tables—named Stormy. I ask her if she's "stormy like the weather".

It's late, Yuki and I are headed back up-town. We're confronted by two strippers passing out advertisements for free lap dances. They join us for a block or two and I explain to them the beauty of non-exploitive intimacy, poetry, etc... I told them that I'd rather pay for their dinner, than pay to have them take off their clothes.

The tall one didn't like that.

They left us at the intersection.

The shorter one was better looking anyways—at least, Yuki and I thought so.

This was my last night in Auckland.

I woke up early, tired, but awake, and hoofed it to the bus depot. I hadn't eaten anything, and I'll tell you this: never, never, get on a bus in New Zealand with an empty stomach. There are many rolling hills and the driver seems to enjoy it. Mid-way through the trip my guts are twisted into an empty knot and I'm feeling like a pitcher of bad-tasting air.

The landscape is twisted and beautiful and surreal—like nothing in America.

I clear my bag from the seat beside me as a petite girl in denim shorts and yellow-top boards the bus. She's German, loves Chocolate. Her name is Tabea.

She tells me about Germany and German chocolate, about the book series that she's reading, about Swiss Chocolate, about the Bay of Plenty and the friends she's visiting. She tells me about New Zealand Chocolate, and a bunch of other stuff about chocolate, mostly.

She's staying with friends in Bethlehem, which is the district opposite Judea, outside the Turanga.

We arrive in town and hang out by the ocean for awhile. I check in to my hostel and buy lunch, a Turkish thing with Lamb on it. It was good. I start to feel better.

We walk around. She buys a chocolate bar.

We're back by the ocean and she's teaching me German.

Apparently I sound funny.

She laughs.

We talk about chocolate.