We got back to Auckland around noon, and checked out three different campgrounds in the area to see which would be the best for our last eight days here. We wanted something with a good camp kitchen, fairly convenient to public transportation, and a fairly short walk to buy groceries, since our main mission is to sell the van, and once it's gone we'll be without wheels. We found a good spot just north of the city and checked in.
There are a number of fairly permanent residents living in caravans, or cabins here, and we've already become part of the community. We met Don at breakfast. He's a native Ohioan who grew up in Cleveland in the 60's and 70's. He's Native American, Ojibwe, and met and married a Maori woman in Oklahoma before moving to Alaska where he worked for ten years as a teacher in tribal villages. Eight years ago they decided that the isolation and cold winters was enough, and decided to move to New Zealand. Now he's back at University to become a Podiatrist. He lives in a camper van a bit bigger than ours during the week while he takes classes at the nearby university, then commutes a couple hours home for the weekends. He sort of looks Maori himself, although his long ponytail doesn't really fit. A really nice, and super intelligent guy, we've had some great laughs talking about growing up on Lake Erie. He remembers when the Cuyahoga would catch on fire and said an older buddy of his had a pretty nasty rash after swimming in the fetid river. Also the heartbreak of being an Indians or Browns fan back in the day. And he's been able to provide us with some good insight about white and Maori cultural interactions, as well as an outsiders view of New Zealand society in gerneral.
There's also a Kiwi about our age living with his partner (wife?) in one of the cabins who has his own little cleaning business, and is interested in buying our van if he can come up with the money. He's quite a character, life has tried to beat him down but I think he's too stubborn to let it, or perhaps even recognize that he's even been in battle.
Bill is a 75 year old Yorkshire man with flowing white hair who lives in a small caravan. He's a graduate of Oxford and Cambridge and did research in London in television and glass furnace technology. When his wife tired of city life they moved back Sheffield where he had grown up in a poor neighborhood and became a teacher, and eventually principal of a high school there. His stories of restoring a semblance of control over the '50s era punks with some rather unorthodox methods are hilarious and inspiring. I can imagine he was a pretty powerful presence as a tough 35 year soccer player, dealing with the unruly kids in his school with charm, wit and a bit of force when necessary.
He decided to move to New Zealand around 35 years ago when he got tired of the pollution and class system in England. He was told he'd be in a wheelchair 30 years ago because of early onset arthritis, but discovered and adopted a diet based only on raw food, and now can kick up his legs like a burlesque dancer. He started running marathons when he was 62 and has completed 50, as well as a few 50 km runs. Three days a week he goes to a nearby rec center to play table tennis, plays with a club team, and coaches. I kidded him as he headed off one morning, asking him if he can beat the Chinese, and he replied earnestly, quite a few of them, and that he's pretty high up in the 'protocol'. He's a wise man too. One morning , a fellow who lives here was pretty drunk and spouting off about something or other, and Bill gently responded, "you know, if you look at how so many people have to live around the world, it makes you realize how lucky we have it here." The guy sort of muttered something in grudging assent, then sulked out.
We settled down and fixed dinner in the spacious kitchen and visited with some of the other residents, before going to bed.
