The old Asian lady of the house has put up signs throughout the property. At the entrance, it says that short-term guests are no longer welcome. In the kitchen there is a cleaning order with comments of refusal underneath. The highlight, however, is a sign with the charming Chinese-English inscription “Must wash your hands! Everytime!”.
It hangs everywhere: on the oven, in the living room, in the shower and on the loo. I comply and wash my hands. Strange. There’s no sign here. Lulled into an almost psycho-like stupor, I turn round – and scream out loud. Fixdreck! There it is again. The first sign that startled me.
The signs aren’t the only creepy thing here. The residents creep along the narrow dark corridors at night, coughing, wheezing and snotting. Or they simply snore through the wall. Uli gets a severe allergy, I get a headache. Certainly not related to the mouldy walls.
The kitchen also fits seamlessly into the overall picture. It’s the dirtiest hole I’ve ever seen. Uli says she’s been in worse hostels. I haven’t. But I’ve only been to about 250. Must wash your hands? Presumably necessary to control the epidemic so as not to spread the filth of decades. Hostelworld gave it 49% for cleanliness. Definitive proof that around half of all backpackers can trace their family tree back to the wild sow within a few generations. Hotelcheck bitch Nina would definitely die of perma-orgasms here.
Enough grumbling. It was beautiful here five years ago. An old Victorian villa on the slopes of the extinct volcano Mount Eden, high above Auckland. Now it’s just dirt. Perhaps a hint with the fence post. The best things in life are free, the dirty ones always cost more and magic is unrepeatable. We will leave old paths and travel on new ones.
Step one: shopping for camping equipment. The big shop is in Otahuhu, an industrial suburb 20 kilometres from Auckland. A thousand Chinese shops, fish and chips and a Maori market. After just under an hour with only one pale face spotted, we have everything together and set off for the colourful parallel glittering world of the Pakeha shopping malls in the centre. Christmas tree, bright and shiny and Christmas toodles. Sim Card, decadent camping chairs and shoes. The baggage allowance didn’t give an ounce more
The jet lag is still gigantic on day three. On the first day, after a short nap, we wake up 10 hours later at four in the morning. On day two, we keep ourselves awake with excursions to Mount Eden in 25 metre visibility and Mount Wellington in just as many knots of wind. The next morning we learn that it was probably a bit more than that. A tornado ripped through Auckland, causing NZ$11 million in damage. It storms and ships for two days. I have all the time in the world. My storm is yet to come…
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.