the end of the line

We got up early on Monday morning to battle the supposed traffic jams of Auckland. Over the weekend we had heard endless stories from various locals about the horrors of traffic jams, especially those going over the bridge (called the “Nippon clippon” by locals, as the extension intended to fight the traffic was constructed in Japan). The waiter claimed it was bumper to bumper, but from our position in a café overlooking one of the main streets in the centre, I counted about one car every 20 seconds, in other words, one car in my line of vision at a time. There were indeed cars visible on the bridge, but at no moment did they ever come to a halt, or even have to slow down, due to the supposed traffic. My father and I remembered an occasion years ago, driving in northern Scotland from Inverness to Old Meldrum in Aberdeenshire. Family friends had warned that the traffic would be “dreadful” and I decided to count cars- we saw a total of five in the several hour drive. I suppose everything is relative when it comes to imagining traffic jams.

Having concluded we could manage the traffic after all, we headed for the Auckland Museum, which was surprisingly interesting. It combines, rather oddly, Military history, local wildlife and Maori traditions under one roof…but I suppose it is practical to show what you have in one go, even if it is a bit odd to have spitfires next to massive Maori canoes.

Auckland is an odd town though. Architecturally, it is rather ugly, although the natural setting could be spectacular. Everything is well organised and efficient, and the food is fresh and diverse. But I cant help feeling that the woman who checked me in at the counter in Heathrow was right when she said “New Zealand, huh? That is pretty much the end of the line.”