At 2 a.m. Friday morning, I flew over 6,400 miles (or 13.3 hours) from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Auckland, New Zealand. The plane landed at 7:30 a.m. Saturday, New Zealand time. Here they are one hour ahead of Argentina and 17 hours ahead of Ohio.
Katie and I were delayed through the airport and security a bit because our luggage was late and every ounce of dirt, produce or other transportable piece of nature must be expunged of your person before you are permitted to enter the country. The good news was they cleaned our muddly sandles and tent.
I became high on NZ the minute my feet stepped out of the airport and the rain struck my face. In the distance were lush greenery and foggy mountains. There wasn't a high rise to be seen. I no longer felt the handicap of not speaking the local language, and I reveled in the accented English all around me (New Zealanders sound very similar to Australians). I fancied everyone was on his or her way to trek through one of the hundreds of bush walks, climb to the crater of a volcano or bike home, regardless of the rain and luggage.
I felt like myself and all other passengers of flight AR 1182 had arrived just in time witness the shedding of winter and the awakening of spring.
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