Of a day in June.

The bus drove away (with us in it).

It's difficult to write about good things as if they were over. Good things never really end, they linger. And even though I'm writing using past verbs, I can still close my eyes and breathe in the sound of birds on the Blue Mountains.

But that's not where it started. It started way further east. In Hamilton, New Zealand. "We're gonna be late for the bus!" Surprising enough. (buy tickets on nakedbus.com and save money). Luckily we have a good friend willing to do us a favor and drive us to the bus stop. Smile, and wave bye. See you in two weeks. Bendik drives back to 40 Mansel, we sit on the bench with two backpacks and one guitar. The end of the Pauanui trip is just the start of another adventure. We don't have a plan, or a map, or a Lonely Planet for Australia (yet). What we have is a plane ticket to Brisbane, and a two-nights resevation in a hostel. And the big desire to see two old friends play in the Vector Arena tonight, but not a ticket for that either.



So the bus comes, and we observe the south disappear, and the skyscrapers of Auckland draw themselves up in the air outside the windows of the bus. We find a hostel while sitting in the bus, and book a room there. I wouldn't recommend the place to anyone though. And we get out. The air is slightly warmer than in Hamilton. We wander, grab a burger and finally find ourselves in front of the Vector Arena. We look at each other, hoping for it - without that much of a faith though. "Are there any tickets left for tonight?..." "Yes. Six."

The power of The Only Living Boy in New York

We sit down. The hall isn't that crowded when we enter to find our places with a glass of wine in the hand. After half an hour though, the arena is full. It's strange how nights light these just stick to your brain, and you know, you know it. You are never gonna forget it. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel enter the stage. And I remember all the details, all the small things. I remember the two women in their forties on our left, and the hippie girl on our right. I remember the mad people in the row in front of us, and I remember how many times I turned around to look at you. I remember how many tears I shed, but not to which songs I did it. It may sound ridiculous, but I actually found myself sitting there crying like a little girl. Of the beauty. It's the most beautiful concert I've ever been to. I could explain why, and what happened. I could write for hours of when Paul Simon's mic clicked and the audience started singing instead. Or of when I looked at you, and smiles exploded. But words are just words, and words can't compare. Not today.

Hooka.

We exit the arena with our minds in another galaxy. Hold hands to walk on a bridge over trouble water, from unknown planet to unkown planet. Not to let go of the feeling, of the quiet storm inside our minds. To reach the hostel and ask for "...a hooka bar?". The guy and the girl at the reception frown, and give us a quite weird look. "...a hooka bar?". "Yes, a hooka bar, you know, where you can smoke waterpipes..." "...a hooka bar?" "yes, a hooka bar". They look at each other again, raise their shoulders and mutter "oh, there's plenty around here, there's one just around the corner...". I think 'strange, I've only seen porn shops 'round here, but ookay'. So we walk around the corner, and find a stripper bar. Oh yeah, the area is full of stripper bars. And we get it. "Hooker". We do have to get back to the hostel and explain that no, we weren't looking for hookers. Just for waterpipes. "Oohh, you mean shishas" (I now wonder what they thought seeing a girl and a guy asking for hookers. Yeah). Anyways, yes, there are shisha bars. Not too far. One hour later we find the place. Not too far your uncle. But it's good to sit down with a shisha and some arabic food. And think that wooow. One hour ago we were in front of Simon and Garfunkel. Holy sjeit. Yes. This is one of the things that will stick to me 'til I'm nothing but bones.