Auckland: No masks. No worries. And handshakes all around.
How does it feel to arrive in a land of no masks after 365 days of living in Covid-conscious Maryland?
Think Dorothy Gale and the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy, shown in black and white in the movie’s first scenes, opens the door of her Kansas farmhouse to discover a Technicolor world where her shoes are red, and the Wizard is green.
Wow.
Still married, my husband and I survived our 14-day quarantine in Christchurch. Our home-packed snacks repositioned to our waistlines, we boarded our one-hour flight to freedom.
Welcome to Auckland, the City of Sails and home to the 36th edition of America’s Cup.
We knew in an instant we weren’t in Kansas anymore … or Christchurch or Maryland!
New Zealanders view Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern as their Den Mother. They dutifully follow her COVID-19 mandates, even though they sometimes grumble as they quaff their evening beers over darts at the pub.
With a few exceptions, New Zealand is a mask-free country, but it takes COVID seriously. Contract tracing is the linchpin. Phones are equipped with a tracer app that is easy to download. The government has fitted all buildings and transportation resources, even Ubers, with a QR square that Kiwis scan whenever entering. Even bathrooms!
Large venues like America’s Cup Village have volunteers standing by to assure visitors log in their movements as they enter the grounds. They have manual sign-in forms for non-phone
users.
Our first dinner “out” was reminiscent of a high school date. Anticipation and lots of lip gloss. Sitting at a sidewalk café we thrilled as Kiwi humanity strolled by. Not a mask in sight.
The sound of laughter and crowd conversations was startling. It was surprising to me how muffled our voices back home have been behind our colorful COVID masks.
The locals are friendly. Their common question on noting our accent was, “how did you get in?” On hearing we were here for America’s Cup, their pride in sailing shined bright.
While watching the New Zealand defender boat go into the water for practice — a feat not unlike putting a multi-ton cube of ice into a teacup, we chatted up a group of sailing enthusiasts.
One woman told me about Kiwi sailing legend Peter Blake and his socks. Seems Blake was noted for wearing red socks when he sailed.
Prior to the 1995 Cup challenge in San Diego, Kiwis bought red socks to help finance the team. My new-found friend’s mother was such a Kiwi sailing fan that when she was buried, it was with her feet encased in … red socks.
Despite its sunny skies, New Zealand has COVID scars.
Cruise ships were an important part of Auckland commerce. The slips are bare. Tourism employed over a quarter-million people before the virus. Many storefronts along the quay are empty.
The government provides relief to the unemployed. Payments began in March 2020. Initially pegged at $12 billion, the cost exceeds $50 billion. Checks go out as soon as a Level 3 shutdown is announced closing borders, schools, restaurants and non-essential businesses.
In an attempt to single-handedly boost the Kiwi economy, I went shopping. Prada, Gucci, Tiffany are open to cater to non-existent tourists. This is the last week of one local clothing designer’s store. The manager said traffic was bleak without cruise ships or downtowners who now work from home.
To further our research on the life and times of the local populace we went to Waiheke Island, a 35-minute ferry boat ride away. Our craft was full of day-trippers.
Travelers wore masks on-board but they quickly vanished upon disembarking. The island has many wineries, restaurants and beaches. It’s a very popular spot for hen and buck parties — that’s bachelorette/ bachelor parties to you Yanks — and it’s a visual feast.
We observed hordes of revelers dressed in crazy hats, tutus, and head-to-toe matching swimwear. And those were just guy’s outfits! Much to my husband’s delight, the girls were worth ogling as well…resplendent in dresses that left little to the imagination.
On our ferry ride back to Auckland we did detect a small crack in the Kiwi COVID armor: three wellinked 20-something girls sat, mask-less, in front of us … chatting and vaping away without a care in the world. We shot them a disapproving glance and moved.
As I sit sipping my local Chardonnay, I ask myself how Annapolitans would have reacted to some of the more draconian regulations that have kept New Zealand relatively COVID safe? There are only 26 deaths attributed to the virus in over a year.
Would we have allowed the government to shut down our economy by closing our international borders?
Would we be as cooperative with QR code contact tracing as the Kiwis?
Would we see Gov. Larry Hogan as a benevolent father figure, assuring us everything was being done for our own good?
Are we as a country more individualistic than the New Zealanders who operate under the philosophy of mana where the many willingly sacrifice to benefit all?
I don’t know. I do know there is a sense of kindness here. There is a sense of shared responsibility.
And even though their lockdowns swing open and shut faster than a screen door in a stiff breeze, the Kiwis we met are willing to shake your hand and give you a welcoming hug.
And that’s something that hasn’t happened to me in Postscript:
Just as I was about to send this last installment of my COVID odyssey for publication, a warning blast emanated from my phone. “By order of The Prime Minister, the City of Auckland will be at Level 3 lockdown for the next seven days effective at midnight tonight,” the ominous text message read. This meant restaurants would close. Travel would be restricted. Sporting events…even the America’s Cup…would be postponed.
The reason? A single COVID case had turned up with a myriad of potential contacts. Not much we can do. Like I said in my first dispatch, their country, their rules.
Mother Jacinda has spoken.