On New Year’s Eve, we all had to – you guessed it – work. (I literally cannot remember my last day off. In the past ten days, I’ve worked 101 hours, if you combine the Swiss and cleaning the boat. Reeediculous.)
Jen cleaned the Ipipiri the morning of the 31st, so she worked the most. I spent a shiny hot morning having a coffee with the guys (Dan, Lewis, and Jamie – they had Tiger beer; yes it was one pm, but it was a holiday. I had the coffee. A flat white, one sugar.) We had bagels and enchilada’s at Jul’z Café, which we recently discovered, and which caters to our budget (miniscule.) And then at two or three pm, we all buggered off to work, with the exception of Dan, who has been camped out on the couch for over a week now and has nothing to do.
Right, so, Jen and I went off to the Swiss Café and proceeded to spend the next ten and a half hours there. We had a “party” for New Year’s, which meant a singer out on the deck – “Charlotte,” merrily rolling through covers. Every person there spent $78 for breads, a starter, a main, and a dessert; plus more for drinks, which there were plenty of. It was sort of the same situation as Christmas Day, except every table was booked, and people didn’t leave, so after nine pm we didn’t really have any new tables. People just settled in, ordered drinks, and waited for midnight.
At 11:55 pm, we all quit what we were doing and everyone conglomerated along the edge of the deck, staff and patrons alike. Across the street, the beach was thronged with people. The streets were writhing. (This is a brand new Paihia, and it started that night; it takes ages to cross the street now, for example.) Jen and I snagged a couple of Steinlagers out of the fridge. And out we went to join the crowd.
At midnight, everyone was kissing. Jen and I kissed each other, hugged, and went along to kiss everyone’s cheeks: Kelly, our boss; Julian and Stefan, the German boys; Mamu and Stefanie, the Argentian ‘bus girls’; Peini, the chef, and Peini’s boisterous gay friend who we met pretty much as we kissed him. And fireworks exploded over the bay. The air took on that acrid smell of explosives, and hundreds and hundreds of people lined the water, staring up into the sky. We’d already been at work nine hours, but in that moment I felt deliciously energetic and human.
A party of Maoris dressed as zombie wedding guests, with elaborate long gowns and tuxedos and fake blood on their faces wandered by, playing up the crowds. Kids across the street ran about with sparklers. Backpackers galore made out under the fireworks. The sky flashed blue – red – gold – white – and we all watched, loudly, awake for these first moments of a brand new year.
After the fireworks it was back to work - cleaning up – but a lot of people left half empty bottles of champagne and chardonnay and whatnot, so we drank sparkly glasses as we cleaned.
Last year on New Year’s Eve, Jen and I were lying in a frost-coated tent in the middle of the Adirondacks in sleeping bags. Sandwiched between Ty Cialek and my brother, we set an alarm and woke up at twelve and blearily muttered “Happy New Year” and fell back asleep, shivering. We woke up to icy mountains and black pine trees under their own sweaters of snow, and strapped on our snowshoes. This year it was nearly 100 degrees warmer, and we stood on a New Zealand beach in sandals and ponytails, among several hundred travelers.
Last year, if asked where I'd be in a year's time, I would not have predicted New Zealand. It’s impossible to say, really, what the case will be on December 31st, 2011. And that’s what makes life so exciting.
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