Stiff upper lip, wobbly lower lip

We made it! We crossed over about a million kilometres of ocean (NZ is inderdaad moer-vêr), and have finally landed on Kiwi soil. It has not been without its perils, of course, starting with the obstreperous officials at the airport refusing to let us take Maya's bike on the plane without lots more bubble wrap than it had (it had to be donated to a deserving porter, poor Maya). Then there was the delay caused by crashing computers at OR Tambo, which meant waiting in a very long queue at check-in and a three-hour departure delay. Add two weary and overexcited children to the mix (who did not get their lunch until 6pm nor their supper until nearly 11pm), and it starts getting, shall we say, interesting. There was some fun in the queue though; notably seasoned ex-pats back for a visit teasing us about our amount of luggage, comparing notes and dispensing advice, Maya suggesting we play hide-and-seek at International Departures to pass the time (gaaa!!!), and Max doing his two-year old thing and darting off, cackling hysterically, into the ominous, child-snatching crowd (luckily his mother was a sprinter at school, and no stranger to making a spectacle of herself in public). Perhaps it was just as well – whenever there seemed to be time to reflect on the enormity of what we were busy doing, and I could not prevent my inner gaze turning to the people I was leaving so very far behind, and when the PWOL (Present Without Leave) tears would spring out, something would happen to distract me. (Tea! Where’s my TEA? Max’s plaintive wail reverberates piercingly through the packed, dimmed cabin. Rooibos? Sorry, we don’t have anything like that on Qantas, replies the helpful steward.)

The delay meant we missed our transfer from Sydney to Auckland and we had to wait for a later flight, so our booked transport to the motel departed early and our fragile baggage (guitar and car seats) arrived late (in fact, a day later, I’m still waiting for it). Finally, exactly 24 hours after entering the Joburg airport, the hyperactive offspring and their haggard parents limped through the gates of Auckland International after midnight local time, wondering how we would get to our motel - only to be met by the smiling, friendly, only familiar faces in all of Auckland of Lize and Cindy, who had waited three hours to surprise us, and had no way of knowing when (or if) we would arrive. What could a girl do but burst into tears (again)? They had brought gifts for the kids and coffee for the grown-ups, and we caught up on a bench, waiting for another taxi.

And so, with a smorgasbord of emotions to feed on, we were welcomed into New Zealand and trundled off to our motel on the next leg of our grand adventure.