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Flag of New Zealand.

     Auckland, New Zealand:

     In Māori it’s known as Tāmaki Makaurau, which sits on the North Island and is the most populous urban area in the country.  The central part of the city occupies a narrow isthmus, between the Manukau Harbor on the Tasman Sea, and the Waitemata Harbor on the Pacific Ocean.  It’s one of the few cities in the world to possess two harbors on major, separate bodies of water.

     Auckland Airport lies 13 miles south of the city center, on reclaimed land in the Manukau Harbor.  It had a single runway (050°/230° magnetic, NE/SW) with a length of 10,800 feet.

     On my first layover, I shot an approach to Runway Five, coming in low across sparkling blue water in my 747, on an amazingly clear day, with a perfect sight-picture of its long runway surrounded by neatly trimmed, bright-green grass.  For an aviator it was perfection itself.  I had a light headwind – straight down the runway – and in the pit of my heart, I “knew” this landing would be flawless.

     As I neared the runway, I casually noticed an Air New Zealand 747 patiently waiting in the run-up area – off to my left – who would be launching right after I vacated the runway.  The Kiwi Cockpit Crew had a front row seat to my landing.

     As my heart predicted, I grease-on all 16 of my main gears’ giant tires smoothly, in independent clouds of blue smoke.  It was one of the best landings I had ever made in the 747.  Thus, while my nose wheels were still off the ground, the Kiwi Captain, in the waiting Air New Zealand 747, keyed his mic, and made this observation on my landing over the radio.  And I quote, “Lovely...”

     His simple remark made my aviator’s heart go pitter-pat in appreciation, dear reader, and elevated the Kiwis to being okay in my book.

Auckland even had a new theater where the Australian Opera Troop performed.

     Auckland proved to be a beautiful little city, sandwiched between two harbors, where everything plodded along as if it were the 1950’s.  

     Judging by the hundreds of boats packed like sardines in the marinas of both harbors, everybody seemed to possess some type of water craft.  

     And, it occurred to me that when “yachties” disappear at sea - taken by a huge, rogue wave in the middle of the night - it’s not heaven they transition to.  It’s Auckland.

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