Auckland clearly loves the Queen Mary 2. Even though the morning newspaper described the Queen as a "behemoth," the yachtsmen of Auckland put together an amazing welcoming party of small and mid-size vessels greeting the ship upon her early morning arrival. It was still dark as the QM2 entered the shipping channel and navigated towards our bustling dock, once again a container port due to the immense size of our vessel. This was a working pier, and despite it being Saturday there was a veritable beehive of activity taking place on the dock. Containers were being loaded and unloaded off of five different ships. The Tasman Explorer was our dock mate. It was easy to imagine that merchant ship feeling humbled by her royal neighbor.

There were myriad helicopters broadcasting our arrival on local television or gathering footage for the evening news. I have expected to see flower petals fall from one of these helicopters since awaiting us on the pier was a Maori welcoming party. Maoris have an interesting way of welcoming strangers: they do a war dance. There were approximately twenty-five Maoris shaking their battle clubs at us and chanting deep baritone words and phrases ending in "ugh." Their faces were completely tattooed (kind of like Mike Tyson) and when they crossed their eyes and stuck out their tongues one had a momentary thought of perhaps remaining on the boat.

The Captain came on the loudspeaker and informed us that New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark was going to visit the Queen Mary 2, presumably to stress the importance of our visit. We could see well-dressed political-types also awaiting us on the dock, though they wisely kept their distance from the Maori warriors.

Since this was a working container port, no one was allowed to leave the ship without boarding a shuttle bus to downtown Auckland. No walking to and fro was allowed. Those of us with tickets for specific shore excursions would also board our tour busses dockside and return the same way.

We booked the Countryside Exploration tour. We had been told of the beauty of New Zealand by many different people, so having a chance to get out into the countryside seemed the wise thing to do. Our bus arrived a little late, but within ten minutes of 'hitting the road' we were already in the outskirts of Auckland heading for rolling green hills and pastures.

Our first stop was on the western side of the North Island where Auckland is situated. We pulled into a natural park housing a great gathering of gannets. Gannets are white birds, similar to sea gulls, but with a much nicer disposition. Their wingspan approaches six feet and they are most adept at soaring on ocean breezes. The cliffs are where they nest, mate, give birth, and nurse their chicks. There were a lot of chicks. Being present in such a natural setting was one of those special occurrences, when you realize how fortunate you are to be able to see nature in all of its glory: the pounding surf, the majestic rock formations, the busy, pulsating aviary nestled on precarious cliff sides; and all of this visible from overlooks situated off of well-built trails and look-out points. Score one for the New Zealand National Park Service.

From there we drove out to a working sheep and deer farm called Haumoana. I don't know what it is exactly, but both New Zealanders and Australians like to give places names that are hard to pronounce. Obviously, these are Maori and/or aboriginal names, but I give the colonials credit for accepting the challenge of mastering these tongue twisters.

Not only was Huamoana a working farm, it was home to a typical rural New Zealand family that delights in having visitors. Their quite beautiful home was thrown wide open for the tour bus guests. This also served as our teatime stop. The family prepared for us cucumber sandwiches, carrot cake, assorted sweets, tea and coffee.

While the family prepared teatime we were treated to a demonstration of sheep herding by border collies. These were two shorthaired border collies rather than the longhaired collies familiar from the movie Babe. Instincts though were identical. The shepherd, whose name was Steve, informed us that the older and larger collie was mother to the pup. And, it was by watching its mother that the younger dog would learn the skill of herding sheep.

This skill was demonstrated by Steve when he let the dogs loose to gather the sheep from the meadow down below and shepherd them up to where we stood on higher ground. The collie took off like a greyhound looking for a rabbit, and before you could say "Bah-Ram-Ewe" the sheep were heading our way in neat little columns stretching four or five across.

All went swimmingly until the sheep realized there was a small army of strange people standing between them and wherever it was they thought they were going to on the higher ground. That stopped dead in their tracks. So, they gazed at us and we gazed at them; the dogs meanwhile laid down in shade content in what they had accomplished, while the increasingly frustrated shepherd shouted commands that went unheeded. At this time Steve assured us that the big stick he was carrying was nothing more than an extension of his arm and should never, ever be used to hit the dogs or the sheep. If he said this once I would have readily believed him; it's when he repeated this for the fourth time that suspicions became aroused.

When it became clear neither the sheep not the dogs were in the mood for any more performing, Steve turned our attention to the next leg of this lecture/demonstration, namely, sheep shearing. Since all the Australians on board the QM2 told us that sheep shearing was the national sport of New Zealand, we foreigners really looked forward to this demonstration.

Steve did not disappoint. He selected a particularly hairy sheep from a nearby pen and proceeded to sit it on its hindquarters while cradling its torso and head between his own legs and crotch. This created a most bizarre picture indeed, especially as Steve continued his leisurely explanations of the shearing equipment and other paraphernalia while the sheep sat there quietly. The only thing that might have looked more bizarre was if the sheep had lit up a cigarette.

Explanations completed, Steve commence shearing the sheep. This man was masterful; and the sheep was a darn good sport too. In a matter of maybe a minute the sheep was five pounds lighter and Steve held in his hand a beautiful bundle of wool. He informed us that up until recently the world record for sheep shearing had been something like 280 sheep in one hour. Only last week, however, some sheep shearing New Zealand Flash set a new world record by shearing over 800 sheep in one hour. That is an amazing statistic, though it made me wonder how 800 sheep somehow stood in line waiting their turn. Granted, these seem to be docile animals, but this sure isn't the corner barbershop and sheep can't read magazines.

Our countryside tour complete, the bus driver brought us next to downtown Auckland where he encouraged us to get off and explore the CBD (central business district). Auckland's CBD was bright, pedestrian-friendly, and bustling with activity. Jan and I got off and began exploring the myriad stores and shops in the various 'arcades' - a term that refers to indoor shopping areas, early instantiations of shopping malls, if you will.

If truth be told, we did duck into a McDonald's restaurant to satisfy our French Fries, trans-fat craving, but after almost two-weeks of gourmet cooking, the vacuous, unhealthy nature of fast food dining became all-too apparent.

To exorcize these caloric demons, we decided to walk back to the main gate of the container port terminal and catch a shuttle bus from there to the ship. Crowds had been gathering all morning at the waterfront to see QM2, so we found ourselves navigating through large throngs of people. It was all I could do not to declare aloud that I was indeed a passenger on QM2. I knew that if I did I'd be swamped for autographs, photos, and any tidbit of information I could proffer describing the magnificent ship.

Our leisurely stroll in search of the port entrance quickly turned into an expedition bordering on forced march as the gates surrounding the terminal started getting longer and longer. We walked for what seemed like two hours before finally arriving at an entranceway that looked familiar. It was familiar save for the fact there wasn't a shuttle bus in sight.

We walked up to the guardhouse and were relieved to find it occupied. We explained to the guard our predicament and offered him our QM2 identity badges. He was most polite and began checking sheets of paper. He came back shortly and said that we weren't on any of the rosters he had regarding the Queen Mary 2. Given heightened states of security nowadays this is not what anyone stranger at a high security terminal entrance wants to hear. Fortunately, no one in their right mind would ever suspect Jan of being a terrorist; I, on the other hand, am another matter entirely.

While the guards huddled together and spoke in whispers, Jan and I contemplated possible penalties for trying to enter a high security area in New Zealand without proper identification. It was when we overheard the security officer speaking to QM2 representatives that we realized the problem: the guard thought we worked on board the ship.

Once we explained that, believe it or not, we were passengers and not waiters, the guard became most apologetic. He quickly called for a security van to come, pick us up, and take us to the vessel. We were treated subsequently to a really neat ride through this working container port. Every piece of equipment seemed to be the size of a three-story building; one false move and we'd surely be crushed. My mind raced with possible film and game scenarios.

We embarked once more on our gigantic royal carriage, absolutely convinced of an eventual return to Auckland, an enchanting city in a truly magical country.