Susan Buckland: Bombing around NZ

COMMENT

Any day now a message should arrive from Sofia and Charlie, Argentinian students who coughed out of my drive in their $750 Holden Camira. They were embarking on a 1500km journey from Auckland to Queenstown. I hope the message will say: "The car is still in one piece and so are we".

When they arrived from Buenos Aires I was sceptical about their intention to buy a car for a few hundred dollars.

But not for them the safety of buses or trains. They had learned from the backpacker grapevine that the best and cheapest way of getting around New Zealand was to buy an old bomb. And then flog it for the same price before returning home.

I admire their independence. They telephoned after arriving in Auckland and before I could say "Airport Bus" they told me what time it left for the city and the nearest bus stop to my house.

Sofia and Charlie had arrived on a Sunday. Bright and early on Monday morning they were up and scanning the used cars ads in the newspaper.

"What is roost?" Charlie wanted to know.

Roost is rust, I interpreted. Something to avoid.

Despite their accents, they both spoke good English, having studied it at school from the age of 10. So telephoning strangers about their "roost-free" cars didn't daunt this resourceful pair.

And I was reminded for the umpteenth time how belonging to an English-speaking country is a mixed blessing. We take for granted that the internationally spoken language is all we need to know - and stunt our understanding of other cultures in the process.

The Argentinians made many phone calls. And by the end of the first day they had got to grips with abbreviations such as ONO and WOF (or "woof" as Charlie called it).

However, it took persistence to bag their bargain car. The cars they had circled in the newspaper had gone before they could make their way across the city to inspect them. So they turned to their attention to the backpackers' car market.

This thriving industry buzzes away on the fringes of the city. Youth hostel noticeboards tell the story. "Tidy Mazda, rego expired, needs new clutch: $450 ONO", "Ford Escort $150, engine work required", "Bluebird: buy the driver's seat for $700, take the car for free".

Charlie and Sofia earmarked a venerable Honda with a $600 price tag but were outbid by an English backpacker.

By day's end they were feeling deflated and about to leave when a German woman drove into the yard in an old stationwagon. It had taken her round the country. She was ready to trade it in. The plastic fittings had parted company with the back windows but the car had served her well. For $800 she would sell this old trooper.

Charlie and Sofia arranged to meet the German woman next morning. Best not to rush when you're after a bargain. But they sensed they were on to a winner. Soon after break of day they departed once again for the backpackers' car market; and as they had hoped, home they came, the proud new owners of the 1984 station wagon. The German woman had settled for $750 and had thrown in a beach towel, sleeping bag, plastic plates, knife and fork and a full tank.

When the time came to leave on their journey south I was apprehensive. But Charlie and Sofia were reassuring. "Our car has rego for the next three months. And woof until Christmas."

And if push came to shove, they would doss down in the back for the night in the second-hand sleeping bag that so generously came with the car.