More Tales From The North Island

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Hiya folks. 1 June today and I can't quite believe how quickly the year is going. The travel funds are rapidly decreasing but I reckon I can still squeeze out a few more weeks of travel before I return to the old country and prepare for my eventual release back into the community. Anyway, on with the story.

We informed the man behind the desk at our Napier hotel of our desire to take the bus to Palmerston North. He looked a little bemused. He gave us that "why on earth do you want to go to Palmerston North look?". Think somewhere like Reading or Milton Keynes in England if you're not sure what look I'm describing. The man asked us why we wanted to go to "Palmy". All became clear when we explained we wanted to go to the National Rugby Museum. Suddenly, we were talking his language.

A few hours later, me and Nick found ourselves outside a modest wooden building with the magic words on the side, "National Museum of Rugby". Inside, we were presented with a veritable treasure trove of goodies. There were displays of rugby memorabilia from all over the world, not just New Zealand. There were national shirts from obscure rugby nations like Sri Lanka, the Soloman Islands and Scotland. We had a great time poking about the displays. When it came to time to leave, I thought I was going to have to tear Nick away as he clung onto the railings. But he didn't. So I didn't.

There ain't a whole lot else to say about Palmy. It's home to one of New Zealand's largest student populations. I was a little baffled as to why students would choose to study there. I have nothing against the town but it does appear a little ordinary when compared to some of New Zealand's other towns and cities. And it was also home to one of the noisiest bunch of German backpackers (I think the ringleader was called Dieter) in the history of the world. It was clear that we were becoming fatigued with staying in the youth hostels. For a start, we were really stretching the dictionary definition of youth. It was handy that I knew someone who lived in our next destination, the nation's capital, Wellington. We were later to find out why it is sometimes known as The Windy City.

It was great to meet up with Dan, another old sport watching and drinking pal who emigrated out here from England last year. Dan and his wife Sasha were splendid hosts as we invaded their beautiful home for the weekend with our backpackers' ways. We were laden with toast, coffee and a full English breakfast. Marvellous stuff. The entertainment was provided by young Arthur, Dan and Sasha's ten month old son. We were even supplied with ear plugs in case Arthur kicked off in the evening. Believe me, after listening to Dieter, his muppet friends and their tinny 80s Europop music into the wee small hours, not even Arthur's heartiest cries could raise us from our slumber. Perhaps having 8 or 9 beers at Dan's local also helped.

On the Saturday morning, we made a whistle stop tour of the compact centre of Wellington. Although smaller than Auckland and Christchurch, Wellington has a definite "capital city" feel to it. Lots of smart architecture and the closest thing New Zealand has to matching the City of London's tall buildings.

At noon, we made the rendezvous point where the day's event was to begin. An all day drinking session - my first for a long time. Dan suggested we drink outdoors and we parked ourselves on a balcony overlooking the busy streets beneath us. We had taken possibly 2 or 3 sips from our booze when a freak gust of wind came from nowhere. It was a beast of a blast. Me and Dan were saved from the worst of the mini-hurriance. Nick was not so lucky. The haunting sound of pint glass spillage pierced the air. When beer spills, it has an in-built mechanism to cause maximum damage. The loose liquid headed straight where it would cause most damage. And so Nick was left with a soaked crotch area on his jeans for the rest of the afternoon. Me and Dan tried not to laugh - but failed. A fuming Nick cursed the Wellington wind - but then joined us in laughter. Ahhhhh, spilt pints - will they ever cease to amuse us?

The reason behind the day's drinking was that we were heading for Westpac Stadium that evening to watch the Wellington Hurricanes take on the New South Wales Waratahs in the Super 14 rugby. It was former All Black captain Tana Umaga's final game for the Hurricanes so it was a bit of an occasion. The Westpac stadium is an unroken oval shape. As the Westpac Stadium is such a dull name, the locals have christened the stadium The Cake Tin. It's a much better name. Sadly, the Hurricanes played abysmally and were crushed by their Aussies foes. The evening ended with fireworks, more drinking but less spillages. We had mightily enjoyed our day out.

As there were some grey areas in my memory the next day, I decided to examine the photos I had taken the night before. I was treated to some pleasant shots of the city, a few blurred photos of rugby action, the 3 of us dancing around with beers in our hands and many more photos of cheerleaders than it can be reasonable to keep on one memory card. It was all part of the travelling experience so I decided not to delete them.

I must give hearty thanks to Dan and Sasha for hosting us in Wellington. If I ever get round to having a flat of my own again, I'll gladly return the favour.

Next time - the land of sheep or The South Island as they call it here. And just who is Little Nick?

Take care all

Joff

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Comments

[Nick]

truisms
I'm amazed! Joff has kept to the truth and not made me sound sadder than i actually am! oh well, back to the grindstone - this scientific experiment won't do itself!

[Dan]

Outrageous
I have never encountered a more lurid tale of deception! Nick wet his knickers and Joff has to make up a laughable tale of a gust of wind so powerful it knocks over a full pint of beer! Face facts, Nick, a leader in your particular field of science you may be but you're still hopelessly incontinent!