When I woke on Friday morning, the sun was out over the bay, away towards the mountains. I had also managed to completely miss breakfast despite the fact that breakfast was served until late. The hotel had several stars which meant that breakfast was fresh every day with a pretty full choice, the bed was big enough to sleep a family in, and you had to use the lift as there were no stairs. But then the lifts were much better than the wind-up lift in the hotel the night before in Hobart that creaked, clanked and swung alarmingly. It was a complete business man’s hotel.What that meant, once we got out, was that our first job was to find breakfast. After money, of course. We ended up having coffee in a little art / craft gallery. I could have bought pretty much everything in their, and it was immediately noticeable how much more genuine the people serving were. (Either that or well-trained). In fact as soon as I walked out into the street, Wellington felt comfortable. And I’d only been there for 12 hours previously.
After coffee, we went back towards town and the tourist info so the parents could book a room for the night before they flew out. Check in at 4:30 am. Then we rode up the funicular railway to the Botanic gardens. By this time it was hot, pleasantly, copeably hot. The Botanic Gardens in Wellington flow over the side of one of the hills that surround the bay, from an observatory (closed to the public), through various gardens of natives and (unusually given how strict the quarantine is) non-natives. The herbs were interesting, with several plants that I completely failed to grow in the wet last summer. And I could have lingered in the scented garden.There was a stunning rose garden and we sat there and had a late lunch with lots of fresh fruit while being flocked by sparrows, before climbing back up to the hill to have a drink while Dad predictably looked around the railway museum.
Back in the hotel we had a bit a chance for a kip before going out for dinner. Of course the restaurant was that little bit further to walk than we planned, but it gave us a chance to see the beach and another road we wouldn’t have otherwise. There’s little to say about the restaurant. The view was stunning, the fish was OK (in US sized portions) and there was a (believe-it-or-not) very nice apricoty Villa Maria Gewurtztraminer to drink before meandering back to the hotel.
Next morning was grey, and we had a few hours to kill before the cricket. We spent them in Te Papa, the state museum. Definitely worth a visit – particularly the indigenous gallery. Each two years the display changes, being managed by a different tribe (for want of a better word). So among the artefacts were a 100yr old canoe and a meeting hall, as well as explanations of how the language and culture are being revived. There’s also a modern Marais (meeting hall), designed and sculpted a few years ago, and we had a chance to talk to one of the guides. You could tell she was a school teacher – half of the kids would have loved her for teaching them something and half would have hated her for exactly the same reason. After that we split up, Mum and I went to an exhibition on how NZ has been changed by settlers. Which included the Maoris (who, latest theory is, came from Taiwan area) as well as Europeans. When the Europeans arrived they made a deliberate attempt to replace native wildlife with European – which explains why we were mobbed by sparrows (and why they are so strict now).
And time ran out, and it was time to go to the cricket. In the locally-named “biscuit tin”. A completely apt name – round and drum-like, metallic, atmosphere-less and England were squashed flies on the windscreen of the Kiwi bowling machine. Least said, perhaps (although it looks like we are currently doing a job on the Kiwis in their current innings - first test. Here’s hoping – but not optimistic).
As we walked out, Mum chatted up a couple of drunk lads and we went to find her coffee and chocolate cake. Actually we failed. We found a café to sit outside with good wine (obviously), superb soup and omelette, and a live band playing jazz / blues. Right in the middle of town.
We decided not to go clubbing, but back to the hotel. Next morning we went out into the rain to find some Chinese New Year celebrations. We arrived at the Chinese “market” early so had to have coffee. The market was more a collection of society and trade stands. Including a besuited business man who tried to persuade Mum to open a franchise selling his clothes, some very nice moon cakes (points for choosing red bean) and a stage. The dragon dancers were good, the Shao-lin monks doing martial arts were worth seeing, but sadly the Chinese Opera just didn’t work. After the wrong music was played, the MC came back on the stage to be kicked off, and then you couldn’t actually hear the singing. We then took a taxi out to the airport. Work tomorrow. After lunch, Mum and Dad went off to hire a car and have a bit more holiday. We arrived at the Chinese “market” early so had to have coffee first. The market was more a collection of society and trade stands. Including a besuited business man who tried to persuade Mum to open a franchise selling his clothes, some very nice moon cakes (points for choosing red bean) and a stage. The dragon dancers were good, the Shao-lin monks doing martial arts were worth seeing, but sadly the Chinese Opera just didn’t work. After the wrong music was played, the MC came back on the stage to be kicked off, and then you couldn’t actually hear the singing. We then took a taxi out to the airport. Work tomorrow. After lunch, Mum and Dad went off to hire a car and have a bit more holiday.
Of course I had to get my seeds back. So I phoned the number I’d been given to find a woman who knew nothing about them, but said that everything gets given to the police. So to find a police man. Never one when you want, and obviously once I’d been through security, I was stuck airside. “Oh no, they usually hang around here” I was assured by security. I had all but given up at 5 minutes to boarding, except for the principle of the thing. Until a Scottish man (drunk, probably) was escorted to the seat next to me by...a policeman. So I grabbed him.
“Seeds?” he said. “A packet. White and purple? Oh yes, they’re in my office. I’ll just go and get them.”
The flights were uneventful, except for an emergency purchase of a belt at Melbourne when mine broke. So yes, uneventful. And I was back home in time to be in bed by 10.
There’s little to say about the next few days. I was teaching on a course at the weekend, so somewhen I had to find time to write the lectures. I picked the parents up from the airport on Thursday before going in for a late shift. I got home at 2am, the course (the EMST again) was at Flinders which is the other big Adelaide teaching hospital. Not far from home, but it started at 8. So not much sleep, and I was very happy when one of the other instructors offered me a lift on the other days. The lectures were fine – but I don’t actually mind standing up in front of other people and talking bollocks, but I gave the course meal a big miss. I just don’t think I could have stayed awake.
It was hot again, that weekend. Driving home on the Friday night at 6pm, the temp was 32’C, and that was the coolest day. The parents went down to Victor Harbour or Saturday night to find a breeze.
Monday, we went out for meal – it was too hot during the evening to sit outside. At night you just had to sleep with all the windows and curtains open for that little bit of draught. The coolest part of the night was at 6 – about 30 min before getting up. On Tuesday I was on call, so I packed the parents off to Warrawong to see the little brown furry animal. And then it was Wednesday and the best part of a month was over. It seems just so recent that I’d been sitting at the airport trying to make the Advertiser last 40 minutes when the plane was late.
In fact I worked a 14 day stretch, although not according to my time sheet as the teaching is unpaid. The weekend after was the Clipsal 500, which is the festival marking the start of the V8 Supercar season (you’d never know it even existed in the UK). It was started when Adelaide lost the Grand Prix to Melbourne, using the same street circuit. Clipsal has been dubbed “bogan paradise” – petrol heads and bimbos who drink ALL day then either fight over whether Holden or Ford are best; or else believe they are professional racing drivers themselves.
It was also the start of the Fringe – although by that stage I was so knackered that I went to bed and missed the party. I was supposed to be going to see Sonic Youth. The weekend (thankfully I was on day shifts) was as much of a ‘mare as it sounds; added to which for the first time in 10 years, several of the racing drivers came our way too. Two were fine, one might be and the other wasn’t (no secrets, it’s been big news here.)
Of course I had to get my seeds back. So I phoned the number I’d been given to find a woman who knew nothing about them, but said that everything gets given to the police. So to find a police man. Never one when you want, and obviously once I’d been through security, I was stuck airside. “Oh no, they usually hang around here” I was assured by security. I had all but given up at 5 minutes to boarding, except for the principle of the thing. Until a Scottish man (drunk, probably) was escorted to the seat next to me by...a policeman. So I grabbed him.
“Seeds?” he said. “A packet. White and purple? Oh yes, they’re in my office. I’ll just go and get them.”
The flights were uneventful, except for an emergency purchase of a belt at Melbourne when mine broke. So yes, uneventful. And I was back home in time to be in bed by 10.
There’s little to say about the next few days. I was teaching on a course at the weekend, so somewhen I had to find time to write the lectures. I picked the parents up from the airport on Thursday before going in for a late shift. I got home at 2am, the course (the EMST again) was at Flinders which is the other big Adelaide teaching hospital. Not far from home, but it started at 8. So not much sleep, and I was very happy when one of the other instructors offered me a lift on the other days. The lectures were fine – but I don’t actually mind standing up in front of other people and talking bollocks, but I gave the course meal a big miss. I just don’t think I could have stayed awake.
It was hot again, that weekend. Driving home on the Friday night at 6pm, the temp was 32’C, and that was the coolest day. The parents went down to Victor Harbour or Saturday night to find a breeze.
Monday, we went out for meal – it was too hot during the evening to sit outside. At night you just had to sleep with all the windows and curtains open for that little bit of draught. The coolest part of the night was at 6 – about 30 min before getting up. On Tuesday I was on call, so I packed the parents off to Warrawong to see the little brown furry animal. And then it was Wednesday and the best part of a month was over. It seems just so recent that I’d been sitting at the airport trying to make the Advertiser last 40 minutes when the plane was late.
In fact I worked a 14 day stretch, although not according to my time sheet as the teaching is unpaid. The weekend after was the Clipsal 500, which is the festival marking the start of the V8 Supercar season (you’d never know it even existed in the UK). It was started when Adelaide lost the Grand Prix to Melbourne, using the same street circuit. Clipsal has been dubbed “bogan paradise” – petrol heads and bimbos who drink ALL day then either fight over whether Holden or Ford are best; or else believe they are professional racing drivers themselves.
It was also the start of the Fringe – although by that stage I was so knackered that I went to bed and missed the party. I was supposed to be going to see Sonic Youth. The weekend (thankfully I was on day shifts) was as much of a ‘mare as it sounds; added to which for the first time in 10 years, several of the racing drivers came our way too. Two were fine, one might be and the other wasn’t (no secrets, it’s been big news here.)
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