The curse of my generation, it is often said, is that we were born too late to explore the earth, but too early to explore the universe. Personally, I think this is pretty dumb, because we were born just in time to explore the places on earth that people on Trip Advisor have already meticulously mapped out and reviewed, which, generally speaking, leads to a lot less scurvy and imperialism.
I’ve been a little inactive blogging lately as a result of this trip; but now that I’ve returned and have sorted out the details of my eventual departure from New Zealand, I am happy to document my travels to the other windy city: Wellington.
It was an unusually sunny Friday morning when we departing from the university. Our hopes were high, our gas tank was full, and the trunk was filled with a week’s worth of peanut butter and jelly supplies. The road trip had begun, and like the explorers of yore, we were off to find new places and then take Instagram photos with them.
Most of our trip gave us a good look at something that, oddly enough, we hadn’t seen a lot of during our trip: the beach. Pristine in the winter, New Zealand beaches lacked tourists to scour them clean of all of the best shells, so we really had to pick up the slack in that department. Slightly more confusing is when, upon hiking up nearby Mount Maunganui, we found that there were still seashells at the top of the mountain, so clearly, the seashell collectors of New Zealand need to get it together. The view was spectacular, but this country doesn’t earn points for that anymore. The university food is terrible, the liquor is expensive, and the view from the mountains would make Michelangelo cry joyful tears into his toga. Yawn. You’ve heard it all before. Much more interesting was an establishment in the town below called “The Pizza Library,” which raised all sorts of questions about the feasibility on flatbreads and card catalogs. Does the Pizza Library use the Dewey Decimal system? Is there a specific shelf for meat lover’s, or is it just lumped in with the rest of the nonvegan section? Can the stereotypes of sultry librarian and Italian pizza chef be combined?
Pizza archiving aside, we ended up eating at a place that specialized in “American Food,” which apparently consists of lots of macaroni and cheese and at least three different types of gourmet butter. Although I had spent some time puzzling over why mustard and butter needed to be combined in any capacity, it was nice to an American restaurant not sporting golden arches.
Later that evening, I began my love-hate relationship with hostel showers. Generally speaking, I hated them, and they loved to shift to cold water at unexpected moments, leading to goosebumps that could have cut diamonds. As is always the case with trying out new showers, I soon discovered that the shower back in the dorms at school had been my one true love all along.
One downside of traveling in the winter is the general emphasis on outdoor activities. So, deprived of our usual fare of mountaindiving, skyboarding, and sheep herding, we were forced to turn our gaze inward, to the museums of varying quality in each town we passed through. No New Zealand town seems to think itself without some kind of history, as I found out upon reading about how the explorer James Cook once stopped to get gas and buy a meat pie at one of the town’s truck stops.
That being said, there was enough weird art to be ironically enjoyed and enough nature to observe at a safe distance to keep up busy for a few days. However, the true prize had always been the city of Wellington, where at the very least, we could get a break from all of that annoying beautiful nature.
We’ll get to that next.