New Years Eve
No one really had plans. The weather was again miserable, canceling the fireworks and outdoor stuff on the waterfront. I was with Sam, Ken (the torontonian) and a few others.
With the weather so bad, I spent my afternoon at the hostel bar, meeting a bunch of interesting brits, germans, americans, and swedes. Lots of good conversation about music and life and whatnot. Ken and Sam and some other people I didn’t really know went back to JJ Murphy’s Irish Pub and I met up with them there. They insisted on checking out the non existent fireworks but I insisted we shouldn’t.
So now we find ourselves on the street, with 5 minutes left until midnight.
We quickly run to the Nomads hostel bar, do the countdown, shared a bottle of champagne, and that was that. Sam went to bed shortly after. I followed Ken and the people he was with, but I soon lost them in the crowds of Cuba St, so I grabbed a kebab and headed back to my hostel.
It wasn’t the greatest new years eve, it wasn’t the worst new years eve.
I slept in on the 1st, then watched the rest of the world as they started their new years eve celebrations. Watching London live, they know how to put on a fireworks show.
It’s now dawning on me how little time I have left. It’s the first of January and I leave on the 5th. Everything seems slower now. No more rushing. No more activities. I did try to book a seal tour that I missed out on last year because I was only one who showed up, but I couldn’t do it this time because too many people showed up.
So, since I didn’t really party that much, and slept a good long while, only crawling out of my room at 1:30pm, I went to see if anyone else had a slow, passive new years eve.
They didn’t.
Most of the people I met yesterday afternoon were all lounging about, sort of struggling to come to terms with the night before. I went for a stroll around town, but almost everything was closed. Nevertheless, there was some activity going on. People wandering around, enjoying a day without rain, but no one seemed to have much purpose, just wandering. So I wandered as well.
Came back with some subways, and when I was done eating the hostel bar was open, and the rest needed some hair of the dog remedies to their heads. Not much to say… just sat around or played pool till midnight. Some people were going off on their travels on the 3rd so said goodbye, grabbed some McDonalds and headed to bed.
I did meet a retired couple however. An old rocker from the middle of Michigan, proud to say that he was listening to Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison when they were still alive. He and his wife sold all their possessions and are now traveling the world, telling amazing stories to us young folk. If this is what retirement is like, I’m up for that.
Their blog is at http://liz-and.blogspot.com
Cuba Street
This is New Zealand’s bohemian district. It’s the Plateau in Montreal or Williamsberg in Brooklyn. Good looking people wearing a patchwork of vintage clothing make their way through the soundwaves of talented buskers, all wrapped up in the warm scent of good food and overpriced coffee, checking out vinyl stores, classic clothing stores, headshops, and brew pubs full of pretentious beer snobs.
It’s my favourite urban centre in all of New Zealand. Already Wellington is a better town than Auckland, looking and feeling a lot like Vancouver, BC. But Cuba St and to a lesser extent Courtney Place is far more cool the rest of an already great city.
January 2nd, I pretty much spent soaking in the vibe of Cuba St. I walked up and down the length of the street slowly, giving my eyes, ears, and nose a chance to enjoy it.
I also spent over an hour at the waterfront, doing some timelapse photography of large grey clouds sweeping across the city and the hills and mountains behind it.
At some point though, it started to mist heavily, so I headed back to the hostel. Grabbed a few drinks with the only person I knew there and then called it a night. Headed back to my room around 10pm. Bus was set to pick me up at sometime between 6:40am and 7am.
I really do enjoy Wellington as a city. But the hostel I stayed at, while very nice and charming, was poorly located. I ate more McDonalds in the past three days than I have in all of 2011, and probably 2010 combined. It’s the closest restaurant there is. Cuba St and Courtney Place, for all it’s fine gastronomic adventures, is too far away for take out.
I also have to accept now, that my trip is effectively over. The bus to Rotoroua is going to be express. 8 hours long. No stopping for pictures on this trip. Then it’s off to Auckland for what I presume will be one last big party night, then it’s back home.
Wellington was a good place to slow it down, take it easy, sleep in and not feel pressured to do anything at all.
So it’s 7:45am, January 3rd now, the long drive to Rotorua. I recognize two people on the bus, two canadians, one of which is on my flight home. The driver is different, everyone else is different. And with only one night left, no time to really remember anyone’s name.
Back to sleep I guess…
