Wellington Part 2 of 4: Volleyball & The Nightlife

"VOLLEYBALL"

I have been able to satiate my hunger for volleyball each Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon, at the nearby Wellington College, playing in the same league Earl had invited Mai and I to play in when we first got here.  With three courts and almost always a team in need another player, Earl found plenty of volleyball for me to play.  I played for at least two of the one hour time slots allotted for teams, and had an enjoyable time doing so, with the quality of volleyball ranging from the very basic to the highly skilled (though still social).  I was even invited to go play some higher quality volleyball one night at the Te Rauparaha Arena, a sweet as facility that has housed the Oceania World Qualifying Volleyball Championships.  The most rewarding part of it all is that I befriended many of the players, particularly a young New Zealand couple and a fellow American who is living here with her boyfriend.  What a wonderful little world that the love of volleyball provides.

"DRINKING GAMES"

Considering I worked the nightlife, I have only partaken in a handful of opportunities to indulge in it, and when I did I often ended up at my own bar singing karaoke anyway.  The pre-gaming events were probably the most entertaining.  As I've come to realize on this trip, teaching foreigners to play American drinking games is a sure fire way to (speed things up... Blue's Traveler... anyone?) spend a night.  The first weekend of housekeeping, I taught Ernesto and Erik how to play a little game called F*** The Dealer.  About halfway through the game, Ernesto and I proudly substituted the word "Dealer" for the word "German" as through a series of unfortunate (or fortunate) events, Erik did indeed suffer (drink) the most, and more so than I have ever seen in any round of F The Dealer I've played at home.  That was until the next weekend when Enno came to town.  We warned him of our newly modified name to the game and sure enough, yet another German was done in, and even worse so than Erik had been.  It was both baffling and amazing.  In our other drinking games, Ernesto and I took to reliving the Spanish-American war, charging each other with every drink we could.

Enno was kind enough to teach us a game that I am eager to bring home to the States.  A glass is placed in the center of the table.  Each person participating pours a small portion of their drink into the glass until it is full (which in this case was a mixture of beer, mixed drinks, and white wine).  Then, each person puts their pointer finger on the rim of the glass.  One by one, a player calls out a number between 0 and however many fingers are on the glass, in an attempt to guess how many fingers will be remaining on the glass.  At the very instant a number is called out, every other player must decide to leave their finger or take it off.  If you say a number and that is how many fingers are left, you win and are out of the game.  The last person must finish the mixed concoction.  Simple, yet there are many tactics you can use, such as saying your number loudly and abruptly to get the other players to raise their fingers in fright.  Sweet as game.

Although St. Patrick's Day was on a Wednesday, we felt it was our duty as a mesh of cultures to celebrate.  We invited some friends over and played some games.  I subjected my three workmates to the beauty of the Irish Car Bomb: a shot half filled with Irish Whiskey and half Bailey's Irish Cream is dropped into half a glass of Guinness and skulled (chugged) immediately.  Even though they were homemade and done with cheaper versions of each ingredient, all four of us were quite satisfied with the tastiness of the beverage, especially considering none of them had done one before.  The rest of the night was spent visiting a variety of the Irish Pubs Wellington has to offer and a good time was had by all.