Wellington Part 4 of 4: Well, Welly, It's Been Fun

Throughout my time in Wellington, when I was without a place to live, I had the help of a few wonderful people that were kind enough to let me crash with them.  Through a random contact, I was able to stay with a group of young adults atop of Mount Victoria in a beautiful flat with equally breathtaking views.  I also was able to crash with Earl, the man responsible for my being able to play volleyball here, and his flatmates as well.  Camille has also been incredibly generous in letting me sleep on the futon of her flat in Hataitai, overlooking Evan's Bay and with a sweet as view of the planes landing and taking off from Wellington Airport.  After completing my housekeeping duties, Ernesto and the two new housekeepers, Luciana and Marie, were gracious enough to let me crash in the apartment and aided me with sneaking past reception so they didn't know I was there.  I could never thank them enough for their kindness and hospitality, but will attempt to do so in this venue anyway.  THANK YOU!

My final days here were bitter sweet.  The night before I was set to leave for the South Island, I met with Camille for dinner at Pizza Pomodoro's (great pizza by the way, though it was still no New York pizza).  We remeniced, she gave me tips on how to cope with the overwhelming homesickness I had been feeling for the past week, and we said our goodbyes, for now at least since she will be moving back to the States in mid-April.  Afterward, I received a text from an American (Sarah) I met at the Fringe Bar.  After some delicious hot chocolate and orange vanilla almond cake (don't hate on orange, it's fabulous) from Midnight Espresso, she convinced me to stay one more night to hang out with her and her other American friends.  How could I pass up on one last day of Wellington?  Said day started with a morning hike up Mt. Victoria to watch the sun rise, then a visit to the Te Papa, and finally two cakes and a tub of Hokey Pokey shared while watching SNL youtube videos and The Carter, a documentary on the one and only Lil' Wayne.  I felt right back at home with these crazy Americans.

Overall, my experience here has been quite pleasant.  It was here in Wellington that I first felt like I lived here and wasn't just traveling, particularly when I opened my KiwiBank account.  I found a weekly 5K Fun Run to participate in, complete with a free beer at the end and the chance to win free prizes (though I didn't win).  I spent many sunny days with the locals in Frank Kitts Park laying out and reading The Da Vinci code.  Between volleyball and working at the bar, I found myself running into people and saying hello more often than not as I walked around the city.  However, there was one particular moment that made me feel like a true New Zealander, and it came while watching TV one night.  A commercial for Sky TV came on, using humorous examples to show why you should get multiple cable boxes in your home.  I laughed at said commerical, not realizing until afterward that the only reason it could be funny was if you knew who the actors were.  With no help from names or jerseys, I was able to correctly identify each individual "actor" as a member of the New Zealand Blackcaps Cricket team.

Although sometimes strange and occasionally stressful, Wellington has treated me well, as have its people.  I have learned a lot about myself while folding bed sheets and pouring beers.  Seriously though, I now know that not only am I capable of sustaining myself individually, I can do so in another country.  And for me, that is only one of the many things I have come to realize.  Another is how important my family, my friends, my girlfriend, and my life back at home are to me.  So with that, I begin the final stage of my journey; a quest to see what there is to see in the parts of New Zealand I have yet to see.  I hope to encounter lands filled with vast beauty and excitement before making my way back home to the people I love.

Wellington Part 3 of 4: Random Shenanigans

I have been blessed to have both planned and fairly random experiences while living here.  One such fairly random experience came at night when I decided to go for a stroll down to what became my favorite place to sit and reflect on life: a dock near the edge of the Lambton Harbour that offered warm (and sometimes cool) winds coming around the penninnsula along with the soothing sound of the water dancing below.  At night, it also reflected the lights of the city skyline, along with the scattered street lamps along the surrounding suburbed mountains.  Anyway, one night on my journey out there, an all day concert was just concluding, and with the conclusion came the drunken teenagers of the masses.  I embraced the opportunity to people watch as young boys relieved themselves into the ocean, friends carried their drunker friends to a taxi, and, of course, the occasional hurler (and I'm not talking about the sport, though that would have been awesome).  Ah, what it is to be young.  As I walked to my spot, I noticed a young girl on the ground, propped up against the lone dock building, texting on her phone.  Clearly intoxicated, I assumed she was texting her friends to come help her stand up, and continued on my way.  After a few minutes sitting along the water, I felt guilty not asking if she needed help, and went back to do so.  I came back to discover she was now asleep, still gripping her phone.  "Hmm, this is no good," I thought, and tried shaking her awake.  She was still breathing, but wouldn't stir.  I sat down nearby and considered my options.  There wasn't anyone nearby so finding help didn't seem possible.  I continued to try and wake her up and finally she came around.  Embarrassed, she assured me that she was okay and that friends were on their way.  I left, but along the way, I saw a group of cops were routinely checking the BAC levels of the drivers leaving the concert.  I walked up to one, gave a description and location of the girl, and asked that he check up on her.  I felt better after, however, I concluded that while I very easily could have saved her an uncomfortably cold night sleeping on a dock, it was equally possible she would have been fine without the inconvenience of a cop's prodding and interrogation.  I guess there's never a perfect solution, eh?

I went on a number of planned trips with fellow Vassar alum, Camille.  She introduced me to Malaysian food and also brought me to a cute coffee shop on Cuba Street (appropriately named Fidel's) as well as a lovely little italian cafe.  She was kind enough to drive me along the coast of the pennisula one evening, in time to see the sun set over the Kapiti Coast (see picture to the right).  We even took a night tour of Zealandia, a protected sanctuary for New Zealand wildlife to flourish and survive, in hopes of sighting a wild kiwi bird, though to no avail.  We did encounter quite a few species of birds that only nest in Zealandia as they cannot survive outside the reserve walls thanks to all the predators the humans brought over with them when they first came to New Zealand.  We also saw a Tuatara in rare form.  They are known for their molasses-like movement, capable of not moving or even breathing for up to an hour.  However, on this fateful night, said Tuatara was found in the middle of the walking path and upon our arrival, scurried away quite quickly.  Both tour guides were astonished, saying it was the most they've seen a tuatara move like that in the 10 years they've worked there.  That made up for not seeing a wild kiwi bird.

After a particularly dull couple of days, I found myself in the Wellington Botanic Garden in search of something to cheer me up.  And what did I happen upon but none other than... that's right... a Ukulele Festival!  Who could have thought that such a tiny instrument could bring so much joy!  From workshops to open mic opportunities, this event had it all.  And nothing could be better than just relaxing on a bench or on the grass taking in the sweet sounds.  Perhaps the most enjoyable moment for me came while sitting on a bench listening to a young man from Hawai'i get the crowd to sing along to a song he wrote.  To my right sat a middle aged man, enjoying a lemon flavored frozen yogurt delight that he shared with his young daughter.  To my left sat a much older man, well past his 70's, armed with a cane that he used to aide in both his slow (and what looked like difficult) walking and his eventual slow and steady lowering onto the bench.

Barely noticing them, I continued taking in the music around me and found myself tapping my right foot to the beat.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the small movement of the middle aged man's right foot also tapping to the beat.  As if out of instinct, I then turned to the older gentleman and found that he too was tapping his right foot to the beat.  So there we were, three men, three generations, three completely different lives unknowingly sharing a moment of unity thanks to the power of music.  In the same venue a week later, I found people gathering for the Latin Music Festival.  This time, armed with a camera, I captured the beautiful Sound Shell stage, occupied by a group of young lads rocking out for the crowd, who responded by expressing themselves through the art of dance.

I went on a quest to find the location at which The Battle of Helm's Deep from the movie The Lord of The Rings was filmed.  Before I go any further, let me start by saying this quest was a bust.  I didn't do nearly enough research to find out where exactly said location was.  All I knew was "Dry Creek Quarry," so I looked that up and figured out how to get there.  I knew I was in bad shape when I arrived at the Manor Park train station, which was basically a desolate piece of concrete.  I figured I'd make the most of it though.  Walking along I saw a sign for Dry Creek Quarry and thought, "Yes, I found it!"  However, "it" turned out to be a construction site of sorts run by Winstone Aggregates.  Luckily, right next to it was Belmont Regional Park, so I went there instead.  If I had taken one of the park's longer hiking trails around the quarry, I may have found what I was looking for, but with it being late in the afternoon and being by myself, I decided against it and instead went for the 45 minute hike to the waterfall (I guess I have a thing for waterfalls).  As I navigated my way along the Wet Foot Track, I felt reguvinated breathing in the crisp air that smelt of damp bark; a refreshing change from the polluted city air.  I made it to the small waterfall and eventually back to the train, taking with me two discoveries: (1) Tranz Metro, the Wellington train, is yet another image of San Francisco in that it is very similar to the BART train, (2) I should go hiking way more often, as it makes me feel healthy and alive.

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.