Wellington

Beethoven House

It is always exciting to arrive in a new place knowing that you have the time to explore it and make it your own. This time, this was truer than ever - for almost two years, I had been intent on coming to Wellington, and here I was at last. It felt great.
Nevertheless, I was also feeling a bit apprehensive. I didn't want to just replicate the life I had had back in Edinburgh - living in town, going to work, seeing nothing but cars and concrete. I knew from the start that I would miss the travelling, too. I knew I needed to make a life for myself that included things that were sufficiently new and different to make me feel challenged.


I spent the two first weeks, working out how I would accomplish this, staying at Beethoven House, possibly the rattiest, dirtiest and friendliest hostel in Wellington. (Although that doesn't go for the owner, Alan, at least not the last part. He is practically world famous in backpacker circles for his rudeness). From there, I explored the city, looked for a job, and made lots of friends. Many people live at Beethoven for months, making it their home away from home, rather than go through the hassle of finding a flat. It's a completely unique place, but unfortunately, it doesn't look interesting at all, so I have no picture of it.

Sandsailers taking advantage of a southerly on Lyall Bay beach. This is taken from just beneath my house, so it also shows you pretty much the view from my window - that's the airport in the background.

Lyall Bay

Part of finding my place in this new place was finding a place to live, preferably somewhere as different as possible from the sort of place I had lived in back in Scotland. Lyall Bay is a suburb some 20 minutes from the city centre by trolley bus, but it feels more like a seaside town or village in its own right. To the east is the airport runway, and the bay is flanked on both sides by green hills.
After two weeks of hostel life, I found a room in a big house in Lyall Bay. As it turned out, although the room was very large and pleasant, the inhabitants were completely cracked each and every one, down to the dog, and we shall draw a merciful veil over all the crazy events of the following six weeks - the police visits, the child protection intervention, the sleepover parties, the drunken fights, the moss on the inside of the fridge door - and note only that it had its interesting moments.

Beach life

At the beginning of November, I moved to a flat right opposite the beach in Lyall Bay, which I share with another one of the tenants of the Crazy House. This picture is taken from the airport side of the bay, right across from where I live now, and you can see my house - the top right-hand window is mine. As you can see, I have a pretty good view! As I type this, I can hear the waves, and earlier on, there were heaps of surfers out there, the waves being quite good this afternoon. At night, the lights of the airport flicker across the bay, and the planes come in - from either the north or the south end of the runway, depending on the direction of the wind.

The hill in the background shows a typical Wellington hill, with houses climbing the sides and plenty of greenery. This is the kind of house and location that most of Wellington's residents live in.

You can click on the picture to see it larger, as usual, but beware: it's a huge file.

Unity Books

"UFO? What UFO?".

Summertime

This is me having lunch in Civic Square on 4 November. This is the site of the Council offices, a museum or two, a concert hall and the library. The harbour and waterfront is just beyond the big metal nikau palms in the background, as is Te Papa, the national museum. The sculpture in the air is Wellington's answer to the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and there is always one or two tourists shuffling around the square (mate with camera: "To the right! Bit more! No, back!") trying to get it to sit on their heads.

The weather, which was very unreliable for most of October, is starting to settle now, and it's really nice and warm most days, although, this being Wellington, the wind doesn't quite ever go away.

Other diversions

This is the Ohariu Valley Riding Academy, near Johnsonville, in the hills outside Wellington. They do both lessons and hacks in the beautiful countryside, and the horses are really good - as is the instructor. I have been coming here with my friend Jamie for the last few weeks. Mostly we school in the indoor arena, but we also went on a two-hour hack two weeks ago, which was wonderful. We had several mad gallops up hills, and what is more, *down* them as well, which was fantastic.

A traditional feast

A few weeks ago I was invited to a hangi by one of my colleagues. This is the traditional Maori (and Pacific) way of preparing a feast: Meats, fish and vegetables are cooked on hot stones in a pit in the ground. I could hardly contain myself.

As it turned out, this hangi was a bit more urban than I had imagined, and it was also a genuine Kiwi No.8 fencing wire job.

A large hole, some three feet deep and one metre long had been dug in the back yard of a lovely turn-of-the-century villa in Kelburn, and filled with scrap iron - cog wheels and bits of construction girder. When we arrived, a fire was already burning in it, but the host did not feel that it was burning quite as well as it could, so an old vacuum cleaner was dragged out, an extension cord set up and the hose ripped off and taped to the exhaust with gaffa tape. The metal end of the hose was then unceremoniously stuck into the fire, and voila, a bellows! Helped by this, the fire picked up, and the scrap was soon glowing red and white in the pit.
Meanwhile, the host brought out a supermarket trolley from somewhere, and three or four boys started to tear it apart with a pair of wire cutters. After a surprisingly short period of time, a basket had been fashioned out of the container part of the trolley, and once the fire had burned down this was filled with fish and meat and great trays of kumaras, pumpkin and sweet potatoes, all wrapped in foil. This was then levered into the pit and covered in wet sacking, on top of which about half a tonne of earth was piled. Steam seeped out of this strange-looking mound, but all holes were soon stoppered with bits of carpet and water, and then all we had to do was wait.

Some three hours later, the experts decided that the hangi must be finished, and began to dug it out. It was delicious - everything very moist and rich-tasting, and we all sat in the dark garden, surrounded by the particular warm, earthy smell of hangi, and ate it.

Unfortunately my camera was on the blink while this happened, so I don't have a picture of it, which is a great shame. The picture shows, instead, a more traditional hangi - judging from the clothes of the people, it must be from the 50's or so.

Guy Fawkes

Wellington's annual Guy Fawke's Day fireworks are a big occasion. (Guy Fawkes is on 5 November for all you non-anglophones out there). I had been to an event, launching a book at the Parliament (how appropriate) (no, it's still standing) and the liberal amount of the Government's alcohol that I had consumed probably contributed to the cold, but it was well worth it. When I got home, the beach was dotted with little fires, and fireworks were going off all over the valley.