” This is the second time I’ve done that! Oh dear! ” The woman exclaimed.
Thank goodness I didn’t get on the wrong bus. I thought. Though there’s still plenty of time.
Spoiler: I didn’t get on the wrong bus at all. Whew! I almost did though to start the day because not one, not two, but FIVE buses sped past the bus stop at the bottom of the long hill. It was sprinkling a bit, and sort of chilly. I was glad I chose to bring my ankle motorcycle boots. They make make the suitcase one more kg than allowed in a carry-on but they were necessary. The first bus was the 83, but it wasn’t going to Courtenay Place like it was supposed to. The next two were both Charters. I looked at my phone (side note, my hosts had an adapter so I was able to charge up), it was 9:44. The timetable on the side of the old, but oddly clean bus stop listed the 81 passing at 9:59. I took out my camera, and turned towards the bay. There was a long pier not too far away, made of wood, with scattered pylons. I remembered of my history lessons from the day before,
“There was a terrible earthquake back in the 1800’s, all the brick buildings fell. From then on everything was made of wood so it wouldn’t fall.”
Makes sense, right? Though I don’t see too many wood homes at home, unless its by the beach – but how often do I go to the beach? I looked out at the beach below me. I was confident I’d be able to meet my friends’ requests for rocks.
9:50, and here came bus number four with “not in service” in its led panel. I don’t take buses at home, I don’t like people, but I was willing to do so here because the idea of trying to park, and drive on the left side of the road just seemed too much for my first time out. Also because the buses were EVERYWHERE, as I would see later. Bus five sped past again with another “not in service”.
Really??
An old man with a white beard, round spectacles, light orange windbreaker and old tennis shoes crossed the street after the bus went by. He looked as though he belonged in a library with his torn satchel hanging across him. I hate bringing bags and purses. I never carry one at home but I will this trip just because I’m bringing my sketchbooks and camera, and it’ll just be easier to not lose anything. I also wore mine hanging across my chest, instead of just on my arm. Finally! Bus number six. Sixth time’s the charm, right?
The drive over was comfortable. The bus was like a mix between our cheap buses in L.A., and the ones we would take to band competitions- except crazy clean and an easier bus pass system than we have at home. Just tap the card on the circle and bam- done! We went through Petone, a small town between the main Wellington city and Eastbourne, where I was. I kept my ears open the whole time in case someone mentioned Courtenay Place, since, well, I didn’t really know where I was going or what it would look like. I looked out through the raindrop covered window at all the shops we were passing. I saw three bookstores, and several cafes. I remembered a promise I made to Jay : to not always eat at home and sit in some cafes.
Okay, Jay. There’s at least five here. I’ll go tomorrow! I sent him a telepathic message. And the bookstores…
We stopped a few times, people were getting on and off. A woman with a baby got on in Petone, and got off two stops before I did. Her girl was quiet till just about the minute before she was leaving. I know this because she sat next to me. I helped her with the stroller. She was a semi cute baby, huge fish eyes though, silver ones, and she kept eating her toes. She also kept sticking her tongue out and moving it side to side making wobbly noises. There are only four babies in the world that I actually think are cute, and they know who they are.
There were about ten or more big yellow buses that said “Go Wellington” on them when we stopped at Wellington Station. Most of the bus attendees got off here. The last three of us were waiting for our ” final destination “, so to speak.
Courtenay Place. It was raining, and then I needed to figure out which streets to walk through. I saw many bars, including one called “Daddy-O’s”. Live music, huh? Maybe another one to add to the Jay List, as I’m calling it now. Getting hungry, I walked down the small tile and brick sidewalks. The streets were narrow and wet, of course, from the rain. Best summer I’ve know so far. I saw a brown strip of a traffic sign: ” Museum of New Zealand ” – yep. Follow that sign!
I liked the stoplights and cross walk signs. They were small, and not too high. There was a person, instead of a hand, and it was red and green instead of red and white. Something about this city just seems more logical than things do at home, though that’s probably every city that’s not L.A., haha. I kid, half serious. They also have random street wifi hotspots. Guess I didn’t need that extra international plan after all. I would later find an entire city that has free wifi.
I was beginning to get a bit chilly as I came upon the museum grounds. It was on a dock, sort of, next to the bay. It was a picturesque moment for sure.
I just liked this gate at the museum. Not sure why.
Sorry Jay, Tiff, and Keith. I don’t think these rocks will fit in my bag.
I went in to the museum. Te Papa is the native name, just so everyone knows, and kiwi actually means tribe, I think. I took in a lot of information in the next two hours, as I explored their Mountains and Sea exhibit, Blood, Earth, Fire exhibit, and the many other exhibits on social history about the Maori, Pacific, and European influences. Iwi, Mana Whenua, Te Huka a Tai, Te Marae, I think, are all tribes. At the moment I couldn’t tell you much about them but I plan on going back – free entry you know. There were refugee stories from Burma and other countries starting back in the early 90’s. There were also giant huts, and I mean giant huts with short doors. I giggled at all the tall people who had to duck. My favorite part was the super long canoe, which I believe was from the first tribe. The Leader’s wife is the one who had first saw the Aotearoa.
The exhibits were very well laid out and nicely designed. The ambience was peaceful, and dim. Interactive buttons- I do love buttons. There was a French impressionist exhibit visiting as well. Monet, Degas, Renoir.
MOM!!! I yelled in my head. I’ll come back.
There was an entire exhibit about birds. Birds everywhere in this museum. Made it extra hard to walk around in, and the gift shop too , with wood carvings of birds. There’s one person I know who made a lot of bird carvings. He’d have loved it.
All museum trips end in the gift shop. I’ve chosen to not buy much to take back; I don’t have a lot of room. I did buy some tea to have while I’m here, a small necklace carving, and a gift for my grandma.
” 41.25 ” he said, in the accent of the country. But I don’t think it was the first time.
” Oh sorry, I was distracted by the cash register’s panel. It looks like alien code.” I commented.
” I thought they fixed that this morning. Oh just flip the card first. ”
” Ah yes, sorry. My numbers are on the same side as the strip, crazy Americans. ”
“Visiting are you? How long? ”
” A few weeks, I like it here. Not ready to go back just yet. ”
” You should just move here, it’s nice, I promise!”
I laughed, and shrugged. That was first of three times in the day I would be told to move.
