The Milford Track in all its glory:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150394870418120.380166.510568119&type=1&l=c42a12bf46
For those of you who don't know, Rich is a bit of a fan of epic hikes (and by epic I mean 2,000 miles plus...) So after almost 18 months of travelling with him I knew that sooner or later an epic hike would be on the cards. Fortunately for me, the route of choice was epic in terms of its scenery and reputation rather than it's length - although at 4 full days it was still no mean feat for my, well, feet.
The Milford Track has been dubbed "the finest walk in the world." I haven't done that many walks (in the world or otherwise) to compare it to but as you can see from my photographic efforts above, it is pretty darn fine. A heady blend of rainforest, mountains, fjords and forests; the scenery we ambled through was breathtaking. The hike took 4 days, the first of which, at only 1.5 hours, lulled me into a false sense of security with it's shortness and flatness. Day two, although a longer 6 hour hike, was similarly unchallenging with glorious views of mountains and fjords and only a spot of drizzle and short climb at the end of the day to test us. Day three was a different story. We'd been promised a tough but relatively short climb from the hut to the top of McKinnon pass. Two hours of constant uphill on zig zagging paths later I was delighted to reach the top and the breathtaking views we'd been promised. It was amazing, with 360 degree panoramas across Fjordland and a toilet with arguably the best view in the world (see photos). Unfortunately, it was also so windy at the top of the pass that it was impossible to spend more than 30 seconds outside without succumbing to hypothermia or being blown unceremoniously off the edge of the mountain and into the 12 second drop to the bottom. Luckily for us the ranger at Mintaro hut had supplied us with cheese scones with which to bribe the rangers at the summit hut, thereby securing ourselves a well earned cup of tea.
Having dragged self and rucksack to the 1069m high summit I was quite looking forward to a leisurely downhill stroll to the bottom. Silly, silly me. The usual route down, which in itself was described as the toughest stretch of the hike, was closed due to avalanches and replaced by the "emergency" track. Unsurprisingly, this route was somewhat less well maintained, and involved scrambling unceremoniously down rocky, uneven stretches of track, clambering over boulders and navigating networks of low hanging tree branches, all to the ominous soundtrack of rumbling avalanches somewhere overhead. I don't think I've ever spent so long going constantly downhill. By the end, my legs had actually stopped working and rest breaks were threatening to outnumber the short bursts of walking. Even the sight of the rare blue duck, a prized achievement for Milford Track hikers, was viewed by me as nothing more than the opportunity to stand still for a couple of minutes to take a photograph. Never has a thin plastic mattress and a rickety bunk bed been greeted with such joy.
Anyone hoping to hike the Milford Track needs to plan ahead, as only 90 hikers are allowed to start the trail each day in peak season, all must hike northward and spend a night at each of the 3 DOC huts along the route (camping is not allowed). The huts are basic - bunk beds in dorm rooms and a few stoves in the kitchen and you need to carry your own food and bedding. Most people had stocked up on pouches of dehydrated chicken chasseur and beef stroganoff to reward themselves after a hard day's hiking. We of course, being 50% hard core superhiker, scoffed at such fripperies and dined on super noodles and pouches of tuna... The huts are manned by friendly rangers who take a register to make sure noone has fallen off a cliff en route, provide weather updates (usually involving rain) and deliver cautionary tales about kea flying off with your hiking boots if you leave them outside. Being new to wilderness hiking, I was impressed by the location of the huts (nestling under huge mountains in the middle of nowhere) and the relative comfort of the bunk rooms. The exception to this was the one in which the beds were completely encased at the head end by a partition wall, a very low sloping roof and a luggage locker prompting an embarrassing screaming fit when I woke up in pitch blackness from a nightmare about being buried alive. Luckily for me said pitch blackness prevented anyone from realising who the screaming person was, creating a much debated mystery at breakfast the next morning. If any of my fellow hikers are reading this - yes, it was me.
To get to and from the track itself you need to catch a ferry and a bus. There's only one ferry in each direction which means no dilly dallying on the last day. This was a bit of a shame, as approximately 30 minutes into the final day of hiking, having come through the previous 22 miles relatively unscathed, I was struck down with crippling stomach pains and general unwellness. Under any other circumstances these pains, along with their friends nausea and hot/cold sweats, would've dispatched me to bed or at the very least a duvet covered sofa. Sadly for me, unless I declared myself in need of a helicopter evacuation (tempting, but ultimately inadvisable), the only way to get to any sort of surface for lying down on was to complete the longest section of the hike at the brisk pace necessary to ensure I didn't miss the only ferry back to civilisation. This I managed to do with a mixture of steely determination, crying and a bit of swearing - it felt like the whole traumatic experience should've been accompanied by a camera crew, dramatic voice over and a sigur ros soundtrack. Even my triumphant sighting of the finishing line was marred by the realisation that (1) Sandfly Point is all too accurately named and I'd need to wait for the ferry not sprawled on the grass in the recovery position but sitting on a bench in the sweltering waiting hut and (2) that at the end of this my attempts at not throwing up would be further challenged by a half hour ferry crossing.
Despite my unexpectedly undignified end to the hike it was, all in all, an excellent trip.
Wednesday 16 November 2011
Saturday 12 November 2011
Nugget View, Kaka Point & The Winding Thoughts Theatre
Photos:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150391740963120.379640.510568119&type=1&l=f9acc4c2a3
After leaving Tally Ho we had a few days to get ourselves up to the start of the Milford Track which gave us just enough time to have a bit of a mooch round the southern tip of NZ's South Island. First stop were the excellently named Nugget View motel and Kaka point in the Catlins, home of seal colonies, penguins and a v. nice lighthouse.
Just down the road at Papatowai is one of NZ's hidden gems - the Lost Gypsy Gallery and Winding Thoughts Theatre of sorts. Tucked away in an old green solar powered housebus at the side of the road is inventor Blair Somerville's wacky wonderland - a treasure trove of wind-up gurgling sea shells, bicycle powered televisions and other curiosities made of discarded bits of junk and jumble. It's hard to describe why this place is so excellent but these videos might give a bit more of a flavour...
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150391740963120.379640.510568119&type=1&l=f9acc4c2a3
After leaving Tally Ho we had a few days to get ourselves up to the start of the Milford Track which gave us just enough time to have a bit of a mooch round the southern tip of NZ's South Island. First stop were the excellently named Nugget View motel and Kaka point in the Catlins, home of seal colonies, penguins and a v. nice lighthouse.
Just down the road at Papatowai is one of NZ's hidden gems - the Lost Gypsy Gallery and Winding Thoughts Theatre of sorts. Tucked away in an old green solar powered housebus at the side of the road is inventor Blair Somerville's wacky wonderland - a treasure trove of wind-up gurgling sea shells, bicycle powered televisions and other curiosities made of discarded bits of junk and jumble. It's hard to describe why this place is so excellent but these videos might give a bit more of a flavour...
Tuesday 8 November 2011
A Big Day for Tiny Horses
Lots of miniature horses:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150164594938120.305395.510568119&type=1&l=58b3662150
I feel I should begin by saying Barb, if you're reading, I loved the miniature horse show and getting the horses ready for their close ups. But all things considered, it was also a pretty surreal day!
For a start Rich and I aren't the shortest of people, and spending so much time standing next to really small horses did nothing for our sense of perspective. Then there was the dizzying array of categories the horses could compete in, from the fairly straightforward "Best Filly 2 years old and under" and "Best Turned Out" to the slightly stranger "Best Mane & Tail" and "Best Head." And then there were the show names - again, thoroughly excellent, but at times pretty bonkers. Barb's horses had nice, sensible show names like "Tally Ho's Sir Lancelot." Others, like "Abba Diva Fury's Firecracker" weren't so lucky... . Of course, having the backstage access we did meant we got to refer to our superstars by their slightly less glamorous stable names: Lance, Button, Grace and Echo.
Without doubt the must surreal part of the day was also the most fun - grooming the horses in readiness for the showring. I think it's safe to say it's unlikely I'll be doing any of the following to a miniature horse again any time soon:
But in all seriousness, mucho kudos must go to Barb and Robyn who put in a Herculean effort getting their horsey chums ribbon-winning ready. Hours of training, practice (their skills in the showmanship and obstacle events were remarkable), shampooing and grooming paid off in the armfuls of ribbons our miniature award winners came home with. After a long, extremely fun day we returned to Tally Ho tired but triumphant.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150164594938120.305395.510568119&type=1&l=58b3662150
I feel I should begin by saying Barb, if you're reading, I loved the miniature horse show and getting the horses ready for their close ups. But all things considered, it was also a pretty surreal day!
For a start Rich and I aren't the shortest of people, and spending so much time standing next to really small horses did nothing for our sense of perspective. Then there was the dizzying array of categories the horses could compete in, from the fairly straightforward "Best Filly 2 years old and under" and "Best Turned Out" to the slightly stranger "Best Mane & Tail" and "Best Head." And then there were the show names - again, thoroughly excellent, but at times pretty bonkers. Barb's horses had nice, sensible show names like "Tally Ho's Sir Lancelot." Others, like "Abba Diva Fury's Firecracker" weren't so lucky... . Of course, having the backstage access we did meant we got to refer to our superstars by their slightly less glamorous stable names: Lance, Button, Grace and Echo.
Without doubt the must surreal part of the day was also the most fun - grooming the horses in readiness for the showring. I think it's safe to say it's unlikely I'll be doing any of the following to a miniature horse again any time soon:
- painting hooves
- dyeing mane and tail with Just For Men
- "polishing" with Johnson's baby oil
- applying horse makeup
- shaving muzzles
But in all seriousness, mucho kudos must go to Barb and Robyn who put in a Herculean effort getting their horsey chums ribbon-winning ready. Hours of training, practice (their skills in the showmanship and obstacle events were remarkable), shampooing and grooming paid off in the armfuls of ribbons our miniature award winners came home with. After a long, extremely fun day we returned to Tally Ho tired but triumphant.
Tuesday 27 September 2011
Tally Ho!!
Many photos:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150101724708120.286675.510568119&l=32d65fc027&type=1
Next stop on the Great Kiwi Adventure was some wwoofing at a little place between Dunedin and Queenstown known as Tally Ho; home to Stuart, Barb, Josh, 24 horses, 350 sheep, 6 dogs, 23 chickens, 15 ducks and counting. When we arrived baby animals were springing forth left right and centre - we bottle fed 4 baby lambs, watched ducklings hatch, helped to find homes for 3 puppies and went to bed every night wondering whether the pregnant mares would set off their birth alarms before morning and trigger a mass torchlit exodus into the fields to help with the birth. As luck would have it, the most eagerly awaited foal-ly arrival turned up at the eminently civilised hour of 10am - early enough for us to be around to witness the birth and the foal's first steps, but not too early to celebrate with a nice glass of vino... As if I wasn't proud enough just being there, Barb bestowed on me the honour of naming the beautiful baby miniature horse after me - Mona Lisa. I am assured the Mona part is for poetic effect rather than casting any aspersions on my attitude to farmwork...
Living and working at Tally Ho was a little slice of rural paradise. Aside from the constant cuteness of lambs, ducklings and foals to brighten our days, we got to sample the unlikely-to-be-repeated experience of working in a wool carding factory. For the uninitiated (of course, I knew exactly what wool carding was before I arrived...) this involved manning the giant wool carding machine into which clumps of wool were fed, then brushed and teased between giant rollers until they emerged at the other end in beautifully uniform lengths of wool which were fed into the balling machine before being bagged and sold at the Tally Ho shop to people clever enough to be able to spin them and knit them into woollen wonders. Barb tried to turn me into one of these people but although I genuinely enjoyed lots of the time I spent on the spinning wheel, the rest of the time I spent loudly cursing at the knotted, broken or uneven fibres confirmed to all within earshot that this was unlikely to become a lifelong pastime for me. I am immensely proud of my very own handspun ball of Tally Ho wool though.
One of the best things about wwoofing at Tally Ho was the faith Stuart and Barb had in us and consequently the things they (perhaps unwisely) trusted us to do. Like, for example, injecting lambs with medicine, wrestling runaway sheep to the ground, making horseblankets for the miniatures (this involved a sewing machine, nuf said), and driving a 4x4 across steep and muddy fields. We certainly learned a lot in those few weeks.
But my favourite part of our stay at Tally Ho was getting to know Barb, Stuart and Josh and being made to feel like we were part of the family. An epic shopping spree with Barb, being taught the art of Skip-bo by Josh, dining like royalty every day, our weekly trip to the local pub for a fish & chip supper, hanging out with Mr Peel and admiring his crown green bowling prowess - by the end of our stay I for one was more than a little teary eyed as we waved goodbye to the farm. And then there were the miniature horse shows, but that's another story...
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150101724708120.286675.510568119&l=32d65fc027&type=1
Next stop on the Great Kiwi Adventure was some wwoofing at a little place between Dunedin and Queenstown known as Tally Ho; home to Stuart, Barb, Josh, 24 horses, 350 sheep, 6 dogs, 23 chickens, 15 ducks and counting. When we arrived baby animals were springing forth left right and centre - we bottle fed 4 baby lambs, watched ducklings hatch, helped to find homes for 3 puppies and went to bed every night wondering whether the pregnant mares would set off their birth alarms before morning and trigger a mass torchlit exodus into the fields to help with the birth. As luck would have it, the most eagerly awaited foal-ly arrival turned up at the eminently civilised hour of 10am - early enough for us to be around to witness the birth and the foal's first steps, but not too early to celebrate with a nice glass of vino... As if I wasn't proud enough just being there, Barb bestowed on me the honour of naming the beautiful baby miniature horse after me - Mona Lisa. I am assured the Mona part is for poetic effect rather than casting any aspersions on my attitude to farmwork...
Living and working at Tally Ho was a little slice of rural paradise. Aside from the constant cuteness of lambs, ducklings and foals to brighten our days, we got to sample the unlikely-to-be-repeated experience of working in a wool carding factory. For the uninitiated (of course, I knew exactly what wool carding was before I arrived...) this involved manning the giant wool carding machine into which clumps of wool were fed, then brushed and teased between giant rollers until they emerged at the other end in beautifully uniform lengths of wool which were fed into the balling machine before being bagged and sold at the Tally Ho shop to people clever enough to be able to spin them and knit them into woollen wonders. Barb tried to turn me into one of these people but although I genuinely enjoyed lots of the time I spent on the spinning wheel, the rest of the time I spent loudly cursing at the knotted, broken or uneven fibres confirmed to all within earshot that this was unlikely to become a lifelong pastime for me. I am immensely proud of my very own handspun ball of Tally Ho wool though.
One of the best things about wwoofing at Tally Ho was the faith Stuart and Barb had in us and consequently the things they (perhaps unwisely) trusted us to do. Like, for example, injecting lambs with medicine, wrestling runaway sheep to the ground, making horseblankets for the miniatures (this involved a sewing machine, nuf said), and driving a 4x4 across steep and muddy fields. We certainly learned a lot in those few weeks.
But my favourite part of our stay at Tally Ho was getting to know Barb, Stuart and Josh and being made to feel like we were part of the family. An epic shopping spree with Barb, being taught the art of Skip-bo by Josh, dining like royalty every day, our weekly trip to the local pub for a fish & chip supper, hanging out with Mr Peel and admiring his crown green bowling prowess - by the end of our stay I for one was more than a little teary eyed as we waved goodbye to the farm. And then there were the miniature horse shows, but that's another story...
Wednesday 2 February 2011
Whales, Jails & Hand-pulled Ales
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=283880&id=510568119&l=2db1038669
After leaving Karamea we had a less than leisurely 7 days to traverse the length of the South Island, stopping at all points of touristic interest on the way, in order to get to our final wwoof destination on time. So began a whistlestop tour of the east coast, during which we:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=283880&id=510568119&l=2db1038669
After leaving Karamea we had a less than leisurely 7 days to traverse the length of the South Island, stopping at all points of touristic interest on the way, in order to get to our final wwoof destination on time. So began a whistlestop tour of the east coast, during which we:
- Went whale watching in beautiful Kaikoura and marvelled at dolphins, sperm whales, a wandering albatross (that's its name, it wasn't lost or disorientated or anything) and an invisible blue whale (we were assured it was there, we just didn't see it).
- Paid a visit to Kaikoura's seal colony and watched some of them sunbathing in the car park.
- Spent a couple of nights in jail. No, really, we slept in a jail. Alright, it was a converted jail, but we still slept in a cell with bars on the windows.
- Stayed in an unusually swanky motel room, complete with king size bed, balcony overlooking the mountains and a luxury spa shower. The shower was amazing - built in radio/CD player, multilevel programmable jets, mood lighting, the works. Oh, and an ear piercing alarm (in case someone breaks in and tries to steal it, I can only presume). Rich discovered this to his cost whilst using the shower and trying to figure out how to turn off the ice cold jet function. How we (well, I) laughed...
- Explored Christchurch post-earthquake, discovered that it really is quite a cool city and wondered why I hadn't noticed this last time I visited. Then remembered I only stayed one night last time and was so hungover for the entire duration I only left the hostel to buy a sandwich and some aspirin.
- Took a tour of the Monteiths brewery in Greymouth, home of the world's most annoying tour guide, and sampled some of their finest ales.
- Took a tour of the Cadbury factory in Dunedin, home of the world's most inadvertently racist receptionist, and sampled some of their finest chocolate. And Rich wore a snood - v. entertaining.
Monday 31 January 2011
The Pub at the End of the Road
Fun & Frivolity:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=279752&id=510568119&l=ac6fc72a21
At the north-western tip of the South Island of New Zealand, nestled between mountains, sea and rainforest, is a magical place called Karamea. It's quite remote - Westport, the nearest major settlement, is an hour and a half's drive away down the only road connecting the town to the outside world. Follow that road north and it ends just a few kilometres out of Karamea at the coastal wilderness that marks the start of the Heaphy Track. This was to be our home for the next two weeks as we'd arranged to do some wwoofing for Dee and Dan, proprieters of Saracen's Cafe and the hub of town life - the Bush Lounge.
When we arrived things weren't exactly as we expected. Dee was unwell, Dan needed to be at work in Christchurch for the two weeks of our stay and the cafe and bar were temporarily closed until things got back to normal. At first we wondered whether we'd be more in the way than of use, but we soon learned that out on the West Coast everything has a way of sorting itself out and within a couple of days we felt more like we were at home than working as wwoofers.
This was due in no small part to Dee and Ruth, a fellow wwoofer from Darlington who had arrived in Karamea some months ago and, in her words, "never found a reason to leave." Life was good - work started when we were up and ready, the Bush Lounge's well stocked bar and the cafe's ice cream stand were at our disposal and Dee and Ruth were incredibly easy people to spend time with. Work was never dull, or unduly onerous. We fed the pigs, split and chopped firewood, picked tamarillos amid beautiful scenery and glorious sunshine, cleaned the cafe and bar, learned how to make a decent cup of coffee, rode around on the quad bike, did a spot of gardening when the weather was nice and watched DVDs with Dee when it wasn't. The food was amazing - the good people of Karamea's loss was our gain as with the bar closed we had Dee, the Bush Lounge's chef extraordinnaire, whipping up hearty homecooked fare just for us every evening.
We also spent some time getting to know the people and places of Karamea, something we never would have been able to do as passing backpackers. Living at the Bush Lounge meant there was always someone calling in to see Dee and soon we had a pretty good idea of who was who and what was going on in the town. Every Thursday we'd head down the road to Little Wanganui for the pub quiz night which introduced us to yet more friendly locals and the surprise taste of victory as we won the quiz two weeks running.
Our two weeks passed in a flash and before we knew it it was time to leave. Like Ruth I could easily have stayed longer - in such a small, friendly town you really come to feel part of the place after even a short stay and there are few more beautiful parts of the world you could have all to yourself. But the open road and a farm near Invercargill beckoned and we knew we had some travelling to do. As we left we also realised, for the first time, that coming back to New Zealand again might not be such a bad idea...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=279752&id=510568119&l=ac6fc72a21
At the north-western tip of the South Island of New Zealand, nestled between mountains, sea and rainforest, is a magical place called Karamea. It's quite remote - Westport, the nearest major settlement, is an hour and a half's drive away down the only road connecting the town to the outside world. Follow that road north and it ends just a few kilometres out of Karamea at the coastal wilderness that marks the start of the Heaphy Track. This was to be our home for the next two weeks as we'd arranged to do some wwoofing for Dee and Dan, proprieters of Saracen's Cafe and the hub of town life - the Bush Lounge.
When we arrived things weren't exactly as we expected. Dee was unwell, Dan needed to be at work in Christchurch for the two weeks of our stay and the cafe and bar were temporarily closed until things got back to normal. At first we wondered whether we'd be more in the way than of use, but we soon learned that out on the West Coast everything has a way of sorting itself out and within a couple of days we felt more like we were at home than working as wwoofers.
This was due in no small part to Dee and Ruth, a fellow wwoofer from Darlington who had arrived in Karamea some months ago and, in her words, "never found a reason to leave." Life was good - work started when we were up and ready, the Bush Lounge's well stocked bar and the cafe's ice cream stand were at our disposal and Dee and Ruth were incredibly easy people to spend time with. Work was never dull, or unduly onerous. We fed the pigs, split and chopped firewood, picked tamarillos amid beautiful scenery and glorious sunshine, cleaned the cafe and bar, learned how to make a decent cup of coffee, rode around on the quad bike, did a spot of gardening when the weather was nice and watched DVDs with Dee when it wasn't. The food was amazing - the good people of Karamea's loss was our gain as with the bar closed we had Dee, the Bush Lounge's chef extraordinnaire, whipping up hearty homecooked fare just for us every evening.
We also spent some time getting to know the people and places of Karamea, something we never would have been able to do as passing backpackers. Living at the Bush Lounge meant there was always someone calling in to see Dee and soon we had a pretty good idea of who was who and what was going on in the town. Every Thursday we'd head down the road to Little Wanganui for the pub quiz night which introduced us to yet more friendly locals and the surprise taste of victory as we won the quiz two weeks running.
Our two weeks passed in a flash and before we knew it it was time to leave. Like Ruth I could easily have stayed longer - in such a small, friendly town you really come to feel part of the place after even a short stay and there are few more beautiful parts of the world you could have all to yourself. But the open road and a farm near Invercargill beckoned and we knew we had some travelling to do. As we left we also realised, for the first time, that coming back to New Zealand again might not be such a bad idea...
Monday 24 January 2011
The wonderful world of Wellington work
I couldn't get photos of all our various occupations in Wellington, but here's a taster :
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=273175&id=510568119&l=3042385d54
The grand plan for our time in Wellington was to put down some light roots, find jobs and earn some much needed cash while soaking up the ambience of the "coolest little capital in the world." (This rather specific accolade was bestowed upon Wellington by the Lonely Planet's "Best in Travel 2011" guide and seized upon with such gusto that days after the book's publication banners bearing the slogan lined the city's main thoroughfare and the story was a major item on the national evening news. It reminded me of the time Redcar won the Seaside Award back in the late 90s...)
We started by finding ourselves a nice little Kelburn apartment to call home, kitting ourselves out in business attire at Number 1 Shoe Warehouse & Farmers (NZ's answers to Shoe Zone and BHS), printing out our CVs and heading into town to sign up with the local recruitment agencies. I'd done a fair bit of temping in the past, and we were both up for pretty much any work that came along, so we had high hopes of employment. Sadly, our optimism was not shared by the city's recruitment consultants. "Hmm, it's very quiet at the moment I'm afraid" and "well I'll put you on our books but I can't guarantee we'll find anything for you" seemed to be the phrases du jour. Undeterred, and more importantly having nothing better to do each day, we adopted the slightly belligerent approach of calling into every recruitment agency in Wellington in person every morning until one of them, in a desperate attempt to get rid of us, offered us a shift clearing tables at Te Papa museum's cafe. Result!
So began a long and varied succession of work assignments, as the recruiters realised we really would do pretty much anything and with very little notice. After succesfully clearing tables at Te Papa we were woken at some ungodly hour by an agency wondering whether we could take a shift that started in 30 minutes and involved making and serving lunch to students at the university canteen. From then on we were on a roll. Before I knew it I was in demand as a waitress working business awards dinners and high school proms, serving wine and canapes in house to solicitors at NZ's "premier law firm," washing dishes at an industrial research facility, making coffee and washing more dishes at the NZ national police headquarters and selling cupcakes on a market stall. Rich, meanwhile, had secured the dubious pleasure of working 2 weeks' worth of night shifts at Wellington hospital's laboratory. The lab staff were on strike and working to rule, therefore refusing to answer the telephone and thereby creating a job for Rich which involved sitting at a desk from 11pm to 7am waiting for the phone to ring. One on of the 10-15 occasions each night when it did so he would take a message, pass the message on to lab staff in the room next door and then call the caller back with their response. I did feel sorry for him until I heard about the temp whose job it was to sit at the end of the hospital's pneumatic tube transport system unscrewing and emptying any capsules which arrived containing samples for the lab to test. We also managed to work a few shifts together, notably manning the box office for a Wellington Lions rugby match at the Westpac Stadium where we sold a combined total of 23 tickets.
What with all the night shifts, daytime washing up assignments and evening waitressing gigs (I made such an impression that clients kept asking the agencies for me by name. I'm clearly wasted as a solicitor), Rich and I were pretty much working around the clock. He'd be coming in from work as I was going out, my feet permanently ached and we were both starting to wonder when we'd get some proper sleep. Having said that, there were unexpected perks, most significant of which being the ridiculous amounts of free food we kept being given (well someone has to eat all the leftover gourmet canapes, don't they?) After a few weeks we'd entirely restocked our fridge with leftovers from all the dinners, lunches and drinks receptions and I was getting quite a taste for the free wine that kept coming my way.
So it was both a relief and a disappointment when we each landed full time, day time office jobs. Rich was recruited to answer ministerial questions at the NZ Department of Health, and I was given a job as an executive assistant at Compass Health, the company which provides management support for health care providers (PHOs) in and around Wellington. I ended up spending 6 weeks with them and came to feel rather at home there. My work was varied to say the least - as well as taking minutes and being administratively helpful I also found myself trying to get tea stains out of a carpet with vinegar and driving across town to pick up a new foot for the staff fridge. I met some truly lovely people, including Kira (the kitkat queen), Erin (without whom I would never have figured out the binding machine), and my boss Stephanie who I will always remember for overseeing the implementation of the most brilliantly bizarre office colour scheme I have ever known.
In our spare time we made the most of Wellington's undeniably cool and eclectic attractions. Rich reports that he enjoyed the "extremely well developed independent coffee scene," notably at Memphis Belle; I was a fan of the shopping on Cuba Street and we both loved the food (Sweet Mama's Kitchen's swamp dip and fried chicken is worth travelling from the UK for); the grand old art deco Empire Cinema; the excellent Weta Cave; the Alice in Wonderland themed kookiness of Alice bar, as well as the impressive array of live music and arts on offer. We took in an evening of bohemian hybrid blues/calypso/spirituals courtesy of Storehouse at Mighty Mighty, the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra at the San Francisco Bath House (a fun night but they could take some lessons from the original and far better Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain) and the amazing World of Wearable Arts show. Part avant garde fashion show, part circus, part theatrical production, this was like nothing we'd seen before and a definite highlight.
So 2 months after we arrived we left Wellington triumphant - money and happy memories both firmly in the bank. And now, having lived there for a short while, I think I can say the Lonely Planet got it spot on.
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The grand plan for our time in Wellington was to put down some light roots, find jobs and earn some much needed cash while soaking up the ambience of the "coolest little capital in the world." (This rather specific accolade was bestowed upon Wellington by the Lonely Planet's "Best in Travel 2011" guide and seized upon with such gusto that days after the book's publication banners bearing the slogan lined the city's main thoroughfare and the story was a major item on the national evening news. It reminded me of the time Redcar won the Seaside Award back in the late 90s...)
We started by finding ourselves a nice little Kelburn apartment to call home, kitting ourselves out in business attire at Number 1 Shoe Warehouse & Farmers (NZ's answers to Shoe Zone and BHS), printing out our CVs and heading into town to sign up with the local recruitment agencies. I'd done a fair bit of temping in the past, and we were both up for pretty much any work that came along, so we had high hopes of employment. Sadly, our optimism was not shared by the city's recruitment consultants. "Hmm, it's very quiet at the moment I'm afraid" and "well I'll put you on our books but I can't guarantee we'll find anything for you" seemed to be the phrases du jour. Undeterred, and more importantly having nothing better to do each day, we adopted the slightly belligerent approach of calling into every recruitment agency in Wellington in person every morning until one of them, in a desperate attempt to get rid of us, offered us a shift clearing tables at Te Papa museum's cafe. Result!
So began a long and varied succession of work assignments, as the recruiters realised we really would do pretty much anything and with very little notice. After succesfully clearing tables at Te Papa we were woken at some ungodly hour by an agency wondering whether we could take a shift that started in 30 minutes and involved making and serving lunch to students at the university canteen. From then on we were on a roll. Before I knew it I was in demand as a waitress working business awards dinners and high school proms, serving wine and canapes in house to solicitors at NZ's "premier law firm," washing dishes at an industrial research facility, making coffee and washing more dishes at the NZ national police headquarters and selling cupcakes on a market stall. Rich, meanwhile, had secured the dubious pleasure of working 2 weeks' worth of night shifts at Wellington hospital's laboratory. The lab staff were on strike and working to rule, therefore refusing to answer the telephone and thereby creating a job for Rich which involved sitting at a desk from 11pm to 7am waiting for the phone to ring. One on of the 10-15 occasions each night when it did so he would take a message, pass the message on to lab staff in the room next door and then call the caller back with their response. I did feel sorry for him until I heard about the temp whose job it was to sit at the end of the hospital's pneumatic tube transport system unscrewing and emptying any capsules which arrived containing samples for the lab to test. We also managed to work a few shifts together, notably manning the box office for a Wellington Lions rugby match at the Westpac Stadium where we sold a combined total of 23 tickets.
What with all the night shifts, daytime washing up assignments and evening waitressing gigs (I made such an impression that clients kept asking the agencies for me by name. I'm clearly wasted as a solicitor), Rich and I were pretty much working around the clock. He'd be coming in from work as I was going out, my feet permanently ached and we were both starting to wonder when we'd get some proper sleep. Having said that, there were unexpected perks, most significant of which being the ridiculous amounts of free food we kept being given (well someone has to eat all the leftover gourmet canapes, don't they?) After a few weeks we'd entirely restocked our fridge with leftovers from all the dinners, lunches and drinks receptions and I was getting quite a taste for the free wine that kept coming my way.
So it was both a relief and a disappointment when we each landed full time, day time office jobs. Rich was recruited to answer ministerial questions at the NZ Department of Health, and I was given a job as an executive assistant at Compass Health, the company which provides management support for health care providers (PHOs) in and around Wellington. I ended up spending 6 weeks with them and came to feel rather at home there. My work was varied to say the least - as well as taking minutes and being administratively helpful I also found myself trying to get tea stains out of a carpet with vinegar and driving across town to pick up a new foot for the staff fridge. I met some truly lovely people, including Kira (the kitkat queen), Erin (without whom I would never have figured out the binding machine), and my boss Stephanie who I will always remember for overseeing the implementation of the most brilliantly bizarre office colour scheme I have ever known.
In our spare time we made the most of Wellington's undeniably cool and eclectic attractions. Rich reports that he enjoyed the "extremely well developed independent coffee scene," notably at Memphis Belle; I was a fan of the shopping on Cuba Street and we both loved the food (Sweet Mama's Kitchen's swamp dip and fried chicken is worth travelling from the UK for); the grand old art deco Empire Cinema; the excellent Weta Cave; the Alice in Wonderland themed kookiness of Alice bar, as well as the impressive array of live music and arts on offer. We took in an evening of bohemian hybrid blues/calypso/spirituals courtesy of Storehouse at Mighty Mighty, the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra at the San Francisco Bath House (a fun night but they could take some lessons from the original and far better Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain) and the amazing World of Wearable Arts show. Part avant garde fashion show, part circus, part theatrical production, this was like nothing we'd seen before and a definite highlight.
So 2 months after we arrived we left Wellington triumphant - money and happy memories both firmly in the bank. And now, having lived there for a short while, I think I can say the Lonely Planet got it spot on.
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