Day: 8 February 2005

One of the things I’ve noticed is how different NZ is from Oz in terms of the locals – and by that I mean the original locals rather than the settlers. Almost straightaway, I noticed Maoris working alongside settlers in ‘normal’ jobs, something you very rarely see in Sydney. There’s also an evident pride in Maori language and culture, amongst all New Zealanders – again, something decidedly absent from mainstream Aussie culture. You’re lucky to see an Aboriginal in a crowd scene in an Aussie ad, and as for the language, I once asked an Aussie girl why they didn’t learn Aboriginal languages at school. “Do they have a language?” she asked without a trace of irony.

When we got to Wellington airport (or ‘Wullingtun Eerport’ as the locals insisted on calling it), we invested in some duty free: a bottle of Jim Beam and one of Absolut for NZ$49, which is about £12. After all, we’re hard-working girls with hard-working livers, and this was going to be a holiday involving plenty of hard drinking. The bourbon leaked all over me, meaning I walked through Customs stinking like Olly Reed after a quiet night in. Not only that, but Jimmy the beagle sniffed out my oranges in the queue and I had to make the walk of shame – or rather, stupidity – through the ‘Dangerous Fruit Smugglers’ aisle of customs.

Once we had made our way to the other side of customs, Jacq went to change some Aussie dollars into Kiwi dollars. Just as she approached the exchange booth, the announcer bellowed, “Will Kerri Tyler please go to Information?” Wondering what might happen now and whether Jimmy the beagle had dobbed me in for the packet of Juicy Fruit in my inside pocket, I made my way to Information. Turned out all I’d done was leave my passport at Customs, but that was enough to embarrass Jacq and send her scuttling for the exit.

Wullington is a small airport, and getting a shuttle bus into town was easy enough and cost NZ$18.

If any readers have travelled with Virgin, you’ll be aware of the fact that, unlike most airlines who employ people based on customer service and pleasantness of demeanour, Virgin break with convention and select their staff from the local stand-up comedian community. This made for a delightful three-hour flight as our steward Bernie honed his crowd-pleasing skills on his captive audience. At one point, he asked passengers to reach up and point their air conditioning vents to the back of the plane ‘for technical reasons’ (“We should get to our destination a few minutes earlier!” quipped the master of comic timing as three quarters of the passengers dumbly obeyed).

Jacq told me just before I left my house that Virgin didn’t serve food on the flight. A notorious glutton, I threw a couple of oranges into my bag, not realising you could actually BUY food on board. How I wish I hadn’t bothered.

My mate Jacqueline and I, hard-working Pommie lasses in glorious exile in the Best City in the World were looking for a cheap and easy three day getaway, and Pacific Blue came up trumps, with a return flight to Wellington for A$256 odd – less than you might pay to fly one-way from Sydney to Brisbane http://www.virginblue.com.au/