Te Papa Museum

We had time before heading for the airport to visit the Te Papa museum – which has got to be the best museum I have ever been to. Entry’s free, and there are about five levels with some awesome exhibits and displays. We wandered through Bush City finding out about plants, animals and their habitats, before checking out an interactive earthquake machine, an exhibition about relations between settlers and Maoris, and a video on some of the settlers who had made New Zealand their home. Whether or not you think you are a museum person, I would recommend that if you’re only in Wellington for one day, you check out this place.

Vomit

The trip back to Wullington was uneventful, although some unsuspecting Kiwi suit emerged from the toilet cubicle at the Shell garage to find me puking my ring into the basin – the expected hangover having by now kicked in. I would obviously rather have vomited in the toilet, but as he was in there, what option did I have? He didn’t seem to see it that way and got rather arsey about having to wash his hands where I had just vomited, despite my pointing out that I’d done my best to wash the worst of it away.

Monday

Still no hangover, though I could feel one nudging at the fringes of my perception. John’s breakfast was again adequate but unremarkable, and his cleaner, Mary, appeared on the scene. As we were about to leave, he mentioned his wife, Karin. Where was this mysterious Karin, we wondered, and did she know about Jenny and Mary? Was John a secret bigamist, and was Martinborough a hotbed of salacious steamy sin? We’ll never know. What’s more, we hadn’t been to any of the vineyards which constitute Martinborough’s raisin d’etre (sorry). And it’s too late now, though I’m sure they’re great, and we did try some local wine at Est – which was very good.

Sunday

Again – no hangover to speak of. John put on a reasonable breakfast, and then Jacq started up the automobile and we hit the road, bound for Greytown. If you have been to Berry or Leura in New South Wales, Greytown is very similar. There are lots of craft shops and coffee shops, and a large, stately-looking hotel with overpriced drinks, but fantastic original wooden interiors designed in sympathy with the elegant glamour of the exterior. Over a couple of mineral waters, we asked the waiter where we could go on a walk, and he sent out the commis chef, who suggested what sounded like ‘Mount Dick.’ Resisting the temptation to tell him that’s what we’d been trying to do all weekend, we noted down his advice and headed out of town to the Waiohine Gorge. The road was long, with many a winding turn, not to mention lots of gravel and occasional sheer drops, but we found our way to the swing bridge, the longest of its type in New Zealand, which stretched over a ravine. Okay, a heavily wooded valley with a river running through it. On the other side was a path which wound up into the mountains – and up, and up, and up… After about half an hour we got bored of the geography and turned and went down and down and down. We headed back to Greytown and had a fantastic dinner in Pipi café, a very funky place with a very chilled atmosphere. It may be a well-worn cliché, but it really did feel like we were eating in someone’s house.