Meanderings

The skies are overcast today, though not grey. They are white and light and fluffy, and occasionally scraps of cloud have parted, and you can see the icy blue sky peeping shyly through, not entirely sure if it's going to make an appearance, demure in its covering clouds.

There is a rainbow circling the sun, multitude of colours clear and bright against the soft white clouds. People are standing and staring and pointing and laughing. How often do we get a gift like a perfect aureole of colours around the sun?

The mountains that surround this city can be seen clearly - there is no haze on the horizon, every tree and house and curve of hillside is visible. The greens range from darkest deepest green to trashy plastic Xmas tree green to Kermit green. The mountains unfold into hills which slowly creep down to meet the sea.

The sea is a crystalline deep blue, with jade at its' depths. There is a slate grey to some parts of the water, shading out into the blue of a true love's eyes, warm and welcoming and joyful. A double line of white cuts through the water, the trail behind a ferry, foam floating on the water and then slowly, miraculously, disappearing into the blue.

The air is clean and cool. Today is warm, sunny, but the breeze is brisk and sharp, cutting through heat, clearing away tiredness, and on occasion eating hats.

I started today with breakfast (well, lunch really) at Midnight Espresso on Cuba Street, my eating establishment of choice in Wellington, and quite possibly my favourite place in the world. This cafe is painted dark, with grafitti and posters everywhere, the furniture is chipped and beaten up, the food is presented covered in the most amazing garnishes - fresh flowers, leaves, pieces of fresh fruit and vegetables. You get your water from an old school glass water dispenser, which has lemon kebabs floating in it. The coffee is hot and strong and well made, the staff are funny and friendly and have remarkably good memories. The service is often self, as food is passed across the counter and you take it to your table. Or, as there are no table numbers, the staff will wander out of the kitchen, calling out the name of the foodstuff, in the hopes that someone will claim it. The music is loud and young, as is the crowd. And the crowd is numerous - often you'll drink half of your coffee standing, whilst you wait for a table to clear. This is a fucking great place. And the food is, as you would expect from somewhere that I like, a) mostly vegan and vegetarian and b) inventive, daring and really really good.

I followed lunch up with getting chatty with a local, Miss Savage, who I had actually seen briefly when I was waiting to get my tattoo done. She took me up to Upper Cuba Street, and told me all about the planned destruction that is going to take place up there. The council are demolishing a number of buildings (meaning that residents have to move and businesses either have to move or close down) to create a bypass that links up with a proposed 30 storey complex. This will replace a vibrant, creative, arty, alternative, freaky and alive part of Wellington. It's really really sad. And there has been very little protest, because there has been very little publicity - from what I understand, it has been advertised that Upper Cuba Street is in fact currently empty, and thus no one is losing their homes or their livelihoods in this "upgrade" of the city. Very very sad.

After this enlightening, but also depressing, interlude, I went up to Mt Victoria lookout, and saw Wellington spread out below me, clinging to the sides of mountains, worshipping the sea, and the sadness I felt about the goings on in Upper Cuba Street lifted a little. I followed a walking track down into Mt Victoria itself, during which time I found a little area that had been used for the first ever shot of the Lord of the Rings trilogy (at least I'm pretty sure I did - a lot of the vegetation gave a hint of what I was looking for, and there's no damn sign that says "This is where Frodo said "Get off the road!!"). Then I walked through a little bit of the suburb of Mt Victoria, where the houses are all older style double storey terraces, wooden facades, some in the height of repair, some with the second storey held up by great metal rods. The road slopes down sharply - at the top it ends in a mysterious looking tunnel topped by the rise of trees, and at the bottom of the road I was able to walk back to my hostel.

All of today, I have been very aware that this is my last day in Wellington, and that I haven't even scratched the surface of this dynamic, beautiful, laid back, friendly city. A little voice in my head keeps saying "Take a couple more days, go on, it'll be fine, just a couple more days". But the sensible part of my brain (damn sensible part) knows that it wouldn't be a couple more days. It would be forever. And I can't do that. Not yet. I have to admit, it's hard to leave a city where the citizens thank the bus driver, without fail, every time they get off the bus. But I'm forcing myself to leave, while I still can, before the magic of a city that has perfect rainbows above it, that contains mountains and sea in one horizon, that holds art and politics and pain and joy all jumbled together, can make it's way even further into my heart.