My choice of sandal was pretty limited and ranged from £60 Rodd & Gunn Italian leather slip on things, to a £30 'generic' sandal. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, they also have Jandals out here, and the occasional mention of Thongs (but this is more of an Australian thing). Now, here was I, a newly arrived Pom on a mission to buy footwear which already had a local variation, so I was not hopeful of success.On the positive side I found about 7 shops along Lambton Quay which sold male footwear, and whilst most of them had an example of a Jandal - these are essentially sandals without a back support around the ankle...yes I know flip flop would be the UK term...but when in Rome - however my predicted use of this item included things where a rear ankle support was important if not vital, such as driving. I find Flip Flops orally annoying! Not the flip bit, I can cope with that as it is a pretty standard footfall noise...no, it is the flop which follows that gets to me, especially if the heal it happens to flop onto has a edging of cracked flaky white skin! (mmm, some past hidden trauma there I maybe need to deal with?)
So to cut a rather long and somewhat tedious story short (yes I know, a first time for everything), I bought a pair of ECCO NZ$340 Sandals which were automatically reduced to NZ$100 without me saying a word, as 'they are the last pair'. So dear reader, if you ever find yourself in Wellington and in need of extra footwear, I can recommend Utopia Footwear, Lambton Key, James Cook Arcade - there now you know how I got the discount ;)
Ah, Wednesday night, now this was an altogether more interesting thing with very little footwear involved - not that I was bare foot, well not until 1pm, but this being a family blog I shall stop at 12am and the goodnight kiss!
As you may remember it was Charlotte's Birthday, however as you may also note we have not known each other for that long, so some prior plans had been made between her and friends for a drink somewhere in town, and I did not want to impose on these at all. However I have to say that Charlotte wanted to be the sweet birthday girl (that she is) and see everyone, so we met for an after work bottle of wine (A silky Pinot Noir in a 'off the beaten track yet perfect' wine bar) and chat for an hour or so.
After this, we went our separate ways on the corner of Willis and Vine....actually it was not Vine and I cannot remember which it was, but that sounds nice so I will stick with it...and I was now in an advanced state of cold recovery (yay) and feeling hungry. A short walk and I found myself in Bond Street which struck a memory with me as being one of Hell's locations. The pizza company Hell you understand, not a place of eternal damnation, but having walked down it a bit, I remain unconvinced to this, but it was charming enough in a 'back alley, taxi rest' kind of way.
During my short walk along Bond I did not see the Pizza company, but I did find a Fosh n Chop shop (aka fish and chips, but that was my Kiwi speak version). Now I am a bit of a fan of the fried potato, so I thought what the hell (erm excuse the pun) and did my usual uncertain thing of standing outside and reading the menu in the window. I say reading, but it being mainly a faded set of pictures, did not actually need any. I was not that impressed and about to leave, until I saw a newspaper review from the Wellingtonian stuck up in one corner.
Now, many restaurants in the UK put these up in their window, and I have used them in the past, as a justifiable, yet unhelpful, delay to obtaining gastronomic satiation, for example on Tooting High street when selecting an Indian restaurant. There I would weigh up the pros, notice the cons had been carefully 'trimmed' off, and end up with a short history lesson of 'Best Indian 1997' through to 'Indian Readers Choice 2005' - a set of dates and awards which unfortunately stayed in my memory as easily as the kings and queens of England - hence I would end up anywhere with a no smoking sign!
Well it seems here in New Zealand they do things a little differently, or at least this restaurant did. For its 'review' was a very matter o'fact description of the place and food, ending with a delightful description of the internal eating area : 'it is clean enough, but the tables are screwed to the tilled floor, as are the seats - which gives the whole place a bus shelter feel'. There was also some veiled, or at least partially covered, threat, that if I were not to eat here, then next week it would become a factory or other non-restaurant place. Well now, how could I resist!?
So I entered and ordered my evening takeaway. But after a few anguished minutes of trying to converse with the Vietnamese assistant, I managed to order through 'international sign language', a large portion of chips and a battered sausage. Well I say battered, in actual fact a raw sausage was just fried directly in the chip fat for about 7 minutes without any covering of batter at all. I was also a little dismayed that they did not do curry sauce, but I resisted the Peter Kay expression of asking 'Have thy 'owt moist?' and settled for a spray of vinegar. NZ$9 lighter I left the shop with the endearing memory of the assistant trying to explain it would be 'two seconds' before my meal was ready in some semblance of English, but I guess she wished I could speak Vietnamese, as silently said by her perplexed smile.
Now thinking I would not have enough sauce to go with my chips, I popped into New World Metro on Willis. This is exactly the same concept as Tesco Metro, only upon entering the store you are greeted with the entire NZ wine production and not fruit. So again using the adage of Mr Eddie Izzard, I was entering 'a pissed shop, this is a pissed shop, I will do very well here' (read my earlier blogs if this does not make sense). However I managed to avoid the standard, 'mmm, how much is that in £'s, wow that is pretty good, I will buy 4 bottles' as a) I had a few in the fridge and b) the chips were burning my hand.
One small steak pie, a bottle of fizzy pear juice and chocolate bar later, I was back on Willis and walking towards my apartment. The evening crowd here was different to Cuba in that they all seemed to be heading somewhere, mid journey rather than journey's end. This gave them a determined stride rather than jaunty Cuba stagger - still I was hungry and within a few mins, in my apartment unwrapping my dinner. There are many simple pleasures in life, and the sight of a fresh cooked, pile of chunky, light brown chips on white paper, is definitely one of them for me. I always remember when my Dad would come home from a few days lorry driving, and without fail bring chips with him. Of course that may explain my earlier worry about BMI, but it was nice to recreate some substantive link to my recent past anyway, besides the hill walking is starting to work.
My viewing pleasure during dinner was numerous adverts intermixed with short bits of a film about some small time crook, played by Chris Rock, his English girlfriend (did not catch her name) and Danny DeVito. A simple plot about a lost ring during a failed house burglary, but it was reasonably entertaining. The trouble is I do not know how it ended... why? Well, even though she is not in the credits, I have Sigourney Weaver to blame!
Yes, it had just gone 10pm when my mobile rang, 'Hi it's Charlotte!', came the greeting. 'Hi' I replied with a smile of endearment - which is of course no good for a phone conversation unless I had a 3G phone - still, it has been a while since I did this courting thing. 'Hey look, we are in a bar off of Courtney Place, and Sigourney Weaver is here, do you want to come and join us?', 'Erm, right, Sigourney Weaver? Is she asking for me?', like I said, it has been a while!
Needless to say the chance of spending more time with Charlotte was one I could not resist, even if it may have been interrupted by drunken impressions of chest bursting aliens and probing questions about sexual preferences, oh, and anything that may have been associated with Sigourney. So after a shower, preen and 'looking good' mirror moment, I was back on Willis and trying to remember where Courtney Place was in relation to it. You understand I do not have a lift in my bathroom, but I was just trying to cut out some irrelevant bits...oh, look this bit explaining the lack of irrelevant bits, is longer than they would have been had I added them!
OK, my instructions were pretty simple, in that I was too meet Charlotte outside Burger King on Courtney Place. Luckily ever since my first visit to Wellington, back in 2005, I have been able to navigate around the place with ease - or at least a 'oh, well it is close to here' air about me - so I confidently marched towards my best guess direction of Courtney Place. For those of you who do not know, Courtney place is a wide 4 lane street with a center strip of trees and such splitting the lanes into 2. Unlike Cuba, it is not pedestrianised, and therefore attracts the Welly Boy Racer set of an evening. Its sides are lined with bars and bars which serve food. It's side streets are lined with bars and the occasional restaurant. In between the bars are night clubs, lap dancing, strip clubs and a very 50's style Burger King.
I may have given the impression that the place is a bit seedy, and to be fair, it is! When I got here 3 weeks ago, I remember reading about a council proposal to widen the pavements and have more street cafes in place of bars - even suggesting that the side streets were used by predatory sex offenders preying on unsuspecting and drunk women. In previous visits I had only ever seen it in daylight and then it was pretty much owned by a constant stream of buses.
Which leads me to another thing I have noticed in Wellington, and that is buses always travel in packs here, you rarely see one alone in the city. I wonder if there is some bus predator lurking here, mmm, thinking about it they also have their own 'bus' tunnel under Mt. Victoria, but they traverse this one at a time with the others waiting at either end. The closest thing it reminds me of is a Wildlife on One episode about Wilder beast herds, and the scene where they crossed a swollen river. Yes, Wellington buses are akin to Wilder beast searching for fares instead of pasture.Something which could pass as a 'bus predator' is located at one end of Courtney Place, and can be described as 'a scary monster' (Charlotte's words not mine), or a 'over sized, spider like tripod with mounted camera poised in 70's death ray at a small patch of pavement' (you guessed it, my words). Indeed there is always another description, and this final one comes from the Wellington government web site, 'Bronze Tripod sculpture, standing six and a half metres tall in Courtenay Place. This sculpture was placed to honour Wellington's film and television industry.'
I will just post a picture up here and let you decide which description is most apt.OK, where was I, oh yes, Sigourney Weaver...mmm, I can see an unplanned link here now, I honestly do not put that much fore thought into these blogs (apart from mulling over the title of this one last night), so I have now actually impressed myself ;)
Sorry, yes, I was outside Burger King and waiting for Charlotte to arrive. In typical, 'person waiting for someone to arrive' mode I stood casual like, and scanned the road to my left, then my right, then got my mobile out, and then changed pose. I repeated this for a few mins, then noticed I had a text. Adopting the 'see, I told you I was actually waiting for someone' look, I read the message, 'Here yet? :oD X', mmm, 'Yip!' I quickly replied in a Kiwi'esq stylee. Now, have you ever watched the TV series 'Mr Benn'? If so you will remember the famous line '..as if by magic, the shop keeper appeared!', well there must be a little magic on Courtney Place because a few seconds after texting Charlotte, she literally appeared by my side! Unfortunately without the special effect of a puff of smoke or the purple Fez, but hey, it was impressive none the less.
How had she done this? Well, it turns out that in-between the bars, bars with food, stip clubs, lap dancing and burger kings of Courtney Place, there are secret doors! I was standing right next to one of these nondescript doors, and it is through this that Charlotte had just burst. 'Follow me' she said, 'Sigourney is this way...', and off she went down a side street. I followed and a few yards later we turned off of the side street and into a back alley, wow, I am getting really urban now I thought, and this was confirmed by the distant neon glow of a 'girlee' club (or so I guessed), replete with bouncer silhouettes, mixed with a muffled base drum and, only in New Zealand, some Maori conversation snippets.
OK, I am not worried, but, mmm, Kev protection mode was hastily adopted. This is basically a form of
eagle eye, close contact and super hawk hearing...maybe there is a comic book character there somewhere, maybe not...but I was well versed with the company that Sigourney, or should I say Ripley, had kept in the past, so I was now metaphorically checking my pinging thing!'Get you hands off of that and help me open this door!', could have been something Charlotte said if I was going for the comedy angle here, but being an honest sort I shall stick with the facts.
Charlotte stopped me outside another nondescript door, located a small buzzer button, pressed it and waited. 'You have to look fairly sophisticated to get into here', she hinted, 'Oh, well that's me buggered then, these jeans are not even Armani', 'No, you will be OK, you are with me and I know the barmaid! Pauline...yes, Pauline is on tonight', and with that came a buzz and a click, suggesting that something had happened to the door.
Being new to this 'back entry' lark (no comments please), I was rather chuffed that after a few seconds of Charlotte pushing the newly buzzed and clicked door without success, I lent over and simply pulled it open, 'Ah, well, I have not been here that many times before', she said as we walked in. In front of us were a set of concrete stairs, unfortunately leading up, and after them a turn leading to more stairs, again going up, then a long corridor, then another small flight of stairs...mmm, I can see why they put the buzzer door opener in I thought....then we opened a final door and the dark red furnishings, mellow music, hand picked bunch of 'pretty people', and well stocked bar, which greeted us, suggested that we had arrived.
Charlotte climbed up onto a bar stool, and as she is pretty small, this was not without effort. I did not help the situation by not noticing her feet balancing on the stool next to her, pulling it away and making her wobble and try to restrain a squeal - still, somewhere in this poorly lit place was the Alien queen herself, Sigourney, and coining a phrase you could say, 'in a bar, everyone can hear you scream'.
I think this attracted Pauline the barmaid, see I was on top form and actually remembering names for once, and she came over and filled two glasses with ice water. It was at this point my cynical, 'I have heard of these places in London where water is £5', brain took over - but I did not have to worry as whilst taking a welcome slurp of water (there were a lot of stairs remember) Charlotte had been scanning the dozen or so people here and then whispered 'Sigourney has gone!' to me.
I turned and looked at the table Charlotte was now indicating to with her 'don't look, but it is over there' nod. Now, I am not that subtle as you know, so the remaining members of Sigourney's group, whoever they were, will remember being peered at by a short sighted bald guy, with a look of 'are you famous?' on his face.
'Well, what now?' I said with, truth be told, mild relief, as previous Kev encounters with famous people, OK, a famous person namely Sophie Elis Bextor, or Sophe as I can call her now, sit with me in a slightly cringable fashion. See, after a great opener of 'Hi Sophie' or a practiced 'Hi Sigourney' ('Hi Ripley' being consigned to the reserve list of Kev welcomes), I would resort to the star struck 'wow, everything you say is super' slobber.
Anyway, the fact was the 50 year old Sigourney had departed prior to my arrival, my pride would like to think for 'older generation needing sleep reasons', but my self pity is stuck with 'Camera at buzzer door, she saw me coming and legged it'. Either way we did not need to be in this bar for much longer, and at NZ$15 a drink, could not afford to either. 'Follow me', said Charlotte for the second time this evening, 'My friends have cake!', and she jumped down from the stool, looked over towards Pauline, who was now chatting to the ex-Sigourney group, and ensuring she did not notice, we left through another door.
Again I found myself following Charlotte through a maze of corridors and stairs, this time with glimpses of Chinese restaurant kitchens. Luckily they were not shrinking in size, and Charlotte was not constantly saying she was late, but her surname is Lewis, so some resemblance with the other C Lewis came to mind.
A few minutes of following and I now found myself in a cocktail bar, being led to a group of girls and guys on a table complete with chocolate cake. I cannot recall all of their names now, but there was Colleen who I had met at the party, Luke who I knew from the bar the other night, and newly met Emma with her flatmate Devon. After a few greetings and 10 mins at the bar waiting for the cocktall display to finish - just pour the thing now man, stop shaking it! - the group started to break up as it was a school night and now gone 11pm.
Like the alcolohol we were distilled down to the strong stuff pretty soon, so that just Charlotte, Emma and Devon were keeping me company. But as I say when coming to New Zealand and the known lack of people, it is quality rather than qunatity which counts. We stayed there for a couple of cocktails more, chatting about this and that or sport and immigration - a nice distraction to the endless adverts of Kiwi TV, and much more entertaining.
We finished the evening there and popped out onto Courtney Place though another secret door, well actually the same one Charlotte arrived from earlier, but new for me. I walked Charlotte back to her place, which being on top of an actual mountain (Mt. Victoria) is pretty managanimous thing to do! Only once did I stop 'for a photo', as I think I am slowly getting fitter. It is here that I shall leave what has now become known as Kev Ancidote #124 'Almost meeting Sigourney Weaver'