Travelogues ...headin' down the highway, lookin' for adventure...
March 6, 2000
The Sky Princess has steamed
a total 453 nautical miles from Tauranga to Wellington. The Captain
tells us that we were docked by 6:15 a.m. and passengers can go
ashore by 7:00 a.m.
We prepare for a full day. Several months prior to the cruise while playing on the internet and anxious to get started, Roger purchased a six-hour bus tour of the city. We grumble a bit at the thought of riding in a bus all day but since we've already paid we opt to "play." However, we plan to escape from the bus around noon and spend the better part of the afternoon exploring the Te Papa Museum. The Dunne's, our Auckland hosts, told us that Te Papa has one of the largest collections of Maori artifacts and is a must. Leone Dunne added that the Icon Restaurant in the museum is one of the best restaurants in New Zealand.
Perfect. Knowing that we will definitely have lunch at the Icon, Roger and I order extra pastries with our coffee this morning and read our daily "Princess Patter" for more information about the city. For the first time since coming on board, we skip the big breakfast with Joe and Connie and follow our fellow passengers out the gangplank to stand in line for the appropriate tour bus.
Wellington lies at the southern tip of the North Island. It is separated by a 20 mile stretch of water (Cook's Straight) from the South Island and was settled by the London-based New Zealand Company in 1840. Wellington was selected as the colony's capitol after a protracted tug of war with Auckland. The final decision was based on the belief that the South Island might pull out and establish a separate colony altogether if it didn't have better access to the Capitol.
New Zealand's capitol city has approximately 360,000 people and is often compared to San Francisco because of its cable cars, cliff side houses, beautiful harbor, and strong winds that funnel through Cook's Straight. Wellington boasts more diversity than any other city in New Zealand; and, is blessed with museums, gardens, magnificent views, winding walks, and nostalgic Victorian buildings.
As we drive into the city from the harbor, our driver points out the houses hanging on the sides of the steep cliffs across from the water. Many of the homes have designated parking spots along the roadside and steep chair lifts-- the only way to reach the houses. I immediately think how this must put a crimp in grocery shopping.
Our first stop is high atop Mt. Victoria where we can see the wooded hills that curve around Wellington's sparkling harbor and the skyline of the city
Next we drive to the middle of downtown where we embark to stand in a line for a ride on the cable car which will take us to a small summit atop another high point in the city. The brief but steep 90-degree uphill ride, ends at the top in the middle of a small wooded area and gardens. We have instructions from our driver to look around the gardens and take the opportunity to visit the lavoratories. The pot of coffee from this morning is weighing heavily. To say that I am ready for an "opportunity" is an understatement of the largest proportions.
The unisex restrooms are "interesting." They sit five in a row at one end of a large rectangular patio and are painted bright yellow with green trim-- a valiant effort to make conjoined porta-potties look like miniature town homes. Everyone has to line up on a large black horizontal line painted on the cement patio in front of each little house. A blinking red or green light glows above the door handles on the outside signaling stop or go to the 50+ bus passengers standing in neat self-conscious cues. As if to purposely add to our anxieties, when the toilet is occupied and glowing red, the little building emits a moderately loud beeping tone, much like a muffled machine gun-ratta, tat-tat.
After "refreshing" myself, I take another look at the downhill tracks of the cable car. I'm not looking forward to a return trip on a near vertical ride down on the cable car. I begin to assess the situation and ask myself how long it will take to walk, roll, or slide back into town. Luckily, the majority of our group is finished "beeping" and our driver motions to the bus parked nearby. Eyes to the ground we line up again and load onto the bus. I am trying not to remember how long I might have beeped and I wonder if my traveling companions are having similar thoughts.
Mercifully, the drive to Wellington Botanical Garden is a short one. The Garden covers 25 acres and is an incredible mixture of various plants and seasonal floral displays. It also contains the Peace Flame Garden, containing the preserved fires from the atomic holocaust at Hiroshima, next to a beautiful man-made waterfall.
The Botanical Gardens includes row after row of deliciously perfumed roses, named Lady Norwood's Rose Garden. (Lady Norwood is the wife of Sir Charles, a former mayor of Wellington.) There are 106 formal beds each containing a different cultivar. Outside the formal beds are collections of patio roses, David Austin roses, and a trial area for new cultivars. I give up a search for Lady Diana or Marilyn Monroe to enjoy the delicate distinctions of the fragrances. I want to smell each variety but know that we only have an hour here and there are other areas in the gardens to explore.
After the gardens we drive by the Parliament buildings and wind around the city to St. Paul's Church, an old Anglican church with beautiful Victorian Gothic architecture with hand crafted wooden beams and stunning stained glass windows.
The bus group will continue on but Roger and I get out around 1:00 p.m. crossing city streets and ending up along the wharf for a windy walk to the Te Papa Museum.
Te Papa is on the waterfront and according to our "Princess Patter" is a leader of museums around the world. The size of three football fields, the museum includes interactive exhibits with theme "zones" of the past, present, and future plus Maori artifacts, a huge outdoor exhibit show casing New Zealand's environment, including trees, a glow worm cave, a swing bridge and more. We are exhausted just looking at the directory. However, deciding what to do first is easy. Our stomachs guide us to the Icon Restaurant on the 2nd floor, over looking the water.
Once we are seated at our table, I am keenly aware that the restaurant caters to affluent tourists and successful business executives. The menu is very chi-chi with prices to match and as I look about the room, we are the only ones dressed casually. I'm a little self conscious in my jeans and nylon jacket but the food is so exquisite that within minutes my only concern centers around whether or not to have a nice little port with the crème brule.
The Maori Marae, the traditional Maori meeting house is impressive and we can't take our eyes away from the ornate carvings.
We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring more of the museum but it is too big to get the sense that we have seen even a third of it. It's almost overwhelming. By the time we finally make our way to the gift shop we have little time or energy left. I am suddenly very tired and ready to board the ship. Roger very wisely hails a cab back to the ship.
The evening meal is a challenge just getting to our table. By the time of our 8:30 p.m. dinner sitting, the Princess has left her moorings and is steaming her way along a southeasterly course towards Christchurch. The boat is a rockin' and my stomach is a knockin.'
Roger and I are entertained by our dinner companions and their adventures ashore. Several couples went to a sheep farm and saw sheep being sheered while others went pub hopping visiting a number of Wellington's favorite pubs. I am grateful that everyone else is so animated and talkative as I am in dire need of distraction. Feeling beyond green, I am still able to smile benignly, not wanting to spoil the gay mood and the discussion about whether to go to the "Classical Concert at Sea" in the show lounge; Paul Burton's Request Night" in the piano bar; or "Dance the Night Away with the Bill Lea Trio" in the veranda lounge.
Lying on my little bed in the cabin with a cold, wet washcloth over my face, I feebly ask Roger how he knew to quickly escort me to our cabin unlocking our door and opening the bathroom door for me with one seamless motion. "It was when you shook your head and said, "No thank you, no chocolate mousse tonight, please."