Journey to the Center of New Zealand Part 3

Journey to the Center of New Zealand

Final Part

by Mykel Board

So after water-blasting the seaguls while eating organic food, we're off to the local park... Before we get there, we need to go downstairs in the bug museum where there is a scary exhibit on a notorious Mauri-British confrontation. Created in twigs and dried cloth, it's as creepy as a loose floorboard in the middle of the night. These zombies greet you when you open the door to the WELLINGTON (non-bug) section of the museum.

OK, not soooo bad, almost civilized for sticks and rags... but check out the OTHER side of the floor.

And it gets heavier:

Coming out of the museum, we go to a park, another museum, then outside, I pull out the map and ask Kael... “where to next?”

He looks at the map.

“Can I help you?” comes a grandmotherly voice with a distinctly German accent.

The woman is indeed grandmotherly looking. About my age, she has that trust me, I only want to take care of you look that makes me wary.

“I don't think so,” I said. “We're just deciding what to do next.”

The woman looks at my army boots... my trenchcoat, by Bogart fedora. “Are you from New York?” she asks.

“You talkin' to me?” I don't say.

“I was thinking of going to the library,” says Kael.

“You instead should go to the Center of New Zealand,” she answers, slightly out of syntax.

“We don't have a shovel,” I don't say.

“Good idea,” says Kael. “I know where it is. But it's a walk. Is that okay Mykel?”

“I may be old,” I tell him, “but I can still walk.”

“Thanks for the idea,” he tells the woman.

“This way, Mykel,” he tells me, pulling my coatsleeve.

We bid the woman auf wiedersehen, and we're off... down a bunch of side streets, up a fairly flat hill.

“There!” says Kael, pointing to a sign.

“Fifty meters?” I tell him, “I can spit that far.”

“It's kinda uphill,” he says.

Then we come to the map. That bright orange line is the way up. A winding worm of narrow paths... and uphill? Think King Kong scaling the Empire State Building.

 

Starting on the hike... it seems like we've walked an hour when we come another sign.

Kael says (scampering ahead), “Come on... we're almost there.”

TWENTY MINUTES! That's not almost ANYTHING... except the time for pressing that snooze alarm ONE MORE TIME.

“Hang on,” I say, trying an exercise called BREATHING. “Okay, let's go.”

Up... up... Whenever we come to a turn... a choice between two paths... one side is steep... the other impossible... there we go.

Suddenly I have more sympathy for the Israelites leaving Egypt... it must have been a similar hike.

What's even more frustrating is meeting people who are on the way down from the trek.

“Don't worry. It's only five minutes.”

For YOU maybe. You're on the way down!

Kael scampers up ahead. He disappears from sight... then scampers back to see if I'm still alive.

“Don't worry Mykel,” he says. “It's right up there!” He points vaguely in the direction of the sun.

And finally, there it is. And what is IT? Is it a plaque on the ground saying YOU ARE AT THE CENTER OF NEW ZEALAND with a dot in the center? Is it a huge needle pointing to the spot that is the exact geographical center of the country?

Yes! That's exactly what it is.

The Plaque

The Giant Needle

Reaching the spot, I collapse on a hard stone bench and watch as a family of a dozen or so people try to fit themselves into one cellphone picture. “Can I take a picture for you?” I ask the woman struggling with the camera.

 “Are you from New York?” asks the woman. 

“Fugeddabouddit!” I say.

 They laugh.

 After the picture, it's a couple minutes rest and conversation with the Aucklanders who are in Nelson for a family reunion with their 80 year old patriarch. I tell them if they're ever in New York, they should come to drink club... And they can stay on my couch, though with 13 of them, it might be difficult.

 We bid our adieus and head down the hill. Yes we're going pretty fast as Kael and I have begun to feel some bladder pressure. After the restroom, we head into town. On a side street, we pass a woman, her husband with a toddler riding his shoulders.

The guy says HI and they pass us... the baby's hat falling from its head. Kael picks it up runs ahead and hands it to mom. Then mom and dad turn around.

 “You're Kale,” says the guy “... Aleister's son.” Kale nods.

 Then the guy looks at me. “And you're that punk rocker from New York.”

 “You talkin' to me?” I don't say.

 -end-

 More later, check out earlier entries in this blog and my more offensive political blog mykelsblog.blogspot.com