By Lucy

5 o’clock comes early when you have anxiety, or something to anticipate.

It was a warm morning, possibly the warmest I had experienced here. Warmer than during the day on Thursday. That’s not good…

I ate breakfast, dressed, finished packing my last couple of things to do, and was ready before 6:00. No chickens. No more goodbyes. Just waiting to move on.

Now what?

I went to put my hat on and couldn’t find it.

Crap crap crap, where did it go?

The house.

Oh no! I left it at the dinner table the night before!

I ran outside and tried the door. Maybe she forgot to lock it.

No luck.

Crap crap crap!

I ran down to the hut and knocked on the door. Alex answered. “Can you get into the house? I left my hat there!”

Groggily, he shook his head. “Try calling Ethan?”

“I don’t have his number!”

I went back to my cabin. Of course, the only day I forgot anything was the day I was leaving permanently and not coming back!

At 6:20 I walked down to the hut with my gear and waited for Sam to be ready. We stopped at the house again – it’s not unusual for Gary to be up at 6:30 – but no luck. Of course, today was the rare day they weren’t up at 6 to go to Akaroa. Bollocks.

We left in compete darkness and arrived at Rolleston in daylight. Sam was chatty, more interested in asking me about myself than talking about herself. She asked how much Simo was paying me and expressed surprise when I said I wasn’t being paid.

“I work as a scaffolder, so the break was nice.”

“Ah.” She said, with understanding. She mentioned that she worked at the elevator manufacturing company, Otis.

“It’s warm today. What causes that?”

“Usually, they say it warms up before an earthquake.”

What?

A quick Google said that’s just a myth, but it was a weird warmness. Like a tension in the air, waiting to burst.

The bus stop was little more than a grassy field on a side road. It was 7:10… more than an hour to kill.

There was a Macdonald’s there, but I was rewarded by walking a bit further. I found a truck stop gas station that sold hot food and fresh coffee. Got the usual flat white and this time, some yogurt with muesli, and a sandwich for later. I eyeballed the chips and candy but convinced myself not to. Settled down in the seating area.

Around 8, I started getting nervous and went back to the bus stop. My anxiety was in full swing and I was half-expecting the bus to drive past me without stopping.

Fortunately it didn’t.

It was a busy-ish bus, there were no unoccupied rows but still plenty of free seats. I grabbed a seat next to a young blonde woman who looked displeased with me for it.

The bus had seatbelts. The driver instructed us to wear them, but about half the passengers didn’t and he made no effort to correct them.

I watched the scenery go by for about half an hour. Mt Hutt and the Rakaia came and went. There was a bank of thick clouds behind the mountains, too heavy with rain to crest the Main Divide. I hadn’t technically driven this road before, but it looked like the usual Canterbury views. I remembered that feeling I got when I first landed in Christchurch and realized how small the island was.

Then I popped open my DS. I had charged it over the weekend. I played Tetris a little bit, then some Rocket Slime. Sheep fields and small towns slid by. The bus stopped here and there to grab people or drop them off. We got stuck in construction a lot.

Around Timaru, the road skirts the seashore. The sea was mostly calm but the horizon was wavy – the heat rising off the water.

Simo texted me to say she had found my “beanie” and she could drop it off at my hostel on Thursday for me to collect when I arrived. It made me slightly nervous… I still hadn’t booked the hostel in case my plans changed. I was also skeptical that the unpaid hostel employees would hold on to my hat.

The driver informed us we were 20 minutes behind schedule, so we wouldn’t be stopping for a break.

Somewhere between half an hour and an hour later, we pulled in to Oamaru. The driver came on the intercom again; “We’re stopping here for half an hour because I want lunch. Be back at the bus by 12:30.”

You what? Are you supposed to be stopping here? Why phrase it like that?

I got off the bus first and went to the bathroom. I’d eaten my sandwich at 10 and I was starving again. I should have grabbed more at the truck stop! There were some restaurants around, but I went into the grocery store opposite and grabbed a bag of chips and a bag of candy. Oops.

When we got back on the bus, my companion had thawed out somewhat. It helped that I offered her some chips. She was just going Dunedin and couldn’t imagine going all the way to Invercargill in one day. I got the feeling this was a bus she took regularly, possibly a college student who goes back to Christchurch on the weekend.

It clouded over after Oamaru. This bus was sort of fiddly – the seatbelts didn’t like to work. I couldn’t get mine to give me enough slack to clip it.

I started bouncing anxiously in my seat. How late were we? The connection bus wouldn’t leave without me, would it?

There was a long stretch of sandy beach covered in black swans.

Finally, we were in Dunedin.

Everyone was wearing green. For St Patty’s day? But this town is Scottish, not Irish! The bus driver honked at some kids gesturing for him to. Or maybe he was Irish.

We got to the bus station with 10 minutes to spare. As the porter disgorged bags from the bottom of the bus, I ran in, grabbed mine, and jogged to the connecting bus, hopping anxiously as the driver checked us in.

This bus was different. There was more seats, less space for luggage. There was also less people on it, obviously. I got a row to myself.

At 3:20 we drove past the point where I had turned off to go to Queenstown. Now I was breaking new ground again.

At 3:30 we stopped in Baclutha, at a truck stop gas station again, perhaps in recognition that we hadn’t a real stop in Dunedin. Also, we were ahead of schedule. What a roller coaster! I grabbed something called mac and cheese bites for 75 cents each, and a bag of chips that tasted and smelled exactly like bacon, but with the melt in your mouth consistency of Pringles.

At 4 we were on the road again.

I had left my DS on the bus and I wondered about the odds of it being pocketed. The DSi is old enough that PAL vs NTSC still applies; any Kiwi who stole it would have to have NA games shipped in to use it. But that’s not the barrier it used to be. On the other hand, any PC sold today could handle a DSi emulator easily, and quite a few of the games have been rereleased on the Switch.

I suppose they might steal it to resell it.

I noticed a few sugar maples here and there. I remember at some point someone told Simo they wanted to plant sugar maples and have New Zealand maple syrup, which is impossible, at least where they wanted to plant the trees. You can plant sugar maples mostly anywhere, but they need a good hard frost to produce sap. In the subalpine areas or down here in Southland, perhaps.

We stopped in the town of Gore to drop of a little old lady. I stole a picture of the monument from Google.

Half the bus was asleep, wrapped up in jackets and heads leaned on the windows. As we headed into the evening and got closer to the sea, some low clouds rolled in, looking like they could just kiss the roof of the bus.

Then we puttered down Highway 1 until we finally reached the end of the road; Invercargill. It wasn’t even 6 o’clock.

I was lucky that the bus stop is right in front of the hostel, so once we were decanted from the bus, I could just grab my bag and stomp into the hostel and get my key.

This one has an elevator. It’s wrapped in a custom decal of a forest.

I had planned to shower and go grocery shopping once I got here, but I had underestimated how tired I would be. Which was kind of odd, considering I spent all weekend playing Rimworld. It was a 6 bed female-only dorm. I claimed a bed as my own before anyone else could come in, then decided to go grab dinner before I fell asleep on my feet.

I had noticed on the bus ride in that there was a Pak’N’Save around the corner, so I went there. I went right to the deli to grab whatever was cheap and easy. Another sandwich. I also noticed something that claimed to be “Turkish Delight Mousse” and grabbed that to, on a whim.

I hunted around for the wine aisle and discovered it was absent. A quick jump to Google maps confirmed my fears; they’ve blocked anyone from selling liquor in the downtown core. Right, this was the town that made it illegal to sell absinthe a few years ago. I suppose preventing people from buying liquor downtown might get rid of a few casual drunks, but you’re just sweeping the problem under the rug. Puritanical jerks.

As I walked back to the hostel, I noticed people vaping and smoking under the signs proudly declaring “Welcome to our smoke-and-vape-free CBD (central business district, but yeah I did a double take and thought it meant pot as well)”.

I ate quickly. I dunno who declared the mousse to have anything to do with turkish delight, but it was just plain old vanilla mousse so far as I could tell.

Now what? I debated walking down to the liquor store, but I noticed signs about the hostel telling us not to drink in the building. More puritanical jerks, or just because they own the bar downstairs too? I decided not to risk being thrown out of the hostel and went downstairs to scope out the bar/cafe. It’s an odd room, very artsy.

The bartender had a shaved head and noticed me immediately. “Want a drink?”

“I don’t have my ID with me.”

He blinked at me. “You’re staying next door, right?”

And you can’t stay at a hostel and be under 18, right. Being tired also ages me, I know.

“So, what kind of mixed drinks do you offer?”

He spun around a menu with 4 cocktails on it.

“I’ll have the tequila sunrise.”

“Uh… I, uh, have never made that before.” He admitted sheepishly. “But I’ll give it a go!”

I laughed and pointed at all the liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. “And what are those for?”

He shrugged, “Most of our customers drink beer.”

And they say Greymouth is backwards.

Well, he made a halfways decent tequila sunrise. I noticed a table at the back that was full of erasers and spent half an hour in the bar, admiring the collection and trying not to drain the glass in one gulp. He kept coming by to chat with me, not that this place was hopping.

By 9 I was headed back upstairs and crawled into bed. There were 3 other women in the room, all chose bottom bunks. There seems to be a common habit of throwing a towel or something similar over the bar of the top bunk to make a curtain of sorts.

I slept fitfully. There is a gap in the curtains that allows a single streetlamp to shine directly on my face, but only when I roll over, which kept startling me awake. I woke up at 5, but laid in bed until 6:30, at which point I got dressed and went downstairs to wait for the restaurant to be open. The bartender was serving breakfast too. Is he the owner? Does he do 3 12 hour shifts or something?

I ordered the eggs Benedict, like usual. They were alright. I find a lot of places keep trying to reinvent the wheel for them.

After breakfast, I went back upstairs to the kitchen, where everyone was packing for the day, to take stock of the free bin. No point in spending money when I don’t need to. There was some tea, sugar, raw rice and pasta, which I grabbed.

On my way to Pak’N’Save, I stopped by a cobbler to ask him about my shoes. Lips pursed, he told me I’d be better off buying new shoes, but he did confirm that it wasn’t me who had damaged them by “abusing” them. He suggested they might have been left in a warehouse for a long time in suboptimal conditions.

After all the usual purchases, I grabbed something called “salmon trim”, basically offcuts of salmon once they’d finished making those beautiful salmon steaks. I really like the idea and wish they’d do it in Canada. Actually, they probably do, but they hide them behind the counter so you have to ask for them cuz they want you to buy the more expensive steaks, like with fish heads. Since I had a whole bottle of cream for my tea, I’d make a version of the pasta sauce Simo had made a week ago. Cook meat, simmer cream until it thickens, add meat to sauce and let the flavours mingle, add to cooked pasta.

I noticed something else as well, little packs of squeezable yogurt. I read an article the other day that kids are getting pickier, and for a specific reason. Packs of squeezable yogurt, “growing up milk”, and pureed vegetables and fruit are becoming ubiquitous among toddlers all the way up to 4 year olds. Harried parents don’t have the time to cook healthy meals, so they hope the kids are getting their fruits and vegetables from the packs. Additionally, this article from the Guardian points out, the packs might be more expensive than fresh fruit and veg, but there is a guarantee their kids will eat it and it won’t be thrown out, which is a better “return on investment”.

Back to the hostel.

Invercargill is a small city, around 50-60’000 people. What it lacks in size it makes up for in personality, no doubt bolstered by all the tourists dropping coin as they gear up to start the Te Araroa. There’s art projects all over the city, lots of street art, and the facades on the buildings downtown are immaculate. There is a large number of jerks in the city, a confusing number of “fart cans”, or cars with a modified exhaust to sound louder. Also, I learned last week one of my favourite Youtubers, Mama Doctor Jones, moved to Invercargill. What are the odds I might run in to her?

I had to wait ’til 9 for the front desk to be open to ask for a towel – 5$ – then I could shower.

The kitchen was supposedly going to be cleaned from 10-11, according to a sign on the door, so I planned to cook at 11, which would give me enough time to eat before my tattoo appointment at 1. However, at 10:30 I noticed that beyond stripping the beds, nothing else was happening. I still dutifully waited ’til 11 and no one made any attempt to clean the messy kitchen, so I made my pasta in the messy kitchen. Whatever.

It was as delicious as I hoped, although belated I realized I should have grabbed some parmesan.

The hostel is hit and miss. The bed was nice, although the sheets were thin. The frames are the usual cheap nonsense that sway back and forth as you climb them. The lounge is almost an afterthought, just some easy chairs around a coffee table. No shelf of games or books. No one hangs out here.

Time to head out for my appointment.

The shop was just around the corner from the hostel. I walked in to the small entryway.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I had an appointment for 1.”

“Ah, the Majora’s Mask?”

I grinned. “I knew this was the right studio, from all the art of game characters on Instagram.”

He gestured for me to step through the door into the shop proper. “I’m Brodie. What size and placement do you want?”

I had a feeling this was the guy who answered my messages on Instagram. “I’m not sure!”

“Ok. I’ll print out some different sizes and you can see what looks good to you.”

I sat down in a much loved couch and waited about ten minutes. A man in Tripp pants, with dreads and a black mask, wandered through, showing Brodie a grinder he had broken. Excellent.

We eventually decided on a medium size on my bicep. I was still sort of leaning towards my forearm, but as I shuffled the sizes around I decided bicep made more sense. He tried to convince me to place it further down on my bicep in case I wanted to do a whole shoulder piece later, but I doubted that would happen, and if it did it would probably just end up being more Zelda imagery, so it’s fine in the middle.

Still proud of myself that despite my personal view of myself as a wuss, I still haven’t caved to the pain and asked for a break (for the pain. I did ask for a break because my arm was sore from being held at an awkward angle for a long time). The bicep is pretty painless anyway, although some of the parts tending towards the inside of my arm were a little more tender. The black outline was easy and familiar. The colour shading was when things started to get rough. I noticed some colours seemed to draw more blood – the needle goes deeper to make the colour stay, or the blood is always there and it’s just more noticeable?

The skin of my bicep disappeared into a kaleidoscope of colours as he wiped away ink sitting on the skin to see where he was aiming.

We started off talking about video games. It’s awkward to be stuck breathing on another person for 4 hours. I’m clearly more of a gamer than he is, but he found his stride eventually and even mentioned a horror game I haven’t heard of, Mouthwashing.

The shading was clearly where he shone and was passionate. His gaze changed then, became more focused. The details around the eyes I found particularly stunning, especially considering such detail was absent from the image I sent him; this was his personal skill, not just copying the stencil. It really sold me on the artist, because eyes are always the most critical thing to get right, but especially on the Majora, whose “eyes” literally bulge out of the shape of the mask.

We talked about Invercargill a bit. For someone who had nothing good to say about his small hometown, he’s never really left. He confided in me that most of the shops around town opened when one artist got in a fight with another and left to open their own studio. He also complained that the lack of clientele meant they all ended up being general practitioners taking whatever jobs availed them, with no opportunity to pick an art style and hone it. He’s stuck doing roses and skulls by people who have some desire for a tattoo but no passion or deeper meaning for the design, so he was thrilled to do my Majora.

I felt we had a real connection, but maybe I was imagining it. I dunno, with the other 2 artists it just felt like making conversation to pass the time. That any artist could do. This was the first tattoo that I felt like the artist had added to the experience, and I was sad that I’d probably never get another tattoo from him again.

He kept asking me if I was sure I liked it. He must be plagued by anxiety as well.

“Relax, it’s not like I can come back here and complain.” I changed the topic. “Any tattoos you regret?”

He points to his calf. “Pickle Rick. It was an impulsive decision.”

“Well, duh! Pickle Rick has to be!”

Then it was done, 3-ish hours and a lot of pain later.

He wrapped my arm in Saran wrap and told me to unwrap it in an hour. He showed me a small red bottle of ointment and told me to grab some from Pak’N’Save.

I paid for the tattoo. He handed me his card.

I blinked. Upselling himself, or hitting on me?

It was sunny outside, and warm, but I couldn’t take my sweater off and expose my brand new tattoo to the harsh UV rays. I obediently went to the store and grabbed the small red bottle of Papaw and walked back to the hostel.

I had planned to celebrate with a blue cod dinner, but I noticed the sign on the bar said they don’t serve it after 2:30. Aww! Now what?

There was a sushi place maybe 100 meters away. Let’s go there.

Grabbed some sushi. They have a daily deal, 8$ for 8 pieces, which was fine by me. I ate and went to unwrap my tattoo, past the 1 hour mark, but I felt nervous about unwrapping it. 1, this was my largest tattoo in terms of square footage, and 2, this hostel has white sheets that I bet my tattoo will stain. It was weeping ink a bit, just the black. How long until my arm becomes a waterfall of colour?

The pain was starting to set in, as well. The skin had taken on the quality of a severe sunburn; it felt thick, hot, and painful to move. I popped a couple of Tylenol.

I’ve noticed that I am the only person staying here for more than a night, because no one goes sightseeing in Invercargill. Most of the people here were finishing the Te Araroa and then heading out the next day. There wasn’t even much of a common area beyond a room with some comfy chairs. No shelf of books, no stack of puzzles or board games for people to socialize.

The female dorm was packed tonight, about half of the beds with some chatty English girls who either knew each other or were making fast friends.

I tried to go to bed around 9:30. Yes, 9:30 is early, but there’s no real reason to be hanging out in the dorm rooms gabbing, and yet that’s what they were doing. 10 came and went and some of the other girls politely asked them to turn the lights off, but we couldn’t get them to agree until 10:40.

At which point it was too late for me and restless leg syndrome had set in. I got out of bed, popped a couple more Tylenol, and paced up and down the hallway until the pain went away and I could go to sleep. I was up again at 3 – my arm was hurting. More Tylenol, more lotion, more pacing.

The girls had their alarms set for 6:30, and naturally they immediately hit snooze and rolled over… more than once. The vindictive part of me debated the delight I’d feel at their screams if I cut off their long, blonde hair while cycling through curses. You need quality sleep after a tattoo, it’s basically a giant open wound! (Maybe I should have booked a private room) I settled for getting up to flop on the couch in the living room. There is a certain etiquette to hostels, and if you just spent 4 months walking the length of New Zealand you aught to know it!

My sleeve was glued to my arm by the weeping from my fresh ink, as per usual.

After they vacated the room, I went back in and curled up and dozed.

Got up late, cooked myself breakfast. God this kitchen is awful. Even for those of us who want to wash and put our dishes away, good luck finding a cloth or towel.

My only real plan for today was the Motorcycle Mecca tour and shopping, so I waited until 10 and walked down to the Motorcycle Mecca.

I paid for the Turbo pass, which gets me entry into the Transport Museum as well.

The museum itself is a large building, beautifully laid out and clearly cared for. There’s videos about the bikes, an audio tour, little plaques. Although to be honest, unless you know more about bike engines than I do, after a while staring at the gorgeous bikes just becomes background noise.

There’s a lot of bits dedicated to Burt Monroe, a local folk hero and the focus of a movie called “The World Fastest Indian”, where he is played by Anthony Hopkins. There’s also quite a bit dedicated to John Britten, another folk hero, who I noted died of cancer exactly one day before I was born. How curious.

George Begg, who has a whole festival named after him as well, in April.

There was Mary Watson’s bike, a woman who was quite handy with mechanics. She fastened a washing machine to a side car of her bike, in an era when women didn’t ride, and drove around her area getting paid to wash laundry and then move along.

One exhibit also noted that a bike, the Honda CB450, was called the “Hellcat”, just in Canada and nowhere else, which makes me wonder about the car with the same name.

It took me about 2 hours to go through the exhibits. By that time, it was starting to fill in with old men and I was starting to feel eyes on the back of my head, so I left.

I gave in and let Simo leave my hat at the hostel. Hanuman said it should be fine and people drop off stuff to be collected all the time, so I booked the hostel for the one night and emailed them to let them know what was going on. I got a reply back that that was fine and they’d hold on to it for me.

Finally for my blue cod dinner!

It was… not great. Not sure if it was the cook’s technique or if blue cod just doesn’t like being frozen. It was still good, just not worth 40$. Not as good as when Simo cooked it.

I started feeling exhausted again. You get the “tattoo flu”, your body demanding rest. I went back up to my room, where the beds still hadn’t been made even though it was almost 1 in the afternoon. I fell asleep anyway, woken occasionally by the housekeeping staff as they drifted through to finally make the beds. They seemed very confused by me napping.

I slept 2 hours and woke around 3. I had planned to go to the second-hand store and grab my skirt, and maybe to the health food store to grab some Ocho chocolate, but then I discovered most stores in Invercargill close at 4! Jeez, what a small town.

I walked to a shoe store I had noticed on the way to my tattoo. It claimed shoes for 20$. To be honest, I had been planning to wear mine all the way home so I wasn’t carting them around with me, but they were getting pretty worn. The holes were such water and rocks were getting inside, and it was hurting my feet.

But then I walked in this store… wow!

As I examined a pair of heels that I definitely would buy if I were in Canada and could store them somewhere, the salesperson greeted me.

“Hi! Yeah, I was just walking by and noticed the store and I’ve never seen shoes that looked so….” She held her breathe as I paused, trying to decide what word I wanted to use. “Pretty!”

Her face broke into a big smile.

This store is amazing. I’d never be able to pry Kayla out of here. All the shoes are handmade Italian leather, done in small runs, so when they are out of your size they are out, no waiting for a restock. Unfortunately, this was the end of the line outlet, where all the shoes no one wanted go, and there was a lot of odd sizes.

So we began a treasure hunt, trying to find shoes I liked and fit. She’s been there so long she’s got what shoes in what sizes memorized, like a librarian who remembers where each book is. She loved the shoes as much as I did, so we did just as much chatting as looking.

I liked a pair of purple boots in a subtle alligator-skin pattern, but they felt a little tight on my feet.

I kept walking past these.

No way. Too garish. Also, those laces don’t actually do anything.

I walked past them again and again. So many shoes not in my size, but these were. Finally I caved and tried them on.

“Those look like your shoes.” She said.

When I saw them on my feet in the mirror, they looked better than they had on the shelf. They were also extremely comfy, like they were made for me. And I liked the chunky sole, like the big stompy boots I wear for motorcycling.

150$

Well, still cheaper than a new pair of Reikers in Canada…

I left the store with the shoe box clasped in my arms, feeling terribly guilty.

I went a few stores down. There was a candy store there, way prettier than anything I’ve seen in Canada. The candy seemed a bit overpriced to me, but I bought a fill-your-own box and topped it up with a little of everything.

I went back to the hostel to drop off the box and my candy. I had some candy while I opened the box of 150$ shoes I could not return, put them on, and walked up and down the living room with them.

“Buyers remorse?” A man asked from one of the easy chairs.

“No no, just breaking them in!”

I went down to the same sushi place and got some more sushi. Too tired for more thinking than that.

I slept well that night. The two girls in the room with me were up and off early, fairly quietly.

My last day of freedom.

My tattoo is healing well. I think. It’s not peeling yet, but it stopped weeping within 24 hours and the redness and tenderness is gone. I noticed this Papaw stuff is petrolatum, and I’m not keen on using petroleum jelly for a tattoo, but I’m keeping a close eye on it and it seems fine.

I decided to leave the Transport museum for Friday, so I’d have something to do between leaving the hostels and arriving around the corner at the conference motel. After breakfast, I put on my stompy boots and walked up to Queen’s park to break them in.

Queen’s park is lovely. Lush lawns, wide avenues with plenty of shade. The morning dew still danced on the leaves as the sun had barely risen by the time I got there. I did a wide loop around the memorial to fallen soldiers, the rose garden, rock garden, and “stumpery” (art made from fallen trees) before arriving at the animal reserve. Unfortunately the big museum is closed for renovations!

The animal reserve wasn’t much to look at. Farm animals mostly.

I got lost trying to find the aviary. The main path to it was blocked and there was no obvious way around. Eventually I found my way there. There are no kea; the male died so they sent the female to another zoo. There’s 4 Kaka and they are very noisy. The keeper was feeding them breakfast and talking to them when I got there, but she clamed up when she noticed me. Why?

A trip past the Japanese and Chinese garden rounded out the walk. It was a little past 10, but I had gotten up early and I was hungry already.

On the way past, I stopped by E Hayes Hardward store. It exists as part museum, with motorcycle exhibits scattered throughout the store. Also a hilarious joke hammer display!

I had the paua sandwich for lunch. Paua is hard to get because it was almost fished to extinction so its harvest is very restricted now. This one was worse than the blue cod and definitely the result of not being cooked properly. It was overcooked. Some parts were delightfully chewy and yummy, but there was lots that had the unmistakable rubbery texture of overcooked fish.

After lunch was shopping again. I went to the second hand store and found a perfect skirt; a pencil skirt in pinstripe with stretchy fabric. It hugged my hips like it was made for them. 8$, sold!

I went into the little museum in town, He Waka Tuia, but it’s safe to skip for now. There was maybe 10 pieces on display and nothing particularly unique.

I realized I had forgotten to get chocolate. I had planned to get some Ocho bars to bring back with me, but I forgot to order them. A single health food store in Invercargill sold them… on the other side of Queen’s park. Curses! I walked over there anyway, I had precious little to do. They only had the Papua New Guinea bars, unfortunately, but I bought one anyway. I stopped to play on the exercise equipment on the walk back, and stopped to listen to a busker. It’s lovely to have nothing to do.

I grabbed a pizza deal from a newly opened Dominos. I popped into a couple of other stores trying to find a name tag, but no luck.

There was a chatty German man in the lounge trying to chat me up as I shoveled pizza into my mouth.

Around 7, we all froze; the building was shaking. The shaking continued for at least 5 minutes. I went thru the usual suspect; the construction behind the building was done for the day, there wasn’t any trains going by. Was it an earthquake?

I don’t know…

That night was also quiet and peaceful in the hostel. My last night of sanity.

How little I knew!