Stark Contrasts: A Weekend in Wellington

New Zealand is a land of contrasts. The North Island competes with the South Island for bragging rights as the best New Zealand. The Maori hold on to their distinct culture despite the arrival of the British a couple hundred years ago. Even nature here is riddled with contrasts. Dark green cliffs jut magnificently into the deep blue sea. The kiwi bird cannot fly. The weather can change from dark grey clouds to bright blue skies within the course of 5 minutes.

When I arrived Thursday night in Wellington I grabbed an airport shuttle to the hostel. A man in an LA Dodgers hat hopped on as well. I struck up conversation to find out if he was from LA, which indeed he was, only to discover he is the tour director for an LA based hip hop artist named The Game. Dontay showed me some video footage of the Maori welcome they received at the Auckland airport (imagine men in skirts doing warrior dances while women robed in native attire sing rhythmically). New Zealand was the final stop on a tour that travelled all around the world, and the crew was headed back to LA after a final show in Wellington. To my good fortune, Dontay offered to put Maz and I on the guest list!

So Friday night, Maz and I hopped on the train to Porirua, 20 minutes outside of Wellington. We then walked confusedly through a suburb that clearly has an aversion to utilizing street signs. The arena, which was more like a high school gymnasium than a concert venue, was packed with teenagers, primarily Maori, dressed in baggy jeans, caps turned sideways and oversized sweatshirts with pot leaves embroidered on the back. We were amongst the very few white people in the arena and definitely the only people over the age of 22. That phrase about a sore thumb comes to mind here. But once the lights were turned down and The Game finally took the stage, there was no stopping anyone from getting down on the dance floor. I can’t say it was the best hip hop show I’ve ever seen, but it was definitely a night to remember.

The following night I ventured to another suburb of Wellington, only this time, for a very different set of circumstances. My dear friend Carie suggested I get in touch with her friend Vaughan while I was in Wellington. It turns out that it was Vaughan’s 40^th birthday weekend and he was hosting a James Bond themed party complete with dirty martinis and an Aston Martin parked in the driveway. I made a quick stop at the $2 store earlier that day and purchased a fake strand of pearls and a toy gun to spice up my otherwise non-Bondish outfit. The party was composed of 40-something professional couples from in and around Wellington garbed in their finest cocktail attire. A couple martinis and few new friends later, I hopped in a cab back to the city to get a good night’s sleep before my 7:30 a.m. wake up call.

Wellington is a spectacular city and one I hope to come back to at some point in my life. The streets are dotted with modern sculptures. The people are friendly and hip. The cafes have outdoor seating. And the eateries are neverending.

But as with all good things, it’s time to move on. As I sit on the ferry to Picton, I cannot help but silently giggle at the extreme contrasts of my weekend in Wellington. From a hip hop show packed with urban teenagers to a black tie affair in an upscale neighborhood, anything and everything goes here.

I have just crossed the Cook Straight. Goodbye to the North Island and hello to the South Island. Up next: wine tasting in the famous Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc region and roadtripping along the epic West Coast.