Kiwi Dress-up...and fall down drunk

I arrived in Wellington in late January, just in time for the International Sevens--which is rugby meets Mardi Gras. The two-day tournament had been sold out for months, but Robyn, one of my new friends at the Waitangi Tribunal, had an extra ticket. The tournament consists of 20 minute mini-games with 7 men a side. But it's not really about rugby--it's about dressing up and getting drunk.

The tournament begins with a parade--this was right outside the office building where I'm working in downtown Wellington.


Many people dressup for the games. Often there'll be groups of four or more who have chosen a theme or all wear the same costume. Some just come solo:



Dressing-up as Indians from "Dances with Wolves" is very popular.

Here's me and Robyn, my friend from the Tribunal--she brought watermelon soaked in vodka--great fun.


Most people don't pay much attention to the games--it's more about socializing, drinking, singing and seeing all the crazy costumes.

By the end of the day, most people didn't even care that New Zealand had lost.

In the Tourist Twilight Zone

After work on Friday I flew from Wellington to Christchurch and the next morning boarded the Trans Alpine for the 4 1/2 hour railway trip to Greymouth. The Trans Alpine is a tourist train that runs through the Canterbury Plains...

and the Southern Alps.

It's packed with baby-boomer tourists from the U.S., Germany and Japan. There's an open-air viewing car where they wrestle with each other to take crappy photos.

I have existenial issues with being a tourist, so the first thing I did when I got off the train at Greymouth was visit the cemetery.

Of all the cemeteries I've visited, this one has the most headstones that give the cause of death, e.g. died at the battle of Gallilpoli, died in a 1908 mine explosion, drowned in the Grey River at age 22, killed by a falling tree. The cemetery overlooks the Tasman Sea. There was hardly anyone around as I walked about two miles through the surf into Greymouth.

Greymouth, the largest town on the west coast of the South Island, supposedly has a population of 8,000, but the census takers must have been counting digits not heads. Here's what the main street looked like on a Saturday afternoon.

Smalltowns in New Zealand compete to have the best public toilets. One town ran out of money trying to build a $200,000 Taj Mahal pooper and is now hosting a "Medieval Fair" to raise money for the loo. When you enter the Greymouth public toilet the door glides closed behind you and a soothing voice instructs you on the facility's many features. To add to the enjoyment of your stay (maximum 10 minutes) "What the World Needs Now" gently plays in the background.

On Sunday I attended a dog show sponsored by the local SPCA. I thought it would be as funny as "Best in Show" and was sadly disappointed.

I then reboarded the train for the trip back to Christchurch. As the train rolls over tressels and through tunnels a railway employee peppers you with a steady commentary on the local history and natural beauty of the area. Of course, it is almost identical to what you heard on the journey out and I couldn't help thinking of being caught in a tourist twilight zone, doomed to ride the same tain and hear the same patter over and over and over again. "The incline of the Albert Pass tunnel is 1 to 33.....We are now passing through Roto Manu, translated from the Maori that means 'lake' and 'bird'."

Next time, suburban New Zealand--Land of Secrets.