WCC 7: A Stranger in Two Cities

Written by Molly McCarthy

When travelling to Australia, I’ve always enjoyed discovering the subtle differences between the two countries. The confectionery aisles in supermarkets are often the best for this;  Freddo Frogs replaced with Koalas, strangely named biscuits and all the kooky lines of Cadbury chocolate flavours that never make it to New Zealand. But I never expected to be able to enjoy this pastime simply moving from Auckland to Wellington.

Although trips to the supermarket aren’t quite as intriguing, Wellington has a bevy of peculiarities to be discovered by those hoping to define themselves as Wellingtonians. My wallet is now full of loyalty and membership cards for businesses, transport systems and franchises I never even knew existed before last year. My ‘Snapper’ card enables me to catch the bus when it’s raining or if I’m feeling particularly lazy; a Wholly Bagels addict card earns me discounts at the store dedicated to bagels and my Aro Video membership allows me to hire videos from a 70s-themed video store featuring DVDs imported from around the globe.

Although I made the move at the start of last year, it wasn’t until very recently that I felt truly at home here. During my last trip to Auckland I found myself acutely missing Wellington, absentmindedly planning trips to places 640km away. The more I become a part of Wellington, the less I feel akin with Auckland.

As a child, returning to Auckland from camping trips always reminded me that the constantly changing city waited for no-one. Just a week away and new billboards, fresh graffiti and closing-down sale signs would appear as unfamiliar blemishes at the local shopping centre. Last summer I returned to Auckland to find a bottle store, two boutiques and a diner had infiltrated the suburb I once knew so well. Since then I’ve been told that a vintage clothing store has also snuck in while my back was turned.

In a year and a half, Wellington has certainly left its mark on me. My forearms have borne the brunt of many visits to clubs and bars for gigs; the nights pass but the ink from doormen’s stamps  has long soaked into the pale skin of my wrists. I am also now adept at living in a wind tunnel; the other day I was praised for my ability to wear a float-y dress in Wellington’s blustery climate. But I have also left my own marks on the city. My scrawled wittiscisms can be found on cafe Midnight Espresso’s heavily graffiti-ed toilet walls. My unwanted clothes have done the rounds in second-hand clothing store Recycle Boutique; they can now be found in the closets of fellow Wellingtonians.

My favourite parts of discovering the city have not always been the obvious. This is not to say that the key attractions don’t have charms of their own; riding a hired quad bicycle along Oriental Parade on a summer’s day; visiting Te Papa’s resident colossal squid; cooing over Wellington Zoo’s sunbears and pygmy marmosets (look them up on Google images and your heart will melt). But despite these enjoyable experiences, I love the city most for its less obvious quirks. I feel at home in Wellington not through regular visits to Te Papa, but in discovering its many secret shortcuts and pathways. I feel a part of the city not during trips on the Cable Car, but in noticing the inspired graffiti that can be found all over the city. Knitted hearts and a heart-felt ode to Ian Curtis are particular favourites.

When my family made a recent trip to Wellington I gave them a whirlwind tour of my hand-picked hot-spots. We started out generic; the University, Cuba St, Parliament, Lambton Quay, the waterfront. We ended up in Aro Valley village, a small suburb on the fringe of town where the streets are lined with old villas reincarnated as shops and cafes. This is one of my favourite places in Wellington, where the air is always crisp and the slow-paced atmosphere and low-light makes it seem as if eternally stuck on the precipice of evening.

A year and a half in and I’m well and truly caught in the twilight zone between my two homes, losing familiarity with one in order to become fluent in the other. But if my path to discovery includes venturing down mossy stairwells, chancing upon brick-wall artworks and dawdling in tranquil suburbs, I’m fairly content to meander for a while.