Strike Two & Redemption for the Germans

In Napier, I stayed at Toad Hall Hostel. There were four Germans staying there as well, two girls and two guys, whom I disliked, mostly from the start. I think it was the one’s face – it had a perpetual snotty, contemptuous smirk, which in turn I took as proof of the Germans’ superiority complex, and I was back to zero on the German/American friendship scale. It was her face, and the fact that all four of them did absolutely nothing day in and day out but sit and watch TV and type away on the computer. The computer, by the way, had free internet, which is virtually unheard of at a hostel, and they were obviously taking advantage of it. I just thought, what’s the point of vacationing or traveling if you see nothing but the inside of your hostel’s common room the entire time.

Now let me tell you what happened to redeem them in my eyes. Two nights ago, I was watching TV and eating dinner with the rest of the guests. After picking up my pizza, I had placed my bag hanging on the back of a chair. I woke up the next morning with the intention of calling Carlo for his birthday and reached for my bag to retrieve my phone cards, but the bag was nowhere to be found. Of course I freaked, Jenn-style, and tore up the place looking for it, banging on the manager’s door in the process. He told me no one had turned in a bag sending me on the verge of hyperventilation. I started to rundown the items in my bag – my bankcard, my credit card, my camera, my license, my rental car key, etc. He assured me he would check the other rooms and ask if anyone had seen it. A few minutes later, he came down the stairs with my bag in his outstretched hand. The Germans, who had seen my bag hanging on the chair last night, took it into their room for safekeeping with the intention of turning it in in the morning. I actually hugged the snobby German girl, probably to her disdain, but I was just so grateful. Oh, irony gets me every time. I suppose Germans aren’t that bad.

Yesterday, I went on a wine tour around Napier and Hawke’s Bay. We visited five different wineries in four hours and sampled tons of different wine varietals. The premise for wine tours and tastings is so funny to me. It seems like such a sophisticated activity to partake in to expand your enjoyment and knowledge of wine, yet the main result is drunkenness. Honestly, who uses the spittoon buckets anyway? Wine tours are almost like fancy pub crawls, just with wine glasses instead of plastic cups and cheese and crackers rather than pretzels and chips.

I made the trip to Wellington today, a four and a half hour drive from Napier in some nasty weather. Driving around Wellington is almost as frustrating as driving in New York City. The majority of the streets are one ways and are so narrow that the fear of ripping off the side view mirror is ever-present. There’s also absolutely no place to park whatsoever. You aren’t allowed to park on the streets until after 6pm and you must move your car by 8am. After phoning my rental car company and learning that I’d have to hang on to the car until tomorrow because I arrived too late to return it today, I searched for a spot and found one not too far from my hostel. The only problem was that it was only 5:30pm, and I didn’t want to abandon the car and risk getting a ticket. I actually sat in my freezing car for a half hour. At times I thought the wind would blow it over the edge of the hill I was perched on. Wellington isn’t dubbed “Windy Welly” for nothing. I’m looking forward to dumping the car tomorrow, because all it’s giving me at this point is anxiety. Cities are much better seen on foot anyhow.