We were fourth out of the SuperShuttle, but I bet we got there a
lot earlier than we would have if we'd waited for a taxi.

The Doubletree Wellington is on Lambton Quay, one of the main
drags of town, but its entrance is on a side street. Luckily, the
driver pointed us in the right direction, else we would have spent
bunches of time looking around for it. As it was, we were in our
room (biggest in the hotel) and sound asleep by around 2.

It's an old turn-of-the-other-century office building gutted and
redone in period style, complete with lots of wrought iron, creaky
(though automatic) elevators, and poor lighting. Luckily the
room's plumbing was modern.

I'd asked our friend Glenys to joil Lilli for the breakfast buffet
(I'd have stayed in bed), but she said she would have breakfast on
her flight; so I went downstairs and had some cold cuts - decent
salami and basterma - and a pretty okay apricot tart. There is a
large Asian clientele, and that option, vegetable lo mein, had
been ravaged by the time we got there. Lilli had a made-to-order
ham and halloumi omelet which was overbrowned but okay. I almost
tasted the thing because of its combination - pigmeat with an
Arabian sheep cheese, what weirdness.

We went back to the room, and shortly Glenys came up for a
freshen-up after her flight, after which we went to Farmers to get
me a pair of socks (the only thing I really needed, because the
pair I had threatened to start walking by themselves. It seemed a
nice day, so we took the cable car up to the museum (sort of
interesting) and the botanic garden. Up top it had got kind of
raw and overcast, so we decided to camp out in the coffee shop on
the summit - I had iced hot chocolate, and Lilli had her usual
actually somewhat better than average glass of red plonk, Zonte's
Footsteps Shiraz 14 (Langhorne Creek), recommended as Glenys,
born and raised on the South Island, admits that Australian reds
are much better than Kiwi ones (with a possible exception of Pinot
Noir, as she admitted after a challenge from me). Glenys, who is
pleasingly plump but watching her weight, indulged with some kind
of scone of which I had a bite and found it sconelike.

Thus fortified and with the mists lifting, we decided to walk
down through the botanic garden, which was just coming into spring
bloom, despite our having bought return tickets (we later gave
them away to the people we had drinks and dinner with).

Back to the hotel for another freshen-up plus using our drink
coupons at the bar, which along with the time spent walking back
scotched our plan to visit the Te Papa museum, said to be the
city's most prized attraction. Glenys had a couple proseccos,
Lilli had her usual red wine, and I had Tiger beers. Worth
missing the museum? Maybe. Once we determined our shortness on
time, we ordered a margherita pizza, which came as a pretty decent
crust with suspiciously local tasting cheese and beefsteak
tomatoes. Nonetheless it was decent. After which we joined Glenys
on her search for her Ibis hotel.

There are Ibises within a few blocks of each other, and
inexplicably her e-mail confirmation had the wrong one's address;
after a telephone consultation between the desk clerks of the two
hotels, the situation was resolved with her going down the street
and being issued a small rather plain two-room arrangement that
barely deserved the suite monicker.

We were to meet our friends Rod and Jeff at Mac's Brewbar on the
waterfront; they were on their first drink when we arrived more
or less on time. Rod had brought his friend Biddle from school.
Jeff, whom I usually see in territory foreign to both of us
(generally Singapore) is the fellow who let Carol and me use his
apartment for a couple nights some years ago in return for a
bottle of Shiraz, Eight Songs or something like that from Peter
Lehmann. Next time we see him it'll be in Singapore again. Biddle
seems to be a bit of a local public figure, as during our drinks
and subsequent dinner people kept coming up and glad-handing him.

In honor of the ladies, Jeff ordered a bottle of Angus the Bull
Cabernet blend from Victoria; this was a pretty rich and meaty
wine, a little sweet for my taste; I asked for Mac's oatmeal stout,
which was off, so the porter was in order, a worthy example and a
decent substitute. After a couple rounds Jeff led us to the place
he'd chosen for us, but there was a function taking up much of the
restaurant, so there was a 45-minute wait, so we wandered up Cuba
Street, one of the city's eatery-lined pedestrian streets, nixing
several choices because of their spice (Glenys) or seafood
orientation (both ladies). We ended up at the Hotel Bristol, a
pleasantly raffish joint reminiscent of pubs I used to go to with
Glen and Kevin, only perhaps a notch or two more genteel.

It was dark, and the music in front was loud and infiltrated the
back where we were, so I neither saw nor heard what the others ate.
I ordered what was represented as a 300 g rumpsteak, blue, for
NZD15, quite a reasonable price. This turned out to be a chuck eye,
just as tasty if not more so but quite a bit tougher and more
gristly. I didn't mind. It was also from a very big animal, so the
steak was quite thin, but it was properly done, nicely browned
outside but just jiggly in the middle. Two sides come, but I told
the barmaid/order taker that I didn't want any. With the red meat
I had a Mac's red ale from down the street. It was well made, very
low-hopped, decent with the food.
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