Wellington trip report

Saturday

Keiko drops me off at Christchurch airport just before midday. As I go to check in, members of the Indian cricket team saunter past, fresh from their impressive batting display in Wellington on Friday, and on their way, as it would transpire, to an even more impressive display in Christchurch on Sunday. Half an hour later as I'm waiting to board my plane, I see the Black Caps arrive, looking rather bedraggled.

I love flying to Wellington. It only takes 45 minutes. No sooner has the plane reached cruising altitude than it begins its descent. Or so it seems. It's hardly worth getting out a book, let alone struggling to untangle iPod earphones.

In Wellington, I catch a shuttle to my hotel on The Terrace (which happens to be part of a chain sponsoring the Monet exhibition at Te Papa). It's past the check in time of 2pm, but my room isn’t ready, so I wander down to Willis Street and grab a late lunch (a curry) at a food court. Back on Willis Street, I pass Unity Books and decide to go in for a browse. It's not long before I find a book I've been looking out for for weeks, The China Lover by Ian Buruma. For good measure, I also buy a William Boyd novel, The Blue Afternoon.

I get back to my hotel just after 3pm and settle into my room. Then I remember there's a free big band concert on in Civic Square from 3.30pm, so I head out again, taking a different route down to Willis Street that takes me passed this piece of cone art. Or is it a cone prank? When I pass the same sculpture the following day the cone is gone, so I suspect the latter.

At Civic Square, I stay long enough to catch a couple of numbers by the New Zealand School of Music Big Band directed by Rodger Fox. But I don't like the idea of standing in the sun too long, and wander slowly back towards my hotel, stopping at a few outdoor clothing and book shops along the way. By the time I get back to The Terrace I realize there isn't much time before the first concert of the evening. Because I'm attending two shows in a row, I won't have time for dinner later on, so I start looking for a place to eat. None of the restaurants I check out have started serving dinner (it's only 5pm), so I make do with a large piece of quiche and a glass of wine in a bar just across the road from the concert venue inside the Town Hall.

First up is Tunisian "vocalist and oud virtuoso" Dhafer Youssef, whose backing band consists of a Polish pianist (Marcin Wasilewski), a Canadian bassist, and a Japanese drummer. He's a very engaging performer. He thanks us profusely in halting English a number of times, and also thanks the members of his band, the lighting director, and the soundman at least twice over the course of the show. The tunes are long, often rhythmically complex, but mostly based on simple riffs that are repeated over and over again. Youssef sits centre stage and plays his oud. Occasionally he wanders across to the side of the stage and watches the band perform. He seems to take great delight in Wasilewski's piano playing. During some of the tunes he sings. Or rather, he vocalises. There are no lyrics, but this is not scat, nor is it throat singing. It's more like the Muslim call to prayer set to music.

Youssef announces that the band is playing their final song, but that they'll come back for an encore. The last song ends and the band leave the stage, but despite the rapturous applause they fail to reappear. The house lights come on and there's an announcement. Due to the tight scheduling of events we have to leave the venue right away.

It's 7.15pm. The Tomasz Stańko Quartet is due on stage at 8pm. I walk up Cuba Street and find a nice coffee shop where I wolf down a slice of apple and blueberry pie with cream. I then walk back to the Town Hall and have a glass of red wine in the foyer before going back in to find my (new) seat.

I few weeks ago I was dismissive of the description of Tomasz Stańko as the "Polish Miles Davis." Now I know what people mean. Stańko's trumpet playing has the same clarity of tone, economy, and touches of vulnerability of Davis's. And like Davis, Stańko doesn't like to talk to his audience. He speaks only once the entire time, to introduce the band members. But I'm enthralled from start to finish. The music has all the qualities I hold dear. It's melodic, romantic (but not soppy), haunting (but not depressing), beautiful, moving. Pianist Marcin Wasilewski, playing in his second gig of the night, seems more at home in this all-Polish unit, who meld together perfectly. Before the concert I was a Stańko novice. By the end of it I'm a fan. Even if the rest of the weekend turns out to be a complete disaster, I'm satisfied because I've been to the best concert of my entire life.

Sunday

Sunday dawns calm and fine, one of those perfect Wellington days when the harbour shines. Unfortunately I have work to do, so aside from venturing out to buy breakfast, lunch and coffee, I'm confined to my hotel room until the evening.

At 6pm I meet a couple of friends for dinner, after which it's back to the Town Hall for the Brad Mehldau Trio concert. It's the biggest audience so far, but they're all milling around in the foyer because the doors to the hall are firmly shut. The start time of 8pm ticks passed and still there's no sign of them opening. There's no explanation as to what's happening, but I'd looked at Mehldau's website before coming to Wellington and noticed that he was due to play a concert in Melbourne the previous night, so I suspect he's arrived late and is still doing a sound check.

We're eventually let in and the concert starts around 15 minutes late. Brad Mehldau seems like a very nice man. He has a relaxed stage manner and talks often throughout the show. But his music doesn't do a lot for me. There are one or two nice moments. One is an extended, very classical-sounding solo, which is the only time during the concert that I think he sounds like Keith Jarrett. Perhaps if I'd had high expectations, or had come to Wellington especially to see Mehldau, I'd be disappointed, but I'm still on a high from hearing Tomasz Stańko play the night before.


Monday

Although the day starts out cold and wet, by mid-morning the rain has lifted and it's quite pleasant. I have a couple of hours to kill before I'm due to meet a friend for lunch, and decide to check out the Monet exhibition at Te Papa. When I get to the fourth floor, however, I'm greeted by a long queue and so decide to give Monet a miss. Instead I wander around looking at some of the museum exhibits. I come across a small gallery with some etchings. Among the mostly European works inside is a print by Hiroshige. It's Maisaka from The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tokaido. Except something's wrong. It's a lot smaller than the Hiroshige prints I'm used to. Plus the composition is different from the print of Maisaka I'm familiar with. It's from a different edition of the series, called the Kyoka edition.

After walking around some more I come across this intriguing sign:

I find the colossal squid and start taking some photos, playing around with the different settings on my camera. I'm quite proud of the results.


I leave Te Papa and manage to squeeze in some more shopping (two Tomasz Stańko Quartet CDs, and Edmund White's The Flâneur, which I intend to take to read while walking the Tokaido) before lunch. After lunch there's just time for a coffee before heading back to the hotel to pick up my bag and catching a shuttle to the airport. I've done quite a bit of walking over the weekend. I have no idea how much distance I've covered. But my calves are quite sore. It must be from the hills.

Distance walked today: 0km
Total distance walked since Tokaido training began: 76.9km
Days left until departure: 68