My bad morning continued when I chose from Google Maps a breakfast joint called Joe’s Garage that as it turned out couldn’t serve me because their order system was on the blink.. they couldn’t even open the till for cash. They’d already given away $100 in meals and stopped seating people by the time I arrived. And I’d neglected to notice that both of my two back-up options are closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

I used my phone to look up more options (international data is so key!) and walked to Cuba Street, a well-known eating and shopping thoroughfare with a stretch of pedestrian-only blocks. I very much enjoyed the smoked mackerel hash at Floriditas, but their service staff were a bit standoffish. Or maybe it was just my mood.

From there, it was a quick and easy walk to the Te Papa museum of New Zealand history and Maori culture. It was a pretty day, and honestly I’m not a museum person, but the remainder of my planned activities were outdoors and I’d read this museum is a must-do (and free!).

Each floor houses one main exhibit.

On the 2nd is a long and detailed retrospective of the New Zealand army’s stand at Gallipoli during WWI. I am generally not interested in war, but this exhibit included several larger-than-life and quite lifelike sculptures, mostly soldiers in the heat of battle but also a crying nurse, and each one was quite affecting.

On the 3rd floor is a history of the land, flora and fauna, and how it changed with the arrival of settlers, first Maori tribes and later Europeans (lots of clear-cutting). Sadly, the natural history wing of the floor was closed.

The 4th floor examines Maori culture through a deep look at one iwi, or tribe, which rotates every two years; right now, it’s Rongowhakaata. I watched a 4-minute video on the haka two or three times and took off my shoes to sit in a recreation of a wharenui, or meeting house. No photos were allowed in this exhibit but I was gladly able to capture a larger, colorful, elaborate wharenui in a separate room. I was grateful to have heard a Maori guide explain the significance of the structure and its parts back in Whakarewarewa village.

The 5th floor is art, and I completely skipped it. The 6th is a viewing terrace overlooking the harbour.

It was late afternoon and I wanted to get up to Mt. Victoria for sunset. I confirmed with an info desk that drivers can make change aboard the city bus. This was the case in Rotorua and also in Barcelona last year. Travelers to the U.S. must be surprised/annoyed that they need exact fare to ride our buses.

I’d looked up the route earlier and walked just a couple blocks from the museum to the bus stop, which also happened to be around the corner from my listing. Got downtown Welly all worked out.

The ride up steep hills afforded views of its own and made me thankful I’d decided against walking/hiking. I arrived at the lookout at 4:30, with sunset just after 5:00. The golden light made for pretty photos! I was done after 10-15 minutes. It was chilly and I was tired, but I decided to stay to see the sun dip behind the hills.

That meant I needed to hustle a little down the hill back to town as I did not want to still be there as dusk settled. I’d assumed incorrectly the walkway down was a paved path. The dirt trail was mostly flat but was a bit rocky and steep in parts.

I made it almost all the way down before I slipped and ate shit. First fell on my ass, then my side as I rolled and kept rolling until I was face down in a bush. I am so thankful I didn’t poke one of my eyes on a twig branch or something (especially the right one as my left one doesn’t work so I’d have been blinded). My immediate concern was that I’d twisted up my back.

I was so freaked out at the possibility, and a little in shock because it all happened so fast, that I went straight to denial. What had just happened did not just happen. My hands were not dirty or burning from trying to brace myself as I slid. Brushed my jeans off.. there, no trace. Carry on. My back would be fine the next day. Only my new Queen Bee messenger bag carries a bit of a scar.

I regrouped at the listing and then walked back toward the park to a tapas spot called Basque that I’d passed on the way home. Sangría and caprese and patatas bravas on a rooftop patio. Joy!