Greymouth, New Zealand

A long scenic route around the North West tip of the island ended us in the little town of Greymouth. Now this place was scary. Apart from the fantastic sunset we caught, and the quite mean looking waves that Andy didn’t surf, there was something not quite right about this place.

'A mesmorising gaze....'

There was no humans here. Checked into the hostel and there was only really a few old boys plodding around. Keeping to the strict, self-imposed rule that whilst in New Zealand we have to drink alcohol every day (I felt that I had not done myself a good enough service in the last few weeks of oz so I thought a retribution was in order), we decided to hit the town. Except, er, there was NO ONE around. Literally we walked down the middle of the road and there was nothing. No noise. Incredibly eerie. The pub we found was just closed and they informed us that the only bar open was the one in our hostel. Went back to the hostel, defeated, for some beers instead and got offered a fish by one of the patrons. “I’m, er, good for fish thanks”. Watched ‘Napolean Dynamite’ again as they were showing it in the bar. Found out I was wearing exactly the same watch as the dweeby protagonist. Idiot!