Daily Photo – Dusk over Pamly North
The day began in earnest at Waiouru, a place that exists primarily to prove that if you give the military enough tussock and a sufficiently biting wind, they will stay there forever out of sheer stubbornness. Leaving Waiouru is less of a departure and more of an escape from a landscape that looks like the moon, if the moon were owned by the Ministry of Defence and featured a surprising number of tanks.
The drive south toward Palmerston North is one of those quintessential New Zealand experiences where the scenery does all the heavy lifting while you sit there wondering if you remembered to turn off the heater in the motel. You descend from the volcanic plateau, the mountains retreating into a haze of grey and white, replaced by hills so green they look as if they have been colour-graded by an over-enthusiastic artist.
Eventually the hills flatten out entirely, as if the land just gave up trying to be dramatic. This is the Manawatū. I rolled into Palmerston North, or “Palmy” to the locals, a nickname that suggests a tropical vibe the city does not quite possess, despite how hard it tries.
Navigating Palmerston North is a unique exercise in geometry. It is a city built by someone who owned a very long ruler and had an unwavering faith in right angles. I drove around for a bit, which is to say I navigated a series of wide streets that all seemed to lead to the same place. I found my motel and, after checking in and performing the mandatory inspection of the tea and coffee facilities (two packets of UHT milk and a single lonely biscuit), I set out for a walk.
The heart of the city is The Square. It is not just a square. It is a sprawling seven-hectare park that the city was built around, as if the early settlers arrived, saw a very nice patch of grass, and decided that was good enough. There is a large plaza at one end, while the other features the usual arrangement of shops you might expect to find in a city centre.
The Square itself was vast, with small pockets of people scattered around enjoying the warm, sunny day. For a long time I could not work out what it was that felt slightly odd about the place. Then it struck me. That was exactly the problem. It was large and open, but there simply was not anyone there. In a larger city it would be filled with people, but here in Palmerston North it almost seemed too big, as if no one was entirely sure what to use it for.
As evening crept in around the edges of the city, my stomach began to rumble. I wandered past various establishments until I stumbled upon a Thai restaurant. There is a universal law that states the quality of a Thai restaurant can be judged by the flamboyance of its décor. This place was modest, but it smelled heavenly of lemongrass and ambition. I ordered a green curry that was spicy enough to make my ears ring, but delicious enough that I did not care.
The night concluded in a local bar. I ordered a beer and sat in a corner, nursing a couple of pints and observing the locals. There were students from the university debating things with the intensity of people who have not yet had to pay a mortgage, and older men who looked as if they had been sitting in those exact chairs since the mid-seventies.
By the time I walked back to the motel, the city had settled into a profound provincial silence. The air was cool, the streets were empty, and the ginger nut biscuit was waiting for me.
All things considered, it had been a very good day.