Westport

Westport is not a “happening” town. We were warned by our driver to stay away from two of the town’s main pubs, and probably the others just in case, due to previous incidents involving Kiwi Experience passengers. There wasn’t a whole lot else to see. A small group of us ventured down to the beach, which was nice, but there weren’t many people there and my fun was mitigated by stepping on a crab.

It turned out that one of our fellow travellers was a Brazillian chef called Fabio, who lauded it over the rest of guys at Lake Rotoiti (where we stopped for a walk on the way to Westport) with his six-pack and wet hair flicking routine as he went for a swim. Fabio was one of a group of new people who joined us as we arrived in Picton, having chosen to travel only the South Island or the South Island before the North. He took it upon himself to make a roast lamb dinner for as many people as he could get a hold of. Regretfully, I wasn’t one of them.

The most exciting part of Westport that we encountered was probably the hostel itself, which was not Base and so therefore quite pleasant. It contained at least four cats. My Danish roommate, who was apparently allergic to them, wasn’t especially enthusiastic about this.

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