Day 4: Whakatū
Welcome
Yesterday we flew to Te Waipounamu, New Zealand’s largest island, to begin the final leg of our homecoming tour.
The 8:30am western line train departed Fruitvale Station dead on time and I was aboard enjoying the quiet comfort that is provided by one of Auckland’s superior pieces of public transport. Seven minutes and two stops later and I was walking to Jon and Liz’s place, the assembly point for our shuttle pickup for the journey to the airport. By 9am we were all aboard a comfortable van, the four Beths plus Gabe and tour manager Anthony forming a jolly tour party, rested and abuzz about the next few days of travelling. The Mainfreight sign displayed its usual pearl of wisdom as we drove along George Bolt Memorial Drive, and although this metaphor was somewhat confusing in its application it certainly was effective, leading me into some overwhelming spirals of thought about the futility of our existence.
Arriving at the domestic terminal of Auckland’s airport we lugged our bags inside and completed a check-in that was painless, sending our giant bags away down a conveyer belt to be loaded onto a frightfully small aircraft. Then it was upstairs to the Koru Lounge, the final sanctuary for New Zealand’s wealthy and elite, a haven where you could enjoy the comforts of padded chairs and the luxuries of self-serve mimosas and Wi-Fi without an email sign-up.
At the buffet I found that I had happened upon the rare and sought after transitional period, the salads for the lunch service already laid out but the hot breakfast dishes still available for a precious few minutes before they were whisked back into the kitchen. I served myself three potato hash bites on a bed of harissa, a buttered scone, and two salads, one of fennel, spinach, celery, and cranberry, and another of cauliflower, yoghurt, seeds, and chickpea.
An hour later we were belted into our seats as our small propellor-driven aircraft rotated into the sky above the Manukau Harbour and after a sharp bank and a powerful climbing turn we felt the engines steady up as we settled on a southbound course. We flew over water for most of the flight, parallelling the rugged western coastline for a time and then leaving behind the cliffs and surf for the openness of the Cook Straight, the body of water that separates Aotearoa’s two main islands. As we approached land we began gradually to descend and I had the view of the Marlborough Sounds filling my portside window followed soon after by the deep green native forests and flat expanses of farmland that clad this arable region.
Our touchdown was made under clear, sunny skies and the plane taxied across to the terminal of this charming regional airport where we disembarked across the tarmac, enjoying the fresh breeze and the smell of jet fuel that was carried on it. We waited in the spacious terminal, a building free of the usual airport bustle, and when our luggage appeared we headed outside to find Anthony pulling up in our rental vehicle, a Toyota Hiace van that was soon packed to bursting with our equipment, Bird being forced to ride in one of the rows of seats once the boot was filled up with cases.
Gabe participating in one of the common tour pastimes, the practise of putting an information pamphlet secretly inside someone's luggage.
It felt like we had barely settled into the rock hard, angular, comfort-free seats of our Toyota when thankfully we were released from this torment by our arrival at the venue, right in the heart of the city of Whakatū. The Theatre Royal is a building that is familiar to us, a space that we had inhabited on our last tour of Aotearoa in 2022, and one we were happy to revisit. We walked out on stage to find everything ready and waiting for us, the amps set up according to our stage plot, drums unpacked and waiting for the placement of cymbals, and mic stands in place and waiting for microphones. The theatre technician JR was a friendly man and a complete professional, meeting our every need with charm and grace, and we made it smoothly through the soundcheck portion of our afternoon with smiles on our faces.
With the sky darkening the time to play was rapidly approaching and it felt like we had barely settled into the greenroom when the support band began striking up, a the rich sounds of rhythms and chords filling the air of this fine old hall as the seats began to fill with patrons. Solace were a local band of high school kids who sounded streets ahead of what a high school band sounded like in my day. A steady rhythm section backed a pair of beautiful singers, purveyors of delightful harmonies who entertained this venue with a number of their own original songs as well as some nicely executed covers. They worked the crowd too, hyping them up with a confidence that I simply could not imagine possessing as a fourteen year old.
We walked out on stage at 8pm to a full room, a room that I know was sold out because I saw the Full House sign deployed on the kerb outside. Everyone was seated as we kicked off, a state of posture that didn’t remain for long as within thirty seconds a crowd had gathered in front of the stage, dancing and blocking the view of everyone within the first few rows. This didn’t seem to stop anyone enjoying themselves, though, and the sitters and the standers must have reached an equilibrium for the room possessed a good energy. Aside from Tristan recklessly breaking a drumstick (he carries a spare) the night went off without a hitch, the end of the set arriving as abruptly as the evening had begun, and us leaving us standing in the wings at 9:30pm with all our songs played and the theatre emptied of its crowd. This was our Wednesday night in Whakatū, an early night for the tour party and an extremely restful beginning to our small run of South Island shows in New Zealand.
The scattered remnants of Tristan's broken drum stick, now permanently affixed to the curtains.