Parts of Wellington are strange to me.
Strange in the sense that I am unfamiliar with them. If truth be told, however, I find some of them strange in other ways. The Aro Valley seems to meet both of those criteria.
I know that there is a village within the city in the Aro Valley, and people who live there will defend it to the death. The Valley sits between very steep hills, and the houses get a much more constrained ration of direct sunlight than most other suburbs. There are houses from which the sun has gone by 3pm in mid summer, and much earlier in the winter.
As a suburb, it is not so much Bohemian as idiosyncratic. People seem to march to a different drummer up there. This should not be construed as a bad thing. It is merely different. True, some houses seem to be neglected and in desperate need of remedial work.
Other houses are clearly their owners’ pride and joy, but present themselves in a way that would not fit so well in other, more conservative suburbs.
Parts of the valley have been the target of developers, and in an area already known for its tightly compact land use, new housing blocks make an attempt to mimic the colonial cottages. They are about as effective in this as BMW’s monstrous caricatures of Issigonis’s masterpiece, the Mini. There is a hint of similarity, but it stops at the broad outline.
At home later in the evening, tuis were making good use of the abundant flax flowers. Expect more of these shots. This one was taken through glass, so I hope to improve.
More tomorrow, though Mary and I are off to Queenstown.