After a very early morning bus from Wellington, I arrive in Palmerston North, a stop off on the inevitable journey back up to Auckland for my flight home. I’ve not heard anything good about Palmy. In fact John Cleese came here once and described it as a good place to go if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage (a compost heap at the local dump is now named after him).
The city is completely flat, the streets laid out in a strict grid-pattern, and the weather has turned atrocious. Not a good start. The city is based round a rather nice village square though, and has an excellent museum which includes tonnes of rugby paraphernalia. Unfortunately I seem to have visited the day they are having a Harvest Festival about town. This means the museum is over-run with kids, and the art galleries are filled with stalls with people selling things (and no art). I end up spending most of the day in the library.