I loved everything about my first Cook Strait ferry crossing: a day parked in the car in howling Wellington wind and driving Wellington rain, waiting to hear if they were going to sail or not; watching the huge black ministerial limousines come and go; listening to the adventures of Chicken Man on 2ZB; waiting for updates. Even on a bad day you couldn't beat it if you were a seven year old country kid.
We were waiting for updates because it was only four weeks since they had lost the Wahine and they were taking their careful cautious time.
But eventually we were driving down to the ferry terminal and up the ramp, and over the railway tracks, and watching them marshal the railway wagons, and inhaling the smell of diesel and trucks and making our way up to find a seat and settle in and here, have some barley sugars for the seasickness. I would be seeing those lollies again in an hour’s time on their way back up, and as I write this I'm realising this would have been my first experience both of a boat and of being seasick, but was I upset by any of this? Not one jot.
