Don't bank on it

The Banks Peninsula was our home for the final 2 weeks of our time in New Zealand. As I mentioned previously we stayed and worked at Mount Vernon Lodge on the outskirts of Akaroa Village. The Banks Peninsula is a remarkable outcrop of land that was created millions of years ago by 3 massive volcanic eruptions. The natural harbour of Akaroa cuts through it's centre and a village of the same name sits prettily at it's end. The french were the first europeans to colonise this part of New Zealand but the english and even germans weren't far behind. They were thrilled with the calm waters and warm climate and thrived in their seperate bays. A lot has changed but their influence is still as fresh as ever. Akaroa itself is shockingly french, with street names, cafes, patisseries, art, architecture and even an attitude. One afternoon we were sitting at the Madeira Hotel, enjoying Happy Hour with the locals, when all of a sudden we witnessed their raw and unusual charm. The crowd was the strangest bunch of people I have ever shared space with. A bizarre mix that included everything from the crap on the shirt farm boy to the tipsy stumbling bowls chaps (who have their bowls afternoon before happy hour every week). At our table was Jacqueline, myself, my jug of Speight's, Jackie's gin and tonic, a bearded fellow with more chicken poo than collar, a woman who looked like she was about to clock in at her corner and a couple that oozed a mix of wealth, garlic and camembert cheese. Included in the happy hour deal was a free bowl of bar snacks for each table and ours arrived alongside an irritated looking waitress. Our table mates took one look at the snacks and vulched them down without even the slightest glance or sign of concern. We let them tuck in purely as an experiment into the psyche of the locals. In 5 minutes they were done and we had not had a single piece. I must at this point emphasize again that they're a strange bunch.