Cuba, Wellington's Journey to RestCuba, Wellington's Journey to Rest

Cuba, Wellington's Journey to Rest

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The streets of Cuba are filled with all sorts of “people of the world” - the show teams who solicit passers-by, the grandfatherly clerks of second-hand stores, the kids who look worse than civilized adults, the wheat-skinned, dark-eyed beauties of the trendy stores. ......

Riding the cable car to the top of the mountain.

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On the playground below, a bunch of people were kicking around a small field. The playground is very empty and looks like it would be exhausting to pick up a ball.

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Fast moving clouds, casting fast moving shadows on the playground. The wind of the windy city is materialized in this moment.

On the Little Red Book, people living in New Zealand argue about which city is the best, seemingly defending their choice. One of the main reasons why the “other side” is criticizing Wellington is the wind.

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The last time I was here, I had a blurry impression, but this time I felt it very clearly - my hair was blown out of shape and my hat was ready to take off at any time....... My mom has a phobia of strong winds, and she always has a hard time breathing in the gusty winds.

Maybe forcing her to live in Wellington for a while will cure it. Thought of buying a Windy City mug perimeter for her. The botanical gardens are sliced and diced thinly by tree-root-like irregular paths, like a labyrinth.

Botanical immigrants from miles and miles away were arranged to live densely together. I was given a map to guide me to read about the hillock.

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Walking out of the botanical gardens, following Google Maps, up and down through the hidden trails in the belly of the mountain town, I returned to the downtown area and was enlightened. Wellington's duplex B&B was the NUMBER 1 accommodation we had in mind for this trip, with all the right stuff and attention to detail.

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On our third day in Wellington, we went to the beach. Once again, I marveled at how small Wellington is, with the mountains, the sea, and the museums all placed in a small area within walking distance.

The harbor side looked like it was hosting some sort of market-like event. A band was playing on a small stage made of containers, and the audience was almost all passersby.

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By the beach, the grandfather's hair is all gray and his skin is sagging, but the way he walks ashore is vaguely reminiscent of his youthful panache. The young man basks in his own body, everything around him has nothing to do with him. The little girl just out of the water climbs onto the play equipment.

The wind makes me feel cold, but she is wearing only one, and the water on her body has not even dried. The seagulls are still emboldened to patrol for food abandoned by humans. We went to the supermarket to buy groceries and then walked back to the B&B against the still poisonous afternoon sun of New Zealand and the siren wind of Wellington.

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On our last day in Wellington, we got up early and went to the pier to catch a boat to the South Island.