Mr. Millicent Crow and I were laughing the other day about how our holiday destinations are ah, less than exotic. Give us a nice backpackers, a place to walk around taking photos and we'll be happy. And last weekend was no exception. We'd been meaning to go to New Plymouth, but our favourite place to stay was unavailable. So I suggested we head further south, to Wanganui. We drove all day, past the snowy mountains:
And stayed at the Tamara, which had the best camellia bush: 
and the best deck for ukulele playing:
We made up a new rule that if you see a circus you have to go to it. So we did, and found ourselves sipping hot mugs of tea ringside at Circus Aotearoa. I was terrified that I was going to be chosen to be sawn in half, but instead had to massage an acrobat, and had a clown steal a hair from my head!
And we went up the mysterious Durie Hill elevator, up the 176 spiralling steps inside the war memorial:
and were rewarded with this view:
and Wanganui's best kept street 1972-1977.
Which was exotic enough for me. Paris next time maybe?
