to miramar

Soon we were squeezing into Vic’s silver Sprinter, which, this time around, was nearly full to capacity. I wedged between Susi and Mary for the ride to Miramar, a suburb on the southeast side of Wellington. Miramar has been dubbed “Wellywood” by many New Zealanders, and – thanks to Peter Jackson and his team of artisans – is currently the center of the country’s film industry.

Getting to Miramar consisted of following State Highway 1 through the outskirts of downtown Wellington, and passing through the Mount Victoria Tunnel. As we entered the dim, fluorescent-lit cement tube, Vic began sounding the van’s horn.

“It’s tradition,” he said. “Ideally, they’re supposed to honk back.” He was referring to the other drivers in the tunnel, most of whom seemed to be ignoring this “tradition.” It wasn’t until Vic’s fourth and final attempt that he got a response – two, in fact – from oncoming motorists. Everyone in the van cheered, and Vic chuckled. “Was worried there for a second,” he admitted.

Soon after we exited the tunnel, the near side of Evan’s Bay came into view. On the far bank of the wind-swept water sat a decrepit-looking, rusted-out ship, tethered to a similarly dilapidated dock. Vic pointed it out through the windshield (or “windscreen” to the Kiwis) as we rounded the head of the bay.

“If you’ve seen ‘King Kong,’ that boat may look familiar,” he said, referring to another of Peter Jackson’s ambitious cinematic projects. “They used that for the Venture in a few scenes.” Camera shutters flickered as we drove by.

“Just like one from last time,” Josephine commented as she reviewed the digital photo on her all-purpose phone. “Why do they just leave it sit there?” No one seemed to have an answer, but I wondered if it wasn’t for curious tourists like ourselves who occasionally rolled into Miramar in search of a taste of Hollywood.