Downtown Wellington is fabulously grungy and grubby, daubed in graffiti and pigeon droppings. It’s also heaven for the urban wanderer who enjoys street life and street art.
A man in dreadlocks sits patiently too, offering fortunes told with “I Ching, runes, tarot, Celtic oracle and Russian gypsy cards”. Elegant Somali women thread through the crowd alongside plump-thighed girls in short skirts.
One restaurant has chicken wire tacked over its windows to keep out marauding pigeons. Two diners stare out from behind the mesh like inmates of some brutal third-world prison.