Perhaps it was the rain, perhaps tiredness, perhaps it was just the place, or that it was Saturday, but Greymouth is aptly named. It just seemed grey and miserable. It’s an odd little place, with weird streets and funny little cafes.
We had an unappetising lunch (the ‘homemade’ pies weren’t, in fact, homemade), looked at the clock tower, picked up supplies at the supermarket and headed south.
Greymouth just didn’t have the old-fashioned charm of Westport, nor what we were soon to discover were the delights of Hokitika. It seemed industrial and colourless, lacking character.
Unless you would label the clock tower fiasco as ‘character’. We were nearby and I spotted the clock tower from down the street. It was a lonely tower with a sort of shelter nearby, on what appeared to be the high bank of perhaps the river, or the sea.
It was at a T-shaped intersection, with steps leading up to it from the road. Literally, the road, not a footpath. There was no access, without crossing the road at a dangerous-looking spot and then walking along the road to reach the steps. Crazy. This thing wasn’t an attractive feature, it was just a lumbering white elephant, enhanced with some scrawled graffiti round the back, by the polluted water warning signs.
No photos, I’m afraid. The place just seemed to suck the life out of me. I couldn’t bring myself to raise my camera.