One of the best parts of travel, and certainly southern New Zealand, happened today. It was a relatively dreary morning, after a week or two of really nice weather, so we were feeling a little glum but decided to make our way downtown to the Saturday morning Farmer's Market. Always good for a pick-me-up.
We couldn't have imagined what happened next. As we approached the Octagon, the central hub of Dunedin, we heard pipes. Bagpipes to be more exact. Then we noticed the street was blocked off. We shuffled our way through crowds of people as the music swelled. By the time we reached the Octagon, we were in full Scottish glory.
A bagpipe band contest was underway. Good ones. No, great ones! It was a southern New Zealand contest to see who would advance to the national championships. For hours--yes, hours--bands paraded through the town. It was brilliant. Turned out to be one of those amazing things that only happens if you stay in a place long enough, and you're lucky enough, to trip across something wonderfully local. We found an outdoor table on the Octagon at "The Craic" and sipped long blacks and bathed in the cacophonous beauty of pipe bands. Part of Rick's family (mother's side) evidently has some Scottish blood (and Irish and Dutch, imagine that). We don't know how much--that side of the family line is a little more murky than the Schwier side, but it must be there. We could listen to this stuff all day long and still want more. Karin's part is a little more legitimate. Her heritage has some Scot, and Dad Melberg loves the pipes and has regaled us with his recordings when we visit.
Here's a wee sample of what we saw today. Wish you could have been there.
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