This is a brief update, I know, but I wanted to get something down. Last weekend I visited my family in Hamilton (a most enjoyable experience, I hope to write something about it later). On the way back up from Hamilton to Auckland (about an hour and a half’s drive), I stopped at a little place called Mercer.
Now, Mercer is a sleepy little farming community town known (presumably) for its cheese. One doesn’t normally stop in Mercer for any reason unless, perhaps, one is decidedly short on petrol. I stopped there at an Irish pub and had some food before continuing my journey on to Auckland.
I have to confess, for the first time in a while I felt uncomfortably out of place, as though I was participating in a clash of stereotypes. I felt like a gay city boy turning up in his left-handed hybrid car, trying to sit inconspicuously in a country-man’s bar, replete with tractors, Khaki shorts, long socks, beer and tweed.Â
As a part of my sojourn south of the Bombay hills, I spent a few moments taking pictures of the Mercer countryside. One of the things that caught my eye (and, in fact, the reason I stopped in the first place) was this rather striking situation: a farm house just off the road was completely surrounded by water. I guess all our prayers for rain paid off. More pictures of Mercer are available.
Â