Complimentary in the sense of no charge, not in the says nice things sense.

Checking out was mostly done the night before, so it was really only handing over my key cards that needed to happen.
Naturally, I slept crappily, so my biggest challenge was to not fall asleep at the Bus Station before the bus got there.
The Christchurch Bus Station has been designed with weather in mind. Buses pull into glassed-in little bays, automatic doors open, and the whole thing is intended to limit your exposure to the outside world.
Unless you’re on an InterCity bus; Then it’s a standard pavement & roadside loading for you, so you stay in the waiting room until you see the driver open up the big luggage hatches, and scuttle across at that point.

I’ve had better bus trips, to be honest.
Also worse.
The piped music was very loud for a while, then it was turned down, and finally off. Sadly, this allowed the two elderly ladies directly behind me to natter pretty much constantly, mostly on a theme of Anything different to how I’d do it is wrong, with a slight foray into how a person’s preference for floral shirts over solid colour, combined with his encyclopedic knowledge of female celebrities, meant that he was Trans but hadn’t admitted it yet.

I spent a lot of time sleeping & listening to podcasts.

They quietened down after Kaikoura, when one of them fell asleep, gives chance for the guy at the back with what looked like a partially completed Mongrel Mob tattoo to talk himself up a bit.
Back to napping & podcasts.

The bus damn near emptied at Blenheim, and was wonderfully quiet for the run into Picton.

Tombstone Backpackers was pretty much where I left it, which was a relief.

The Complimentary Cat greeted me with a Mra! when I opened the door, which could have been “You disturbed my nap”, “Oh, it’s you again”, or Poing’s suggestion, “I ordered a petting and lap-providing monkey hours ago! Why does room service take so long in this place?”.

And that’s pretty much how my afternoon went; Providing lap services to the Cat, until the room got cold with the windows open, and I got hungry, at which point the cat was offered an exit option & I went to ‘cook’ the can of chilli I’d been carrying around since Greymouth.
At one stage I temporarily relocated the Cat, in order to put my feet under a blanket, because it was getting cold. The Cat interpreted this as “Ooooh! A Cave!”, and this was the result.

I would be interested in finding out whether anyone has done work on, for want of a better phrase, the micro-geography of social spaces.
The kitchen at Tombstone (that was an odd thing to type) is OK in the social sense; People talk, though mostly about food, access to kitchen equipment, what on earth they did to their rice to give it the consistency of bricklayer’s cement, that sort of thing.
The dining area? Dead. Those folks who were traveling together talked, the rest … nothing.
I’m wondering whether a setup of many small round tables leads to people sitting in groups with their backs to the rest of the room, because that’s how round tables work, and the smallness of the table leads to people not sharing because they’d be right in someone’s face.

It’s just a thought, but I did notice a big difference between the Picton & Greymouth hostels in terms of dining room socialness.

I woke overly early, as one does, or at least as this one does, though I did sleep pretty well once I ditched the blanket (I’d needed it the previous time, but there were maybe more covers on the bed this time? it certainly felt heavier) , so I was showered and somewhat ready to go when the alarm went off.

I was even more ready, super extra double-plus ready, when the text from Interislander Ferries saying “Yeah, we’re running about 45 minutes late” arrived, or, as I interpreted it,”Go ahead and have a second coffee with breakfast; You’ve got time”.

The Tombstone does a complimentary breakfast, which I was never awake early enough to take advantage of last time, but was determined to have this time.
As it was, at 7:45ish, it was Me & Gary the owner/sconemaker, for this breakfast included fresh-baked scones, so we chatted a bit about where I’d been in my travels, and how the hostel was going, and which other hostels I’d been to.
It was a good chat.
And a good scone.

Could have nabbed a lift to the ferry. but I chose to walk, mostly because I get bored easily.
And it’s not like Picton is very big, or my bag is that heavy, despite how it feels.
Thus, I ambled via the Awesome Playground,

saw misc boats from the ferry terminal deck,

and got increasing suspicious about the ferry setup; There’s nowhere you can be which will let you watch the ferry dock up-close (the Aratere, at least), and the Bluebridge folks make sure you’re buttoned up before docking.
What don’t they want you to see?
What was added to the Aratere when they lengthened it?
And why are there clawmarks on the pier?

Much like Arthur’s Pass Railway Station, there was a creepy moment on the ferry.

Because there’s a gangway tube thing at the Interislander terminal, foot passengers get on board well before the vehicular ones (It was the other way around on Bluebridge), and because I was sitting close to the entryway, I was the first one on, and walked into the enormous empty lounge, which lead to empty aircraft-style seating, connecting to an empty foodcourt & an equally empty bar.
It filled up quickly … actually, it never got full, even when the group of teenagers going to the/a Stage Challenge arrived & spread themselves out over the couches … but for a while I was having thoughts of the Sapphire & Steel episode with the empty station hotel all over again. “Report On An Unidentified Space Station” would also apply, I think.

Unlike the other ferry, this one had a viewing deck up at the bow, which was kind of nice.

Within Queen Charlotte Sound, and indeed Wellington harbour, things were pretty calm; Out in Cook Strait there was an interesting pitch/roll combo going on, which mostly seemed to be there to amuse small children when the ship hit a decent roller & sent spray everywhere.

Also, there was a scone trolley.

And so, in the primitive conditions of scone trolleys, foodcourts, a bar, a movie theatre showing Batman vs. Superman, (which I skipped), and a playground for the kids, (who I think were playing at shipwrecks, which seems … fate-tempting), we made it to Wellington.

Well, not the centre of Wellington, but there’s a wee bus which took me to a somewhat familiar location.