I took a 10-hour bus ride from Feilding to Auckland, New Zealand. We went through a lot of nowhere. One town still displayed their tired Xmas banners (it’s February); another proudly declared its honor of being the “shearing capital of the world.” Another town, Bulls, (“a town like no udder!”) took its name to heart. Cow murals everywhere. Signs within a one block radius played on the joke until it grew weary (and I only was subjected to the barrage of puns on our 15 minute stretch break. What would it be like to look at this every day?). They read:
- Wireless internet sign: We are surf-a-bull
- Bulls is unforgetabull
- Our items are 100% refundabull
- Not littering is responsibull
- Note which items are recylabull
- Our tourist site is informabull
- This ATM is bankabull
- These baked goods are delectabull
And of course, the real estate agent’s billboard plastered against one of the taller buildings (about five stories) promised “no bull” when serving you.
I remember the days when I would daydream about living in a small town. Those dreams were really about me wanting to escape – to get away from the stress I was facing, both internally and externally imposed. Now that I am more relaxed, towns like this fascinate but scare me. I am a city girl for sure.