Cities Exhibition, Tate Modern

I’m not normally the exhibitionist type, don’t you know. But I was sitting in Scooter Works, which seems to be the only cafe in London bar flat white that offers decent coffee, and I was propositioned by an Irishman.

“Yeeelliket.” He told me.

“Pardon?”

“YeellikethaTate.”

“Ah. Yes, certainly.”

So off I went with kiwi mate Steve. Kiwi mate Steve was walking with his Lonely Planet, which I made a fuss of. “Put it away,” I whispered. “We look like tourists.”

“We are tourists, you dick. Get over it.”

Tourists are, you see, vile hoards who invade foreign countries, complain about everything, block walkways, walk slowly, avoid traffic rules, and generally get in the way of normal people. Tourists are, in short, a pain in the ass.

A couple of years ago on the Tongariro crossing a British tourist was attempting conversation with us. “Aha, I spy this being Elvish country. Is Rivendell round the tussock?” I made the mistake by offering a polite smile in return. It seemed to set him off. “Perhaps the Hobbits are out in this Shire. I say! Mount Doom can’t be far off!” He continued his stream of Middle Earth verbiage, and before long I wanted to do the most natural thing possible. I wanted to throttle him.

And he’s not alone. I have it on good authority that DOC rangers are warned about crazy Israelis on their trails, fresh from conscription. There’s the Italians, who I hear treat everyone with contempt, and of course the Yanks. Like a coming storm, you hear them before you see them.

But the problem, the supreme irony, is that kiwi mate Steve is right. I am one of them; I am a snappy-happy, block the entrance to the escalator, gawk at everything tourist.

With shame I bought along my micro-sized Rough Guide, and sneak out my mini London A to Z. I steal away in corners and study it before whipping it back in my bag, careful to make sure no-one knows my dirty secret. I am a paradox and I am ashamed.

We made it to the Tate. We found it thanks to Lonely Planet, and the Cities exhibition was brilliant. It looks at urban life in different parts of the globe, London included. If nothing else, I discovered that there’s a fair chunk of kiwis doing the OE thing in London. Around 27,000 – the population of Timaru.

And hopefully not a single one speaks Elvish.