I Guess That English Degree Came in Handy After All..

In my eyes, it's a bit problematic that my first experiences of trying to do 'adult' things like find a place to live and a job to sustain me (versus one to fund my travels), has brought me to the opposite side of the world. Now I realize people do things like this all of the time with absolutely no help, but if I wanted an easier time of it with my privileged lifestyle, I could have moved out of my parents home in Northwest Edmonton and into the Whyte or Jasper Ave areas of the city so I could still go home on Sundays for dinner and laundry. But nope, I decided to come to New Zealand. After almost a month of being a tourist, I have significantly drained my bank account. While I could survive over the next while without a job, the cost of accommodation would ruin me. As I seem incapable of just figuring 'it' out when I get 'there', I spent the last week on my tour of the country scouring backpackers boards for something – anything to guarantee me of a job. I didn't find something to pay me, but I did find a work for accommodation in a prison. Yes, a prison.

I stayed in a converted prison in Ljubljiana, Slovenia two years ago that had been renovated into a bright, cheerful hostel with daily art projects in the main foyer, a shishah den at the back of the restaurant and arty, warm prison cells to sleep in. That was part of the inspiration for signing up at the Napier Historical Prison. The thing is, it's not quite as renovated as the one in Ljubljiana. Well, it hasn't been renovated at all.

Napier Prison was opened in 1862, and for the next 130 years it was open for crazy criminals to be locked up for anything from fraud to cold blooded murder. Nowadays it's just a historical prison open for tours. I've been hired on as a travel writer/researcher, where I am going to research a city somewhere in the world and write a script for an audio guide to be recorded at a later date. I guess the owners of the prison also own the Audiotour company, so they can offer people a place to stay and work for the separate company for free. Relevant to my English degree? Yup!

My new home is on Death Row in Cell 16. My cell is basically a square box that is as long as my mattress. I don't quite think the cell would comfortably sleep anyone over 6 feet tall. There are layers of peeling paint and daddy long legs in the corners of the ceiling (any other spider might bother me, but I'm sure these guys are dealing with all the really bad bugs). The only window is high above my head and covered in thick bars. I have to stand on the shelves to see out of it, and it's also the only place in this tiny room that has cell reception. The light switch is outside, and I think the bed is an original. It definitely won't help to heal the stress I've put on my back from my overweight backpack. The door is original, and since it is a prison, the bolt only locks on the outside. As one guy here pointed out, a cruel joke would be to lock me in. I don't know if I could handle that.

Still, this is my home for Christmas. I'm so stoked. I hope the novelty lasts forever.