The Devonport Folk Music Club

Before one of my program leaders, Jeff, left to go back to the states a few weeks ago he handed me a flyer for The Devonport Music Hall and urged me to take the trip out there to scope the place out. After seeing me lug around my ukulele Jeff had some idea of what I was into and after reading about their weekly ukulele jams I decided to give it a shot. Monday night after class the girls and I took the ferry out to Devonport in an attempt to locate it. After staring at google maps for a few minutes, we realize that this place is NOT on the map, nor does it have any type of address, in fact when putting the name of the venue in the search bar it came up with this:

With a crude idea of where we were going we wandered around Devonport until we found Mount Victoria. We walked around the base of the mountain with no luck. As the sun started to go down we decided that we might as well climb Mount Victoria just in case the map was right. We made it to the summit, looked around and got some beautiful shots of the city at sun down but didn't find any trace of a music venue. No parking lots, no music from afar, nothing. We continued to explore Mount Victoria, finding an old for and a radar station but no sign of the hall. After giving up on finding it and needing to pee badly after an hour, we began to look for some sort of bathroom. I walk around aimlessly on the summit and see a small shack attached to the side of the mountain. I ask Navah to investigate.
Painted mushrooms atop Mount Victoria

"The Devonport Folk Music Club" she says
"What? Stop fucking with us, is it a bathroom or not"
"No, It says the Devonport Folk Music Club."

I jump down from where I'm standing and low and behold, there it was, nuzzled into the side of the mountain almost completely underground. Roger, the owner, was standing in the doorway with a long white beard and after convincing him that we were in fact not lost and did intend to find the place he welcomed us in. After asking him about how the music was tonight, he shrugged his shoulders and pointed towards the door.

Opening the door revealed a scene out of my fucking dreams. There were people in their early 50's 60's and 70's sitting around, drinking beer and playing folk music. The lights were dimmed, antiques hanging on the walls and the faint smells of beer and tea radiating from the floor. Had i died and gone to heaven? Lord knows things couldn't get better. We took our seats in the back and watched Roger introduce each act, making dry comments about their talent's quality and listening to the barrage of witty comebacks that these old friends had derived over the years. The music itself was wonderful. Puts the all the hoots in Boston attics I've ever been to to complete shame. Their knowledge of old Irish, Scottish, and British folk tunes floored me not to mention just how good they were at doing it. The banter between songs was hysterical and it was apparent that these people have known each other, been playing with each other, and have been drinking together in this bunker for decades.
We spent the night stomping our feet, harmonizing where we could, and getting to know the friendly people sitting around us. One couple from Ireland were quite intrigued by us American girls and made us promise to come back the next week. The girls and I ended up buying memberships to the venue, for 10 NZ bucks we get discount admission, access to their incredible folk music library and get this, membership cards. With the threat of missing the last ferry back into Auckland, the girls and I said our goodbyes to the people and the place. We spent the ferry back talking to on of the younger performers who was staying in Auckland for a while after graduating from school in Ireland. It was good to know that there are young people here that enjoy this stuff too.

I've spent a few weeks here in New Zealand already and ill say that I didn't really know if this place was for me. True, it's beautiful, and true, it's summer, but I needed a little more out of this country to make it feel more like it was mine. Discovering The Bunker was what I needed. It planted me right were I wanted to be and for the first time since I've gotten here I finally began to think of this place less as a place and more as home.