The woman at the airport security gate has a good old rummage through my bag, when she spots the glisten of the gold harp on my passport.
“Ah! Congratulations, you must have had a good night last night, eh?”
It’s an early morning flight from Dunedin to Wellington – the last stop of what has been a brilliant tour, and the head isn’t quite as dusty as the Irish fans who partied long into the night.
We are privileged in that this job takes you to some amazing, far-flung parts of the world, while the behind-the-scenes insights you pick up along the way are often as fascinating as what you get to witness during the 80 minutes on the pitch.
Saturday night at Forsyth Barr Stadium was one of those occasions. A proper ‘I was there’ moment.
In the post-match debrief that followed among the travelling Irish media, Donal Lenihan reminded us that he has now seen five Irish teams beat the All Blacks – as he was at Thomond Park in 1978, as well as in Chicago, Dublin and Dunedin.
Seeing Ireland win a series in New Zealand would complete the clean sweep. We doubt there are many, if anyone, in the same position as Lenihan, having witnessed all of those famous Irish wins.
As the jubilant green jerseys spill out into the night, pinching themselves at what they have just seen, we retire to a city centre hotel to continue working.
A heavy security presence at the door means this is the All Blacks team hotel and, just as you think you won’t be welcome around here, one of the senior members of the press pack politely asks the hotel manager if there was any chance a few Irish hacks could work somewhere quiet. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.
“I know exactly who you guys are, come in, you are very welcome, I’ve got just the place for you,” the hotel manager says.
Expecting to be led into some dark, dingy dungeon (that’ll show those cheeky Irish buggers), he guides us into one of the hotel’s private rooms, passes on his congratulations and ensures that a round of drinks is soon on its way.
One-by-one, the All Blacks return for their post-match meal, not that you would have known it from the room we were in because not only could we not see the players, but we couldn’t hear them either.
This was another one of those times when the gig takes you into the belly of the beast because you didn’t need to be sitting next to Beauden Barrett or Ian Foster to sense the deep frustration in the room.
We keep to ourselves until the work is finished, and then leave to get a sense of the scenes on the streets of Dunedin.
There is a graciousness in the air and, even if that apparently wasn’t everyone’s experience after Ireland’s win on Saturday, the Kiwis that we encountered couldn’t have been more accepting of their defeat.
We should have assumed as much because a few days earlier when we first landed in Dunedin, a lack of taxis in an airport that was as quiet and remote as Kerry meant we were stranded until a helpful airport worker came to our aid.
He soon had a couple of us on a private tour bus, while the others managed to eventually secure an Uber which, as it turned out, was driven by a Syrian man, who came to New Zealand six years ago as a refugee.
No sooner had the driver of our minibus clocked our accents when he launched into a conversation about the upcoming game. Meanwhile, in the Uber, the Syrian driver was also talking about the All Blacks, to leave us all in no doubt that this is rugby country.
Our driver told us we would be surprised at how welcome the Irish would be made to feel in Otago, which was just as well because a potentially embarrassing mix-up in communication meant we had no means to pay him.
The driver didn’t have a card machine, we didn’t have cash, and when we asked to be brought to the nearest ATM, he laughed: “You won’t get any of them around here, mate.”
The remainder of the half-hour journey from Dunedin airport to St Clair (a really beautiful spot), where we were based, was spent fretting over how we were going to manage this sticky situation.
We needn’t have worried.
Upon reaching our destination, our driver, from Otago Tours, helps us with our luggage, sticks out his hand and with a firm handshake says: “This one is on me boys, call it a southern welcome. Good luck this weekend.”
Having spent the previous 13 days in Auckland — a nice if unremarkable city — this was quite the cultural, and indeed hospitality change.
Wellington has a different vibe to it, and not just because there is a series on the line this weekend.
The city seems to have a bit more character than Auckland and Dunedin; even the locals have already given us several warnings about the wind and rain that was evident throughout Ireland’s win over the Maori on Tuesday.
Suddenly it makes sense why their Super Rugby team is called the Hurricanes.
Earlier on the trip, we stayed in the same team hotel as the Tongan rugby league team. This time around we were shacked up with the Maori All Blacks ahead of their defeat to Ireland.
Sharing the same breakfast room and tiny elevators, it was once again eye-opening to see the sheer size of the players up close and personal, while the sound of the team doing the Haka before and after the game was enough to send shivers down your spine and reverberations through the hotel.
Make no mistake about it, this really is rugby country, and come Saturday night at Sky Stadium, Ireland can put the entire place into mourning.
