"Hmmm, Hamilton. Really?", was the response of one of my friends when I said I was moving.

A late model blue car pulls up. It's Easter Sunday and I'm strolling around my new hometown.

The driver winds down the passenger window and ducks down to stare at me across the hand brake and empty passenger seat.

Oh, god. He's going to ask me for directions and I haven't a clue where in Hamilton I am.

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"Do you know anyone who wants to buy some cosmetics?" he says.

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BECA/HAMILTON CITY COUNCIL Neither Google Maps or I know the roads of Hamilton.

"No, sorry," I reply, taken aback.

The driver immediately chucks the car into reverse and speeds backwards up the road for about 200 metres, then turns the car down a side street.

Do I look as though I need some work? Like I'm high maintenance? Or maybe that I'm willing to accept stolen goods?

Waikato Times For sure, it's not all roses and pancakes, and each new place has its quirks but I think Hamilton and I are going to get on just fine.

A friend later told me the man in the blue car was trying to sell me drugs.

So obviously I don't look high maintenance. Unless, perhaps, he was flogging cocaine.

That's a glamorous drug, right?

Mike Scott There is a lot on offer here that I have never been exposed to before.

That was two weeks into my move to the Tron, Mooloo country.

AN UNEXPECTED MOVE

Finding myself in Hamilton was almost as surprising as random drug dealers approaching me on Easter Sunday.

REBEKAH PARSONS-KING/Fairfax NZ Hamilton is like Palmerston North - close to a whole heap of cool places.

It was by accident I found myself packing up the car in Timaru, full stop.

I had got a call from the Waikato Times to arrange an interview for a job I had no memory of applying for.

My boss was sitting in the car as I was having this chat on the phone and I wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible, so I just said "yep, yep, sounds good".

I had been back in Timaru for two years, having left it when I was 18, thinking I'd seen the back of it.

Although I grew to love it on my return, I had sworn black and blue the next place I took a job would be somewhere I actually wanted to live.

And, let's face it, Hamilton does not have the best reputation.

But I went ahead with the interview and I really enjoyed the people who were serving up the questions.

It seemed easy and natural. It was meant to be. I said "yep, yep, sounds good". It was warmer in Hamilton and what was the worst that could happen?

NOT FOR EVERYONE

My friends didn't quite see it that way.

"Hmmm, Hamilton. Really?" one said, eyebrows up around his hairline.

Then there was the former Timaruvian who tweeted me from the comfort of her plush London pad.

"I've never been to Hamilton and, from what I hear, I won't be sorry if it stays that way. Sorry,"

"Don't judge a book by its cover or a town by its chlamydia stats," I responded.

"Why Hamilton, though? What about an actual city?" she kept digging.

I stopped replying.

Only one had something nice to say, and even then there was a downside.

"It's just like Invers [Invercargill], but bigger and warmer and with lots of bogans. You will love it," one friend excitedly told me.

Bogans? That would be Hamilton.

As it was, they were all wrong.

IT HAS ENERGY

Maybe a real estate agent had it best: he told me it was a shit of a place to visit, but brilliant to live in.

When I pulled into the city on a balmy March evening, people were spilling out of bars and restaurants on to Victoria St. There was energy in this town.

I was excited. And, six weeks later, I am still excited. There is a lot on offer here that I have never been exposed to before. Like whipped feta, free feijoas and learning to pronounce Ngaruawahia.

As I was wisely informed, Hamilton is like Palmerston North - close to a whole heap of cool places. The living is supposedly cheaper than Auckland, though I am yet to find a decent place to live.

However, that is another story.

For sure, it's not all roses and pancakes, and each new place has its quirks.

Driving around is one of those.

I don't know my way around the city. Neither, it turns out, does Google Maps.

There have been numerous times I have had the voice on the phone telling me to turn down a street name that doesn't correspond with the name on the sign.

Or it will say I have arrived at the destination, like Chartwell's Coffee Culture or a shopping mall, and I can clearly see I haven't.

I have also discovered when it says to me I am on the fastest route, I'm not. I'm actually on a route that has taken me 10 to 15 minutes longer, detouring through unnecessary roads.

I am finally starting to believe my Timaru doctor when he has lightly suggested to me that Google does not know everything.

Don't worry, Rob, I will keep trying to self-diagnose.

There have been other lows, like wanting to stab someone in the hostel I was staying in.

I clearly remember lying in my bunk bed and all I could hear was the high-pitched screeching of a Japanese girl talking to family or friends via Skype.

It was 11pm. I am at the end of my tether after not having slept well for over a week.

I texted a friend to say "I'm about to steal her Hello Kitty swag and stab her".

He was worried I was actually going to do some damage.

"You talk a good game," he said after I reassured him I wasn't about to commit manslaughter.

She finally hung up at midnight, then stomped about getting ready for bed.

When she finally pulls the covers up, she promptly starts snoring.

"I should let you sleep," he texted, thinking the coast is clear.

"So should captain snore pants," I reply.

He kept texting until 2am, ensuring I didn't flip and take her out as she slept and I didn't.

So maybe it was my vibe the cosmetics seller was picking up on.

Yep, yep, Hamilton and I are going to get on just fine.

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