There were some sage nods and we went back to our beer.
We had flown and driven to Wellington from Napier, Palmerston North, Auckland and Whangarei.
Those of us with beards complained about stuffy flights and face masks.
We were Ubered and taxied about by drivers dutifully wearing face masks.
They weren't complaining.
Some of us had even started using our contact tracing app again. There was something in the air, the government had been warning that a new variant would mean 'swift, severe' action.
The same beer festival in 2020 wasn't a patch on 2019, or 2021 for that matter - last year there were far less breweries involved, because of the 'impact of Covid'.
Wellington was 'chocka' at the weekend.
The festival was a big factor.
It attracts hordes of visitors, and renders Wellington's Cake Tin unusable for sporting fixtures.
Thousands of mostly men aged 30 plus do a slow lap (or laps) of the stadium's concourse, sampling beer at pop-up bars for 4-1/2 hours. It's not a race, but it is a marathon.
Wellington's cafes and restaurants were full, there were queues outside good cafes.
The weather ranged from glorious to aggressive, a storm ripped in off the harbour, vandalised the city for an hour or so and left.
The beer festival was called Beervana. It's a play on words.
If nirvana is an idyllic state or place, Beervana is an idyllic location to drink beer.
Just over 48 hours later, Auckland sneezed, a swift, severe reminder of the fragility of our freedom and the 'impact of Covid'.
Having been here before, we know the level 4 drill.
Stay at home, social distancing, masks, queues, being kind.
Kilo. India. November. Delta.
And hoping for a Covid-free nirvana.
