Walking on the spot (Dunedin, New Zealand)

Dunedin, the Adelaide of New Zealand. It's all churches and parks and carefully mapped streets (ok, maybe not the streets so much). Underneath that veneer of respectability, as in Adelaide, is the bogan car culture. And god forbid we haven't even made Invercargill yet, dear reader!

Sitting at an eatery on the Octagon provides an excellent opportunity to watch the local 'townies', not 'students', cruise the streets. Their cars are invariably loud, old and have had much love and too much money poured into them. As Jayne noted this afternoon as we were enjoying the sun and a quiet wine, all of these cars have one thing in common ... a young, white, male driver - no passenger. And for good reason I would suggest.

As we enjoyed our moment in the sun after walking the street art precinct, the peace was shattered by the revving of a car at the lights. It was a brand new Maserati with a middle aged man at the wheel. He looked before he revved. I just raised my hand and returned serve with the international hand gesture for wanker. The revving stopped. Maybe it was me, maybe he'd attracted the attention he desired. It's nice to know that one of the mullet-sporting bogans driving a twenty year old Mazda 1 around the circuit with an extra loud exhaust might one day become a bigger wanker with an expensive car. The world turns and nothing changes.

Ah, yes, dear reader,  now where was I? Oh, yes. The day commenced in beautiful sunshine once again. An absolute stunner of a day, blue skies, sun and a slight breeze. Our first stop was Olveston House, a stately home, as one might say in the 'old country'. It was all of five minutes walk (not uphill) from where we are staying.

The house is set on an acre or so and is now protected from the street by a series of trees that have grown so high as to obscure the view of the ocean. We booked a guided tour for 10:45 and fortunately we were the only ones so to do. A personal guided tour. Excellent.

The library and the writing desk.

Building commenced in 1904 and was completed 18 months later in 1906. What makes the time frame so remarkable is that everything was built/cut/manufactured in England and transported out here. Except the wallpaper that came from America because it was tax free. When you see the intricacy of the timber work, you can only marvel at what was accomplished.

The reception room.

No doubt my editor will embellish this section, but the level of technology built into the structure, much of it still used today, is nothing short of far-sighted brilliance. They had:

• electricity (2 years before Dunedin city) and the locals used to walk up to watch the lights come on for entertainment,
• central heating, including heated towel racks,
• an internal phone system,
• a bell system for the servants,
• gas cooking,
• an internal lift (bigger than a dumb waiter),
• water filtration, for cooking, not drinking,
• hot and cold running water.

It was absolutely amazing. The younger of the two children left the house and its contents to the City of Dunedin, hence it is the tourist attraction it is today. The house itself is filled with original artefacts of the time that were collected by the family in many overseas travels to the Middle East, Japan and other far flung parts of the world.

The drawing room.

Our tour firstly took in the family zone, consisting of a library, formal dining and breakfast room, a reception room for larger social functions and a drawing room for more intimate gatherings. There was an entry foyer and cloak room from which visitors were announced into the inner sanctum.  All rooms had their own distinct decor and colour scheme, matched by tiled fireplaces that were there in addition to the central heating system. A large central staircase led to an open area from which musicians could provide entertainment for guests while not getting in their way.

The Games room.

On this level were the family bedrooms as well as the bathroom, replete with bath and shower, and a separate toilet. In the master bedroom was a substantial jewellery safe built into the wall. Adjacent to the bedrooms was a billiards and games room that boasted an ingenious lighting and ventilation system that both yielded natural light and allowed cigar smoke to be expelled.

The kitchen, with cooking options.

We were also shown the staff side of the house which included pretty decent accommodation as well as the working areas of the kitchen and butlery, again featuring a still functioning refrigerator, a meat safe room, a gas cooker as well as a double fuel stove.

Apart from the telephone system, there was the intricate bell service which allowed for staff to be summoned to any part of the house as required.

Th Fiat is hidden in the garage on the right.

The gardens were beautiful, although probably not in original condition. The green house contained its own display of exotic plants and flowers. The garden also housed the garage with the last car the family owned - a 1920's Fiat that has been fully restored to its former glory, despite having been forgotten for decades in a partially flooded backyard somewhere else in Dunedin. 

Ok, it's the greenhouse. Like really.

The whole property is like a time capsule that showcases the colonial lifestyle of the wealthy entrepreneurs of the early settlement of Dunedin. It was such a fabulous start to the day, made so for us by the exceptionally well-informed guide who, it seems, could speak in detail about any piece among the thousands of artefacts displayed in the house's amazing collection. She was also well-versed in the architectural features of the house and the history of each member of the family. No question stumped her - very impressive!

Pretty.

After a brief rest stop at the apartment, we girded our loins for the descent into Dunedin and the street art precinct. They love a bit of street art in NZ. Interestingly the style of art was very different from Christchurch to Dunedin, reflecting the character of each city. The Dunedin art scene was more interpretative rather than decorative like Christchurch. There were many different sites, not all of them easy to photograph. I won't attempt to interpret them, I'll just select a few for you to peruse, dear reader.

This is by Magee - we see a lot of their art in Sydney.

My favourite. Pity about the truck.

Not even the wide angle lens does justice to this.

This actually spanned another two scenes.

There followed a brief rest at the Dunedin Social Club (it's a pub) where we were entertained by some locals. Most of their conversation is not suitable for this blog and one of their number was sooo drunk that he couldn't bend to pick up his dropped cigarette. When we left and they made to move to our table in the shade, they just dragged him in his chair. The lights were on but no one was home. Dazed and confused.

Once again we ascended the mountain to our eyrie. A journey which spawned today's title, Walking On the Spot, by Crowded House from their eponymous 1986 album, because that is how Jayne feels climbing the mountain.

We descended one last time for dinner. A highly recommended Italian restaurant that we thought was pretty average. The most interesting point of the night was the Chianti, the first bottle they presented was bagged. Now that's a problem I haven't experienced for a long time. No arguments - they took it away, brought us another bottle and then the maître d' came by later to check if we were okay and to chat about how infrequently this happens....

And I thought I was ordering Verve. Pay more attention.

And that brings us to a close. Tomorrow we have a couple of things to explore on the Otago Peninsula and then it's off to motor city, Invercargill.

Until then ...

Walking through the ruins (Christchurch to Dunedin, New Zealand)

Our last morning in Christchurch presented itself with hope and possibility, dear reader. Not that we cared, we were going to be on the road by 11am heading for Dunedin, a drive of not quite 5 hours. Before that, breakfast. "The greatest pie you'll ever try" read the advertising. They love a bit of hyperbole (pronounced hyperbowl if you're that fool Andrew Bolt) over here in the seventh state. Yesterday the best cheese toasties in the world, weren't. However, the pie lived up to its strut and was everything it said it would be. Very tasty and terrific pastry; not the greatest I've ever had, but close.

Looks as good as it tasted.

After fending off vicious flocks of attack birds. OK, they were sparrows, 100% committed to keeping the tables outside the pie shop sparkling clean. We went to the Majestic Tea rooms for a final coffee. In we walked and the young woman behind the counter welcomed us and enquired, "Two long blacks?" This was the third time we walked into the shop. Very well done.

Jayne being watched by the cleaners.

With no further reason to delay our departure, we returned to the hotel and checked out. We drove away, once they had brought the car around, a request we made an hour earlier. The Novotel is good in so many ways, but it just seems to be missing the little details that make an experience next level.

More street art.

Before leaving Christchurch and with the unseasonal weather closing in on us, we detoured to the other memorial for the quake victims, the white chair exhibit. It is situated on the outskirts of the main city centre on a site where another church once stood. This earthquake must have really rocked the fundamentalist christians, destroying so many churches.

The white chair memorial.

Our guide for yesterday's walk actually prefers this memorial. While I can understand why, I prefer the peace and serenity of the wall and walkway by the river. The installation is set out in a circular formation of 185 individual chairs that have been painted white. Each chair represents someone who died in the quake and each chair is different, from the baby car capsule for the 5 week old, through to a wheelchair. The site is on a busy intersection so the traffic noise is a constant distraction. As an installation, the concept is great, if only they could find another space as a permanent home that also conveys respect.

There are areas of Christchurch where you feel like you are still walking through ruins as Split Enz sang in 1981. However, it is a beautiful place (despite the weather), and the people are lovely. There are still things for us to do here so we will return at some stage.

Of course the drizzle, not forecast and unseasonal, had recommenced as we walked back to the car. Between there and Timaru it rarely let up. Sometimes it was light rain at other times it was torrential, to the extent where we worried what Dunedin would bring given its reputation.

Caroline Bay across the sand dunes.

Before that, we stopped at Timaru at Caroline Bay. Jayne's grandfather was born here (another skeleton in the closet, Kiwi blood). The bay is quite open and the water is the most beautiful turquoise, although very windy. We walked along the boardwalk and into the park in search of the famed rose garden. The park is large and the garden not sign posted so it proved a challenge, but we succeeded. It would be quite spectacular when the first blush of roses comes on, but at this stage of the season it was in need of some love and affection, and a good tip prune. The collection boasts roses from many countries time periods, some going back centuries.

Not up to standard (see what I did there?).

Back into the car for the final drive to Dunedin which was complicated only by New Zealand roads and overly patient, polite New Zealand drivers. There were a number of road work areas which slowed us down - the worst, a 10 minute wait at a section where a contra flow had been set up. 

This is the 'Face of Peace' apparently. It gave me nightmares.

The road from Christchurch to Dunedin is Highway 1. No, not Sherbet when they tried to shed their teen image dear reader. It's the main highway and for most of the way, it is single carriageway with specific overtaking lanes. You'll be pleased to know that the sign  "Passing Lane in 4 KMs" means the same thing in NZ as it does in Australia - speed up so no one can pass you and then slow down again once the passing opportunity is gone. Frustrating. As is sitting in a line of cars when it is clear to overtake, but no one does because it's not a dedicated passing lane.

One of the very few blooms in the Rose Gaarden.

One of the many signs along the highway grabbed our attention. "Seen a wallaby?" it screamed. Report it! Apparently the Kiwis are scared of wallabies, just not the kind that play rugby. No seriously, they are another introduced species. The colonisers really had no idea, did they? Australian possums are an absolute scourge over here as are stoats and in the 1800s the English introduced 5 species of wallaby for hunting. Two species are still quite prevalent - on the South Island it is Bennett's Wallaby. 

The view from near our apartment, well at the bottom of the driveway.

Driving into Dunedin on a cloudless afternoon is quite spectacular. The ocean was a brilliant blue to match the sky and the sun was so welcome after Christchurch. Declan, the Irish voice of Siri, navigated us to our apartment. The beautiful weather was our first shock, the second was the steepness of the streets. Nowhere did it say Dunedin was carved into a cliff face and you would be required to abseil to shops and the restaurant strip. Walking distance it said. Walking distance on the way down; the return journey would be a different matter. Rope ladders?

The house next door. Understated.

The apartment is lovely. It's a studio with a little courtyard, kitchenette, bathroom/laundry and walk in robe with a bag storage area. And it is walking distance to the restaurant strip or the octagon hub as it is depicted on the map.

Dunedin is a university city and the students are back this week, as all the locals keep telling us. There were live bands playing on campus and we could hear them into the night because of the natural amphitheatre effect of the hills. That was our soundtrack as we walked down the street and stairs in search of dinner. Café culture rules in a university town but they all close in the afternoon and we had no idea where we going so we wandered around the octagon until we found a place with a vacant table, Vault 21, on the inside of the octagon, proved an excellent choice. Southeast Asian influenced, the food was very tasty and the service was great.

Is that a castle? Um, no, it's Otago Boys' High School.

And the walk home you ask dear reader? Let's not dwell on it. Dunedin is home to the steepest street in the world. We are not staying there, it just feels like it.

The next morning proved that cloudless blue sky we enjoyed yesterday afternoon was no aberration. It was an absolute stunner and while we weren't going to waste it, we have decided to slow the pace a little.

The railway station.

First stop was the farmers' markets at Dunedin Railway Station. Much of the building is undergoing restoration and is under wraps. The grounds are beautiful with hedges, lawns and flower beds. The markets were next door in a car park area, adjacent to the platform and tracks. It was the usual fare, fresh fruit and vegies, butchery items from the land and sea, preserves and an assortment of bakery and fast food items and mind-numbingly stupid people who behave live mindless morons and block every passage of access and egress while deciding what to do next. We made an obligatory purchase, pork sausage rolls, the only ones on the entire South Island (allegedly).

Jayne asked was the station still in use and then ...

We then headed for Emerson's Brewery, a favourite local establishment. It was opened by a father and son in the '90s and proved so popular and so successful that Speight's (a big brewer) bought them out. We were a tad earlier than anticipated so we walked down to the under-cover stadium where Otago take on Auckland this evening.

Good food, good beer, good times.

Back at the Brewery, we found a table in semi-shade and sampled some of their wares. On the front page of the 'Drinks' menu it says, "DRINKS, well, mostly beers, but you are in a brewery". Makes sense. Jayne went for a Porter's Ale and I had the usual Pilsener. Lunch was, fish and chips, well we are in New Zealand and we had to hear it said at some point.

Robbie Burns (and seagull) looking over a couple of pubs in the Octagon.

Then it was time to steel ourselves for the scaling of the mountain back up to our accommodation, where the afternoon was spent sitting in the sunshine, blogging and sipping Central Otago wine.

Until tomorrow, which promises more sunshine.

Weather with you (Christchurch, New Zealand)

Although we were more than happy with last night's meal, we had hoped to dine on the Tramway Restaurant. It was booked out both nights. Maybe next time.

The morning crept in as it did yesterday, grey and cold with a low rain clouds coming down from the hills above the city. That set the tone for the day, despite the more hopeful weather forecast. No doubt that was later revised to: rain. It certainly was "stormy weather" although it wasn't at "57 Mt Pleasant Street" as Crowded House sang back in 1991, it was all over Christchurch. Like the street art works.

There were so many to choose from ...

Breakfast was back at Riverside Market, and, en route, we dropped into Macpac to purchase a second umbrella. For obvious reasons. Today we sampled "the world's best damn toastie". I had a New Yorker with roast beef, relish, a pickle and assorted cheddar. Jayne selected the Dutch, which had ham and mustard but also pineapple, that well known Dutch crop. Anyway, as she did in Amsterdam, Jayne asked for the pineapple to left off the sandwich. 'World's best' is a big claim and they were good, but I've had better. You should never talk yourself up to the point where disappointment is always a possibility. Tomorrow, I'm going after the "world's best pie".

The Cathedral. Also the view from our window.

No time for coffee this morning as we scarpered back to the hotel to collect the backpack and head towards the botanic gardens to join a walking tour of the city. I tried, unsuccessfully, to book online yesterday, but it wouldn't accept my credit card for payment. Milton, our guide, had heard this story before and expressed his dissatisfaction with whatever booking company they use. Walk Christchurch is staffed by volunteers and much of the money raised is put back into the post-2011 quake restoration program of significant buildings, like the Arts Centre, formerly the University of Canterbury.

The tourist trams.

The drizzle/rain was still intermittent and I had yet to resort to a jumper or to my newly purchased umbrella. Although that would change throughout the course of our walk.

The Cathedral (in the background) is the centre of the city.

Christchurch is a young city (reputedly the most English city outside of England [not that that is anything to be proud of]- they like superlatives here) and evidence of its varying phases of growth is visible everywhere. There are original weatherboard houses, traditional blue stone buildings that have been repurposed, buildings from other periods that have been rebuilt and strengthened after the devastation of 2011 or buildings that have replaced those that were not able to be saved. It is a testament to the resilience of the people.

The Dance-O-Mat venue.

There are artworks/murals, statues and sculptures at every turn. I'm sure not all are sanctioned by the powers that be, but they add to the general feeling of the city. From the Dance-O-Mat on a vacant block, (there to assist people with PTSD. No, dear reader, I'm not sure how spending $2 on a loud outdoor disco machine helps any mental illness, let alone PTSD, but there you have it. For those of you wondering whether I tested it out or not ... I did not), to the beautiful murals on blank walls bordering car parks, to random sculptures. Christchurch is a beautiful and clean city. Even in the persistent rain.

The stained glass window in the Great Hall of the former University building.

Milton, our local guide, provided a commentary on the tour which was an effective blend of history and personal experience. He didn't over-dwell on the quake but pointed out its architectural impact when it was relevant. Later in the tour, he provided his personal experience of February 22, 2011, as well as a brief reference to the other more recent tragedy of the Christchurch Muslim massacres. We visited buildings of historical import that have been/are being saved (at astronomical cost) as well as new buildings that signify an optimistic outlook to a rejuvenated phoenix-like future.

A sculpture by Antony Gormley.

Amazingly, since the quake, due to the liquefaction issues (look it up - we had never heard the term before either), the land occupation area of Christchurch has been more than halved. There are large tracts of previously suburban sprawl that cannot be rebuilt and have been razed to the ground and left vacant as open spaces for recreational use. Some of the inner city areas that were previously occupied by now demolished office blocks, are now being redeveloped into apartment complexes to lure residents into the city away from now uninhabitable suburbia.

We also visited the quake memorial on the River Avon, (river, lol, it would rate as fast flowing creek in Australia) replete with many floral tributes laid at yesterday's anniversary ceremony. Tomorrow, before we depart, we will go to the other quake memorial, known as 185 chairs, one chair for each of the people who died in the quake. This is not the official city memorial but is maintained by local groups to uniquely remember and represent each person.

The riverside memorial.

Our walking loop completed, we sadly parted from the annoying female traveller who:

• arrived after the 10:30 am commencement time, despite staying across the road from the meeting point,
• turned up for a cash only tour without any cash and had to be helped to find an ATM along the route so she could pay,
• proceeded to bail up the apprentice tour guide at every stop to loudly discuss her life and his, in competition with the guide who was actually conducting the tour,
• ignored the directive of the guide not to purchase food in the markets and then made the rest of the group wait till he went back to retrieve her, and
• repeatedly asked for information to be repeated so she could write it on her map of Christchurch.

Yes, yes, dear reader, I know you're speculating on the nationality of said traveller. Well, she was not a colonial. It was someone from the race of colonisers that has destroyed so much of the world. Unless of course you are a part of the colonisers. She was an English woman. Totally focussed on herself. A Karen, in the language of our children, a white, middle-aged, entitled cow who could not or would not see beyond her own concerns.

Apart from this individual, the local guide walking tour continues to prove itself to us to be the best way to experience cities around the world. The tour ended where it had commenced, near the Botanic Garden.

Begonias in the Botanic Garden.

We decided to revisit one tour stop which was the New Regent Street, another big claim as 'the most beautiful street in New Zealand' to try to get a well earned coffee - alas the most beautiful street is all show and no substance (like Peter Dutton or today's social media influencers) since most of the beautiful shops were closed. The gin joint was open and we were tempted dear reader, but no, not this time.

New Regent Street.

We headed back to the CBD to grab an ironically great coffee from the Majestic Tea Rooms, after which we repaired to our hotel to sort our dinner destination - Francesca's Italian Kitchen, so that the premise of pizza being the only truly international food could be tested once again.

Outside the gin joint in New Regent Street.

Dinner is over and I now sit at the window of our hotel room watching the Tramway Restaurant doing laps of the city. Am I jealous? No. Resentful? No. We had the most wonderful (and cheaper) dinner at Francesca's. The food was excellent, the staff delightful and it was all of 5 minutes walk from the hotel.  As was the case the last evening, many people were turned away. It is essential in our post-COVID world to book. And in any case it's polite.

Squid ink spaghetti and seafood.

Venison pepperoni pizza, 'Bambi'

Tomorrow is a transit day. We have a couple of things to do here in soggy Christchurch in the morning and then we are driving to Dunedin. It is a four and half hour drive (plus stops along the way) so I doubt that there will be a post tomorrow.

Until next time.

Rain (Christchurch, New Zealand)

There are two things of significance I neglected to include in the last post, dear reader. Before that, a spoiler alert, there are no pictures in this post - sorry. Like, rain and stuff, and we didn't go far from the hotel.

The first is the amazing scenery as you fly into Christchurch and the second was the friendliness of the border staff. The latter proving that you can be efficient and effective at your work without being an absolute prick - yes America I'm looking at you.

The mountains you fly over are amazing, like I've nothing I've ever seen before. Australia's old mountains are more a set of rolling hills by comparison. And Canada's magnificent mountains are covered in trees. Those as you fly into Christchurch are like the bones of some ancient animal, a densely packed rib cage, tall, and steeply sided with sharp summits. There is precious little vegetation beyond a particular height. I have no idea whether this is natural. There were, what looked like, scree slopes from the top of many ridges, but of fine silt or mud, not rock. Whatever, it was truly breathtaking. Then it all gives way to what I assume is the Canterbury plain.

That spectacular welcome was almost matched by the immigration officer. He couldn't have been friendlier. Business was slow so we had a chat about less friendly arrivals in other countries - including Australia. It doesn't cost much to be nice and it really sets up your time in another country.

As the forecasters predicted, the beautiful sunshine gave way to rain and today's title. A classic from 1983 by Dragon, have a listen. Undeterred we set out for breakfast. It drizzled. We walked up to Riverside Markets. It is a bit of a tourist mecca and well worth a visit. There were plenty of places open for breakfast but there was nowhere to sit. The restaurants upstairs had yet to commence service so we wandered back in the direction of the hotel to Majestic, a small café in one of the lanes. The coffee was excellent, so I had two. The breakfast fare was limited but sufficient for our first full day in Christchurch.

Back to the hotel to collect the car and drive to, wait for it, Westfields. Yes, the shopping giant exists here too. Sadly. We found our way to Macpac to purchase walking boots to replace those that supported me in the Tassie walk last week. Aside from the summer sale here in NZ, the exchange rate ensured my purchase was quite cost effective.

Oh, alright, one photo. New boots.

Then it was time to visit Pandora. The store, not the person from that daggy teen fiction novel. We purchase a kiwi on a silver fern, you can't get much more NZ than that. Unless there was a pack of ugly, cauliflowered-eared forwards trying to ruck the kiwi. Sorry, I got carried away. Pandora charm safely in the back pack, we departed for the drizzle of the open air car park and the drive back to the hotel.

Once again the rain eased, lulling us into a false sense of security, like an All Blacks team conceding the first points. No, wait, that doesn't happen. Well, neither regularly nor often. Where was I dear reader? Oh, yes, the rain had eased so we thought we would visit the Quake City Exhibition. It was ... amazing, emotional, interesting, fascinating, terrifying ... I'm wearing something to bed tonight. Just to be prepared. Well, there's a first time for everything.

Seriously, the quake centre is a must do. There are comparisons I could make with other cities that have experienced disasters, but really, people will look at population size, nature of the disaster or whatever. There have been many earthquakes that have affected Christchurch and all of New Zealand. It's called the shaky isles for a reason. But, here we have the stories of people on a screen before us who saved lives, who lost their loved ones, who found their children, alive. We saw their anguish, their soul searching, their questioning of their lives, who they were, what they had done with their time on the planet and what the do in the future. It was confronting and it should be. It was also uplifting and funny. Kiwis share that same laconic wit that Aussies do. I don't know if that helped. It didn't stop me from crying and tearing up now just thinking about these people and their stories.

And today, of all days was the anniversary of that major quake, February 22, 2011. That was just a freaky coincidence. We almost didn't go in. It was raining, well drizzling and we'd walked over there expecting to go straight in. Not today, there was a queue of 20 people standing in the Christchurch weather. One person out, one person in. So we waited, and you know dear reader I queue for no man, nor woman neither. Today, I queued and it was worth it, for so many reasons.

Anyway, enough sentimentality. Sniff. I'm not crying, it's the air conditioning. 

We spent so long in the Quake Centre we didn't need to return to the hotel prior to our dinner booking at Original Sin. Great name. How could we resist? It's nothing fancy. A small wine list and a mixture of Italianesque food options. No, dear reader, I did not take the pizza option. There was a rack of lamb dish that was offered for two, so I threw myself on the Ash Wednesday sacrificial fire to watch my good wife eat meat (travellers' dispensation claimed). Worth it. I can have pizza tomorrow.

The rain continues to drift in and we continue to alter our plans to accommodate the weather. It's like being Peter Dutton. Yeah. Nah. Nothing is like that, in my experience. The weather might force us to adjust what we are doing, but it doesn't make us pretend we are something we are not.

Until next time.

Hopefully with pictures. Of things other than my boots. Oh, whatever, I was excited about my new boots.

Slice of Heaven (Christchurch, New Zealand)

Well hello again my dear reader. We are back, travelling together, no 'ridiculous' bushwalking adventures on this trip. No, with Jayne by my side it will be the usual luxury to which she has become accustomed. That said, I'm not complaining.

For the next three weeks we will be circumnavigating the South Island of New Zealand. As an extra challenge we are confining the song related titles of the blog to that of New Zealand artists. Today, Christchurch was an absolute picture when we arrived, blue skies, light breeze, a true slice of heaven. Cheers to Dave Dobbyn, actually Sir Dave Dobbyn, wtf, all the way from the 1980s. Sought of apt in some fashion. The time period, not the knighthood, although they belong to the past as well. However, I'm getting ahead of myself.

We set the alarm to ensure we woke in time this morning. It's a simple thing and yet something so intrusive and most unpleasant. Yes, we lived by the bell in more ways than one in our working lives, but now prefer to respond to natural life rhythms. Not so today. Up, dressed and out the door  before 7am. Since my last excursion the the airport went so well via Sydney Trains, I thought we would utilise that mode of transport other than a taxi or Uber. Hmmm. Signal failure in Campbelltown caused delays to all airport trains. Typical.

Anyway, we wrangled the luggage and crowd at Central Station, checked in and negotiated security. That is always interesting, negotiating security. They seem to create random rules for each occasion. As is usual I was selected for a body scan, well they are only human. However, I was ahead of them today and wore joggers not my usual boots. I would not be sent back for a re-scan. Wrong. "There is something in your pocket" ... a handkerchief that the dude at the scanner said not to put into a plastic tub. "And your back?" sorry, it was humid, I was sweating and that always shows up. "Please put your glasses on and go through again". Made it. Why do they always win?

Meanwhile ... where is Jayne? Still coming through and just when she can see Nirvana and freedom, out of the shadows pops the guy who checks for explosive residue. He speaks to Jayne and I smirk. Too many years working with young people - this young man is on the spectrum and he is following every textbook step as he has been taught. No jokes, no smiles, just procedure: hands, shoes, pockets, inside bags, even the mobile were all swiped to test for residue. He has found the perfect job.

Finally free, Jayne relates her saga. She was sent back to remove her glasses. Yes, I was told to put mine on. "Put them in the tub," they said. "The tub has passed through to the other side," (not that sort of other side, just through the x-ray machine) says Jayne. "Then go back and get another tub." FFS. I'm sure they do this for fun. Even the Qantas staff questioned the shifting sands of regulations at security.

The food is better than the view from First Lounge.

As time draws to its inexorable end on my platinum status with the Qantas Frequent Flyer program, I enjoy the First Class Lounge more and more. Today for breakfast, a long black, BLT and champagne, of course. Jayne had some egg thing. You know I do not understand the fascination with eggs, my long suffering reader.

Random shot as we approach Christchurch.

The flight was unremarkable. It was 30 minutes late leaving. Nothing unusual for Qantas. My bag was returned unscathed. Now THAT IS remarkable given my recent experience. By 4:30pm (NZ time) we had picked up the car (scored an upgrade because I didn't expect or need one) and checked in to our hotel.

Last time I saw a river that wide I was in Canada.

"Should I call you 'doctor' or 'sir', "enquired the hotel manager. "Call me Brad," I replied.

The view of the Cathedral from our room.

A quick reconnoître and off to the supermarket to purchase some items we opted not bring. Then it was back to our hotel to watch the evening descend slowly over Christchurch, while enjoying a bottle of rosé from Wooing Tree with the BEST POTATO CHIPS IN THE WORLD. No, I'm serious. They are very difficult to procure in Australia. See the photo below.

Find them. Buy them. Eat them.

That is pretty much the first day. Jayne is researching options for tomorrow. Sadly, our slice of heaven is about to be replaced with something, well, less heavenly or more heavenly in a literal sense. Rain is forecast for the next couple of days, but hey, it's New Zealand and the South Island, you have to expect some rain.

I will, as usual, attempt to blog every day, but I'm fairly certain that is a bridge too far.

Until next time.