I feel possessed (Hà Nôi, Vietnam)

Hello again dear reader, it has been a busy couple of days. Currently we are on a bus, heading for Ha Long Bay, but that is the future. Let’s return to the past.

It is officially our last day of freedom, tomorrow evening the tour commences. While an organised tour has its benefits, we like our freedom, so today we decided we would tie up a few loose ends and have a relaxing day.

The historic tour of the hotel was interesting but it didn’t allow enough time for us to read all of the information on the boards. After breakfast, that is where we headed. The posters detail a potted history of the Metropole Hotel from its beginnings in 1901. It covers French occupation and wars, international and civil. One of the more interesting posters listed ‘famous visitors’. Generally, they were politicians and celebrities like Brad Pitt or more classically Somerset Maugham.

One of the posters

The Metropole became a pseudo activist centre during the American War. Famous American anti-war activists like Jane Fonda and Joan Baez stayed here. As did war correspondents from many different countries. It has been the centre of social and political life in Hà Nôi for many years.

An historic phone still in use.

Happily there were some Australian names on the ‘important persons’ list. Distressingly one was Scott John Morison. He was full-named. When your mum does that you know you’ve been bad, so it’s quite fitting, I guess. He was a bad PM. If I’d been his dad, I would have wiped that smirk of his smug little face when he was still a child.

Sorry, I digress. One excellent quote from Alfred Cunningham (I have no idea) was, “After a visit to Hà Nôi one is curious to learn what the French would have done with Singapore or Hong Kong if they had possessed them”. He sounds impressed and I love the colonisers’ use of the word ‘possessed’. Which of course inspired today's title. I feel possessed by Crowded House

A painting by Joan Baez completed while staying at the Metropole.

I haven’t checked, dear reader, because the hotel was booked for us as part of the tour, but I assume it is 5 star. The giveaway is that the staff hover like ringwraiths, waiting to swoop without notice. They can be walking down a corridor and will change direction to open a door for you, or push the elevator button. At breakfast, after selecting some delectable pastries, they stealthily sneak up behind you and pull your chair out as you are about to sit. Everywhere you go, you are met with ‘bonjours’ and ‘bonsoirs’ and bowing. All a bit disconcerting for a working-class boy. Sometimes for amusement value after I’m greeted in French, I continue with “ Comment ça va”? Usually I get a smile, but occasionally there is mild panic. Very few Sofitel staff speak more French than “hello”.

Jayne, not known for her powers of observation, is able to spot a Pandora store from 500 metres through haze, heavy traffic and crowds. Not here and she actually remarked on it. A quick question to Dr Google suggested the Pandora store was next door to the hotel and that we would have walked past it a dozen times. No way. I was shocked. Armed with our trusty paper map, we went in search for a trinket to represent Hà Nôi to commence the next bracelet (the original one is now fully occupied).

Oh what an adventure! Around the block and around the block we wandered without success. It appears that the Pandora store that was next door is no longer. Renovations. Jayne’s Pandora-detection sense had not failed her after all. Relieved, we adjourned for a beer, although we were probably drinking for different reasons. Ho Chi Minh City will have to be the first Vietnamese city to grace her new bracelet.

We found a wedding.

The afternoon was still ours to determine, before the tour officially commenced in the evening. On the food tour yesterday, we had asked Sinh, our guide, where we might find a place to purchase an Ào Dái as a birthday present for our oldest granddaughter. In the course of our meanderings around the Old City, Sinh took us down a street that contained a number of shops jam packed with these Vietnamese long dresses. He waved at all of them and then said, “We would go to Vinh Thang if we want one. Made on the premises from top quality silk.” This became the focus of our last free afternoon.

And another wedding.

We set out around the now very familiar lake to retrace our path to the Ào Dái street. A quick reconnoître of the other ready to wear shops led us into Vinh Thang’s shop, with sewing machine positioned right at the front door and the walls festooned with samples of silks, all colours and intricately embroidered, hanging from the ceiling, ready to be selected and sewn into the elegant Ào Dái.

And a car, but no Pandora.

A little elderly lady greeted us animatedly, waving her hands around and offering to retrieve samples from up on high. Unfortunately, she spoke no English and trying to communicate that we were shopping for our granddaughter, not Jayne, became a comedic but unsuccessful charades exercise. Jayne tried French to no avail and so we were forced to leave without securing the coveted order.

Luckily, we were also en route to collect the dresses from Daisy, and when we arrived at her shop, we asked her whether she could make an Ào Dái before we had to leave Hà Nôi. She showed us various designs and colours (on her phone this time – no trip to paradise) and we settled on something we liked. It would be delivered the next evening to our hotel, our last night in Hà Nôi.

Another walk around the lake and back to the hotel for a quick shower and change of clothes before dinner. We had a briefing with Tea (not Thi as I had assumed) and went to the Spice Restaurant in the hotel with the rest of our travel companions or family as Tea refers to us.

Then it was bedtime. I’m not sure whether the early nights are a product of the time zone shift, the humidity, the distance walked each day or a combination of all three. 

Until the next time I have an internet connection.

 

Locked out (Queenstown to Tekapo via Wanaka, New Zealand)

Hopefully by the time you are reading this, my dedicated reader, the bots at blogger will have decided that my previous post is harmless. I have removed the link to Mother Goose singing that dreadful song Baked Beans and I deleted references to race and an expression that may cause offence. I am still none the wiser as to what the real problem was. All of this time wasting spawned today's title, Locked Out, by Crowded House from 1994. Goodness that makes me feel old.

Today we set sail for Lake Tekapo. Why? That's a fair question my dear reader. We did the glacier stuff in Canada a few years back and didn't feel the need to repeat the experience. The scenic route via Wānaka was our choice and as it turns out, an interesting one at that.

It's a long way down.

The drive out of Queenstown towards Frankton was the usual slow crawl which was still surprising for a Monday morning - until we reached the Frankton roundabout to find a car broken down in the left lane. It's a good idea to leave the car there rather than push it around the corner so the traffic is not impeded. The mountains looked like they had been dusted with icing sugar in the night and made for a special backdrop as we said goodbye to Queenstown.

The drive to Wānaka takes us up over the Crown Range. You've seen how steep the mountains are and this is no exception. The road isn't so much cut into the side of the mountain as it is etched onto the surface like the signature of some passing giant. There were more 15 kmph hairpin bends than I've ever experienced in one drive. It was a short, sharp climb to the top and the lookout produces excellent views over Queenstown and the valley.

The Wānaka township is a little smaller than Queenstown but has the same friendly vibe. The lake is another body of water in those amazing blue hues. We stopped for coffee at a café where the staff were all so hyped Jayne suggested it may not have been through natural means. Harsh. I thought they were just high on life.

Lake Wānaka

Caffeine levels restored, we took to the road again after refuelling the car. Petrol was $2.69.9 a litre. Ouch.

The lake again

The drive itself was unremarkable, unlike the mountains the other side of Queenstown (see what I did there?). We saw the landscape change from sheer sided mountains to rolling hills and valleys and then back into lakes. This time though the lake, or at least the hydro station on it was man made. Again the blue was intense and so captivating that I had to stop for a photo. Lake Pukaki is quite impressive and home to a salmon farm as well as the hydro facility.

The colour is captivating, Lake Pukaki.

The next town of note is Twizel, pronounced Twyzel. Originally it was constructed for the hydro workers and was meant to be demolished when the work was completed. The locals who had moved in to provide services for the workers had other ideas. The hydro workers left, the locals stayed and a thriving community developed.

And there is the background.

Tekapo is another lakeside town. Cliché alert. It is stunning. We arrived in brilliant sunshine which ensured the lake was showing off its most amazing range of blues. The town is dominated by hotel style accommodation while the village shopping centre has a number of options for dining and there is a supermarket as well. However, there are a number of vacant premises. Perhaps they are victims of COVID because the places that were open were doing a roaring trade.

The view from our room.

There is a stone church on the point of one part of the lake which offers an amazing postcard moment. The trick is all in the timing. It was crawling with tourists when we were there. You know the type, the inane ones who need a photo of themselves in every shot to validate their existence. One group took turns to have their photo taken in the church entrance. Others were being photographed from every angle at any random point around the building. Patience is a virtue which I lack, except when waiting for a human-free photo opportunity - as you will see below.

The bridge to the church.

Not a person in sight.

We dined at Peppers and decided that we would use this time to relax and do very little before the big drive to Greymouth.

Sunset.

The geese are heading somewhere.

The next day was forecast to be cloudy, but the morning was bright sunshine and although the cloud did turn up, it was still a lovely day.

We walked into the village for breakfast, well, brunch, well, a coffee and something light to eat. They do an interesting ham and cheese croissant in Tekapo. It comes with lettuce. Now I understand it has become trendy to cook lettuce. I don't know why, it's mostly water and just goes all limp and soggy when heated. Despite the lettuce the croissant passed muster - kind of.

Random flower.

After a brief walk along the lakeside, we returned to the apartment to sit on the balcony and enjoy the view. I spent the time trying to circumvent the blogger bots who found my last post so objectionable. I'm still uncertain as to how successful I was. Jayne is still getting the warning, although that could be to do with her murky past in catholic education. They control everything, even long after you've worked for them.

That was enough sitting still for me so I grabbed the pack and camera and followed the track around the western edge of Lake Tekapo. There is a spa/hot pools centre, a camp ground, an ice rink and a new housing subdivision. Aside from that there is track around the lake that is used by walkers and mountain bikers.

Lichen on the pines.

Looking back to the church.

Back at the apartment, it was balcony time as the sun peeped out from behind the clouds. It's nice to have a rest day after all the driving and activity. Although it meant we did not see Mt Cook up close. Maybe next time.

The afternoon melted into evening and dinner and the wait for a coloured sunset. Sunset happened, without colour.

Tomorrow we have the big drive to Greymouth, 5 hours. That's without any breaks., but there will be breaks.

Until next time ...

Tall trees (Invercargill to Te Anau, New Zealand)

The sunrise in Invercargill was beautiful. Sorry, no pictures, dear reader I was without my camera. In truth I was only out of bed to move the car from the overflow car park. Once that was done, it was back to apartment to commence packing. The drive today is a relatively easy one and brief in duration, Invercargill to Te Anau is around 2 hours, depending on which route you choose. We travelled via Manapouri which has its own lake to rival Te Anau, so says the guidebook.

The road was sealed all the way, thankfully; my teeth are still rattling after the extended sections of gravel road back from The Catlins yesterday. It was also very quiet with very little traffic and the logging trucks and tractors all appeared to be heading in the opposite direction. Do they know something? We are heading into some light rain but there will be no complaints after the excellent weather we've enjoyed since Christchurch.

The landscape varied markedly the further we drove. The wide plains gave way to obvious glacial landscape with steep, sharp sided valleys. For a land known for its sheep there are also plenty of dairy cattle, although less per acre providing sheep with dominant numbers. There was also the occasional farm of beef cattle, red deer and alpacas. Venison is a feature on menus across New Zealand and I love it. Agriculture is the main form of commerce outside of tourism.

Speaking of which, the number of tourists travelling by bicycle, as in touring bicycle, is mind blowing. This is not flat terrain. Now I love my bike as you know, dear reader, but there is no way I would attempt to tour this mountainous country on a bicycle.

On the drive we passed the Big Totara Walk. We didn't stop, we didn't even pause, I mean a big tree is, well, a big tree. OK, they are also tall, hence today's title and very old, like Crowded House who released Tall Trees in 1991. Enjoy.

We stopped at Manapouri for a late breakfast and in my case, a bad coffee, before walking a part of the lake shoreline, known as Fraser's Beach. The town itself is populated by accommodation options, a café, pub and servo and not much else.

Maybe the guidebooks were right.

The lake is quite beautiful. Serene and quiet with little disturbance except for seaplanes further on; their sound is carried across the water to us. The only other thing to disturb peace is the occasional boat, ferrying tourists to different vantage points. The water is crystal clear.

Fraser's Beach

After our brief walk, we drove to Te Anau to see if our accommodation would be ready - we were very early. Exceeding our expectations, our studio was available so we dropped our bags and went in search of a place for dinner, having been warned that the town was at capacity and it might be difficult to secure a booking.

Crystal clear water.

The 'gastropub'  The Fat Duck doesn't open until 5pm. Really, what sort of pub is that? Anyway, it is fully booked tonight. The Thai is only doing take away because they are short staffed. One of the Italian restaurants, the pizzeria and spaghetteria is not serving any pasta dishes, The Ranch (another pub, not pretentious) is also fully booked for dinner. Ok, thinking outside the box, let's have a late lunch and stay at home sipping the local fermented grape juice. 

No pasta? That's like a pub with no beer.

Lunch was fine, the beer was good, Jayne scored a Guinness and I scored ridicule because of my accent. Fency a Kiwi teking the pess about how I pronounce "pilsener". Apparently it is pronounced pelsenr.

A quick reconnoître of the main street revealed every food establishment was looking for staff. It is a similar story back in Australia. We may be living with COVID differently but its impact is still being felt way beyond the health issues.

The sun is out, but

Lake Manapouri is the winner. Maybe sunset ...

It was a delight to spend our afternoon relaxing in our studio, sipping a wine and enjoying the sunshine that was streaming in through the glass doors. Te Anau is a very pretty town sitting on the side of the lake with a backdrop of sheer, craggy, moody mountains. Like many of the townships through which we have passed, flower gardens are prominent and the Lakefront Lodge has a lovely colourful display.

They love their dahlias in NZ.

The sunsets here are quite the thing. The internet is not. Hence there are no sunset photos from our first night. Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired of waiting for them to load and we have an early start in the morning.

Tomorrow we are on a 10 hour tour of Milford Sound so the chances are you won't be hearing from me until Queenstown.

Until next time ...

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 ...

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.