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.