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.

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.