Roses (Te Anau to Queenstown - Cromwell New Zealand)

Well hello dear reader, yes I'm still alive and wandering about the seventh state. One Kiwi confided in us that they referred to Australia as the West Island. It makes sense, North Island, South Island, West Island. Out of courtesy, I didn't point out how we refer to them. Anyway, it's been a few days since I posted, and in that time, we have travelled from beautiful, serene Te Anau to Queenstown and out to Cromwell for a day trip. The weather has continued to do its thing, a sort of reversal of NSW South Coast weather, dodgy in the morning and beautiful in the afternoon. Despite the number of people dressed for Antarctic expeditions, I have resorted to the jumper once and quickly dismissed it as an unnecessary accoutrement.

The drive from Te Anau to Queenstown was uneventful, and we encountered the usual timidity of the drivers here, eschewing to overtake unless there was a specific lane. We attempted to stop for coffee at Kingston but the limited parking was already at saturation point so we continued our journey with ever depleting caffeine levels. Like many picturesque drives in New Zealand, the road wended its way around the edge of a waterway. In this case Lake Wakatipu, a sizeable and spectacular body of water, its colour changes with the light and level of cloud cover.

No staircase visible.

We paused at the Devil's Staircase for a kodak moment (there's one to google kids). Again, breathtaking scenery, but we have no idea why it was so named.

And still not ...

As we drew ever closer to Queenstown, the traffic became heavier and the 'mobile home' drivers less keen to observe the signage, "Cars behind you? Let them pass." Progress slowed to peak hour in Sydney pace. There were numerous reasons for this; shit drivers, inability to understand the concept of a roundabout, how to drive on a roundabout, roadworks, one road in - one road out (all single lane), all roads leading to Queenstown, sightseeing morons who thought driving while sightseeing was a thing, and shit drivers.

It's just stunning, eh?

We arrived at the hotel just before check-in time but happily our room was ready. The car was valeted away, parking is at a premium in this town, and we went to get settled before our first exploration of the town. Queenstown, as in the food/shopping precinct is a few blocks bordered by lake and mountain. There are numerous options for food and gift shopping. We attempted to book some tours for the next two days, unsuccessfully. It appears it is a good idea to to pre-book everything when coming to Queenstown. One particular excursion we were interested in was fully booked, with all companies for the next four days.

As it was post lunch, we were intending to look for possibilities for dinner. In doing so we stumbled upon The Cow, a pizza and pasta place in the aptly named Cow Lane.

The entrance to the gardens.

The Cow had come highly recommended and we expected it to be closed mid-afternoon on a Friday, but no, it was open. Happy days. Into the barn like structure we walked and ordered beers while we looked at the menu. As this was going to be lunch and dinner, we ordered garlic bread with the pizza. The pizza came in two sizes 11 inches or 14, or for the metric lovers amongst you 28cm or just over 35cm. Her Majesty's Pleasure was the choice.

The beer was enjoyable, it was good to be out of the car, I was relaxing and looking forward to the pizza and then the garlic bread arrived. I was so stunned I forgot to take a picture. Garlic bread? How about garlic loaf! It was a small loaf of freshly baked, garlic infused bread, served warm on a board with butter and a serrated knife. It could have easily served as dinner for both of us.

There were some interesting sculptures in the garden.

Then the pizza arrived. Not traditional, as we've come to expect, but with a good base and plenty of topping. The extras in the topping were mysteriously listed as "herbs", the flavour of dill was interesting and the crunch of celery was most curious, but not out of place. We made a valiant attempt to eat what was set before us. Epic fail (as they still say over here). A pizza box was added to our carry home shopping that afternoon.

Spanish chestnut ... apparently.

Dinner? Not required. Exercise, that was needed. A walk around the Queenstown Gardens was in order where we saw some interesting sights, some of the park and others not. Disc golf, have I mentioned that yet? The park provides another disc golf course. It's like golf, but not. Instead of clubs and a ball you have a disc (frisbee in my world). You throw the disc at this metal construction that catches it in chains and drops it into a trough. Ok, that is a very rough description. After the excitement of watching people play disc golf, we repaired to our room for nibbles and wine.

It's a dog ... ok then, you decide.

This is a big post, two day's worth, so you may wish to pause here. Or if you're a fan of Clueless, absolutely pause.

The next day began predictably. The weather was "cold" so I wore a jumper (for 10 minutes, it wasn't cold). The sky was marked with cloud that occasionally tried to rain, but could barely manage a sprinkle. We were heading to wine country, Bannockburn and Cromwell. Cromwell. Really? Who names a town after a piece of detritus from English history? You may as well have named the place Plague or Festering Sore or Hitler, you get the drift. I digress.

Looking up towards the gondola.

The fascination of these areas outside of Queenstown is wine. Shocked, I know, dear reader. And the aforementioned tour we could not book with any of the five companies? Yes, dear reader, a wine tour. So, I drove, after we consumed some left over pizza and garlic bread from The Cow.

What do I know about this particular wine region of New Zealand you ask? Well, it produces wine and I like to drink wine. A relationship made in heaven. We had a list of six wineries recommended to us by our wine person at United Cellars and thought we might visit a couple. In preparation I visited each website and recorded opening hours. Curiously, not one winery required tastings to be pre-booked, unlike Australia in a post-COVID, short-staffed world.

It's even steeper up close.

Gibbston Valley Wines is about a 30 minute drive from Queenstown. At around 10am we joined the rest of the peak hour crawl out of town toward Frankton and beyond. The further away from the two towns the more the traffic thinned. We arrived at Gibbston Valley around 10:30 just as the tour of their grape vines left. Good timing we thought. Not so fast with the good vibes. Walking into the tasting room we see a number of smaller tour groups already here. It was loud, but we persevered, because that's what you do. Their tastings are very, very, tourist oriented with minimal contact with anyone - let alone an employee who knows the wines. We purchased our wine paddle ... seriously, this is sad, and positioned ourselves as far away from tour group as possible. The next province would still have been too close, it was a hen's party! FML! Inebriated, screeching girls all trying to speak over the top of each other. 

We liked the wines despite the ambiance but unusually purchased nothing because of their extremely weird system. We could order the wines we liked and have them shipped home for $114 freight (in packs of 9 or 15), or we could order from the Australian distributor that had NOT any of the actual wines we'd tried. "Oh, they are similar" said our backpacker-server who had not tasted the wines. No chance buddy. The hens had left in a cloud of cheap perfume with full glasses of rosé, tripping over themselves as they did so and we followed shortly thereafter, tripping gaily along (without wine) hoping our paths would not cross again.

The view from the top.

The next stop was Misha's Wines in Cromwell. I just can't get over the name, such a unifying figure in history. What a different experience. No hen's party, there was a birthday party and a tour group, but no squealing or yelling. Our hostess, Jeanette, was delightful, warm, friendly and passionate about wine. What an excellent beginning, so it was no surprise that we loved the wines. They have an excellent online ordering system that factors in delivery and whatever currency you need to use. You'll not be surprised, dear reader, to know that 15 bottles of Misha's finest are flying back home sometime soon. We also purchased a couple of travellers and a cow (Central Otago Wines) apron.

Annabelle the cow

In the course of our wine discussions, Carrick Wines were mentioned as worthy of a visit. That became our next destination. The drive was back to Bannockburn and when we arrived, the car park was full. Everyone appeared to be in the restaurant. After we told them were merely after a tasting, we were redirected to the cellar door, which was devoid of life. More importantly it was bereft of staff to serve us wine. We tried the door. Locked. We waited. No one came despite the restaurant staff indicating someone would be there soon. So we left.

It's a long way up.

In the mid afternoon, the sun had well and truly appeared. Back at the hotel, we left the car for the valet, dropped our Misha's wines in our room and walked to the gondola. 

The gondola is one of Queenstown's must-do attractions. It is at the opposite end of town from where we are staying which means about a 10-15 minute walk. The queue was not particularly long, so we joined. There are a number of options; a return gondola ride or you could include lunch/dinner or a luge ride, or combine these with a multiple day pass. We opted for the return trip only.

I can see our hotel.

As the queue moved, we watched the mountain bikers coming down the last of the run. They joined the gondola queue from the other side and the staff alternated the gondola cabins between the day trippers and the bikers. As we settled into our gondola, a woman jumped in with us saying move over. That was unexpected. We looked at her and by way of explanation she merely said, "I am German". Of course, I thought, that says everything. Perhaps I should remind her that they lost the war. But no, Jayne tried tact and attempted to involve her in conversation, unsuccessfully, her English was about as good as our German. We lost our friend at the summit and never saw her again. We had outlived our usefulness.

The gondola is the steepest in the Southern Hemisphere. Buzz buzz. We have this inferiority complex down here so we feel the need to reference everything to the northern hemisphere or say it's world class. Whatever. It was very bloody steep and the view from the top is, well, pretty tidy. I have the pictures to prove it.

The lake goes forever.

As we joined the queue to go back to reality, there were parts of a tour group also waiting to join the line. One woman in particular embodied everything I despise about some international travellers. She was speaking so loudly to her friends you couldn't help but hear. Even with the gondola machinery grinding away, she could be heard above it. And she was wearing her VIP tag high on her shoulder. Everything said look at me, I'm filthy rich. When she finally joined the queue she was directly behind Jayne and pushed up against her several times as we moved slowly and inexorably toward the gondola cabin. Choose the nationality that you wish to smear with your casual racism. All will become clear.

As an aside, what is with shouting at people when they are standing next to you, or are seated at the same table? Do you want to be noticed? Should I know who you are? How about just shut up and speak at a volume that reflects where you are, not who you think you are.

Finally we reached gondola cabin entry point and in we get, both facing the downhill run for the best views. Just as our cabin swings around the corner a man looms in the open doorway and asks can he get in? I say no, Jayne says of course. Our uninterrupted view of the mountain descent has now been obscured. What is it with us? I saw so many cabins on the move with just two people. If only the door closing was manual.

So, our interloper takes up his seat and reveals that he is the tour guide for 100 people, three coaches, the people who were pushing against Jayne in the queue, the ones speaking at the top of their voices. I don't care. I wish him dead, or at least out of my cabin and all the way back to the Punjab with his 100 guests.

On the way to the base, he proved he had little understanding of cricket or rugby, although he professed to be a devotee of both. Back in Queenstown and rid of 'the German' and the 'tour guide', we made our way home via The Winery, but decided not to stop for a tasting. That will have to wait until tomorrow.

A random duck in the rose garden.

And before I go, the title is from a 2014 album of the same name by Dragon. It references roses and wine drinking. Well, that gets my attention straight away. Sorry, I couldn't find any audio.

Until next time ...

Brothers in Arms (Barossa Valley)

Apparently there is a thing over here dear reader called sunrise over the vines. Jayne is uncertain about sunrise and thinks it might be fake news, because whenever she sees the sun it is high in the sky. I had intended to do the sunrise over the vines thing to prove her wrong, but sadly our unit is not well positioned for such pursuits. Therefore, you'll have to enjoy a photo taken by someone else (cheers Chris).

Sunrise over the vines.

The Barossa stay was meant to be a time to slow down and enjoy the area. Today we set the lofty target of two wineries and a late lunch. I am pleased to report, dear reader that we nailed our brief, although not in the time frame we thought. We were out of the apartment before 10:30am and were in Tanunda for coffee pre wine tasting.

Nosh was a deceptively large café. It's on Murray Street and is in the old mill building. A simple doorway gives way to a series of tabled spaces (rooms of the original house), all of which were occupied with people enjoying the fare. The end space was larger again with more tables, all occupied, and a counter and fridge cabinet, filled with delectable treats. Bravely we passed up the pastries and opted for a couple of long blacks to be enjoyed on the street in the sunshine. Yes, my Sydney friends, in the sunshine.

What? You expected a caption?

The breeze was a little challenging at times, but otherwise it was quite pleasant. Even amusing, as a dad on a blade scooter, showing off to his kids, came a cropper on a driveway across the road, and was sent humiliatingly to the ground. Smile. Smirk.

Caffeine craving sated we walked the short distance to the Brothers at War tasting rooms. Also in Murray Street, although their winemaking facility is in Lyndoch, 15 minutes down the road. Hence today's title, an offering by Dire Straits from 1985. I'm not a huge Dire Straits fan but the song seemed to balance the name of the winery. 

Not originally on our list of wineries to visit, we needed to replace Standish Wines because they had already exhausted their stock and had nothing to sell. Sometimes you just luck things and have an awesome experience, other times things fall flat. Today was the former, it will go down as one of our gold wine tasting experiences. Given we started visiting wineries in 1979 and can count one hand the number of golden moments you can be guaranteed dear reader that this place is worth stopping by.

We walked in just after 11am and left at 2pm. We tasted some excellent wines, I joined the wine club (I know, I know), and spent time talking with Lee and Sanna. Both are former Sydney people and Lee spent years living around the corner from us in Erskineville. He knows our favorite French Bistrot owner. We talked Sydney, we talked wine, we talked holiday experiences, we talked and every now and then we tasted their magnificent wines and discussed them and their creation. We also talked about the Bunnies, Sanna is a long time supporter (current Bunnies sticker on the cellar laptop). 

To quote from the book The Wine Producers A Taste of the Barossa, "The brothers take their wine seriously, but at the end of the day, it's about conviviality and connection." They certainly got that right. All in all, one of those golden afternoons of wine tasting that you experience from time to time and long remember.

We were due at our second wine tasting at 12:30pm. I phoned to let them know we would be coming but couldn't put a time on it. Emma was most gracious. At 2:30pm we opened the door to the tasting room and apologised for our tardiness. Kaesler, another winery suggested by our wine man at United Cellars, had some very curiously named wines: Bogan and Old Bastard amongst them. They also had the only Semillon we've seen so far and a rare straight Viognier. Another winning moment. Wine ordered for dispatch home, we walked to the car for the 500 metre drive to the pizza place.

Bought a bottle to share with a friend

Now dear reader, I would be one of the first people to accept that 4pm is an unusual time to be arriving at a pizza place for a meal. Is it lunch? Is it dinner? Well, for us it is both. The young women who showed us to our table was most helpful and re-appeared shortly to take our order. The pizzas at Ember, situated in the Penfolds complex in Nuriootpa, have a fermented sourdough base, and a good range of toppings. They also offer some interesting entrées. They are well worth a visit for the pizza alone.

While the pizzas were very good, the service was a little, um, disinterested. We must have arrived at the changeover of shift because the person who showed us to the table was nowhere in sight when we wanted to box our leftovers. And no-one else seemed particularly interested in us at all. Jayne, taking control, lifted our plate of uneaten pizza and delivered it to the counter herself. At which time the girl behind the register retrieved a box and handed it to me to sort out the rest. Talk about great service. We did - all the way home because that was the antithesis of great service. A pity really, the pizzas were great.

Lunch/dinner completed, leftover pizza boxed, we turned toward the Barossa Resort and our balcony.

And how to cap off an excellent day? The Bunnies smashed arch rivals Easts, Buddy Franklin kicked his 1,000 goal as the Swans put the sword to Geelong and the Australian Men's Cricket Team won the match and series in Pakistan.

Until tomorrow.

I saw the light (Barossa Valley)

Another day begins. It's very quiet here: not a siren to be heard, unlike home. Last night, the stars showed some promise before the cloud drifted in and spoiled the view - maybe tonight will be better. In a first for this trip, we actually switched on the TV last night to watch Micallef's Mad As Hell. I seriously rate that show and his razor sharp wit. Not sure if he thinks he has been axed by the powers that be, but he seems to have thrown caution to the wind in the last 3 weeks - or is it the slow climb to the crescendo of the forthcoming election? Either way, it cannot be missed.

Since we have a kitchenette, we thought we should make use of it and shopped for some breakfast and happy hour essentials yesterday afternoon. The first morning task (after wordle and quordle) was to wash up anything and everything we might use in the next four days. Then it was time for tea and toast before a winery visit. What did you really expect, dear reader? We are in the Barossa Valley.

As I have mentioned, our last visit to this area was over 40 years ago. While some things have stayed the same, one thing that hasn't is the number of wineries. There are far too many to visit and it is no simple task to discern which wineries are worthy of our hard earned cash. Probably they all are, to some degree, but we have little time and need to be selective. Our usual practice has been to have a local recommend a winery and visit it and ask them where they would go if they had limited time. In a departure from tradition, I emailed my Cellar Angel from United Cellars, Nestor, and asked which wineries he would visit. He provided a list of five, one of which has already sold out its stock of wine, so we will supplement with another.

Back in the day, we would easily cover four or five wineries a day, sometimes six. Sitting on the balcony, tapping away at the keys after sampling the wares of two vintners today, I wonder how we managed it. Our taste buds would have been traumatised by the day's end.

Palm trees line the roads

First stop today Seppeltsfield, a winery I would have not have chosen but I'm glad we visited. Navigating the Barossa roads is not difficult although it's not usual for a single named road to have a series of right angle bends and continue in a completely different direction. As we neared Seppeltsfield, we could see that the road is lined with date palms. Mature trees, both sides of the road. "There's obviously a story there," we remarked. Patience dear reader, we'll get to it.

Sorry, the sun was in the wrong spot

As we rounded one corner in the road, we were confronted with a massive stone building on the hill. It resembled a Greek temple. The stairway to the the door was also lined with palms. Espying a parking area, I pulled off the road much to Jayne's confusion, but there was no way I was driving past without stopping. It was, as I thought, a mausoleum, the Seppelt family mausoleum. It was built in 1927 and Joe, the patriarch was interred there in 1930. Apparently, in the afterlife, he wanted to be able to survey all he had built in this life. It is a truly excellent view over the whole area. Since then the mausoleum has become the resting place for all members of the Seppelt family.

Palm trees again

Seppeltsfield Winery was only a few minutes down the road and we arrived early enough to have a coffee. This was a good thing for many reasons, not the least of which was we had both cleaned our teeth as we walked out the door. That's a rookie error because every wine you taste early in the day is flavoured by the mint of the toothpaste. In fact, you don't really taste the wine at all. Now dear reader you would realise that we are not rookies and have enjoyed the occasional wine tasting over the years. Unforgivable really. As Jayne confessed her sin, I smiled and leaned forward and quietly said, "Me too."

The view from the mausoleum

Coffee done, we moved on to the wine tasting. COVID has changed many things in our world and it has certainly had an impact on how wineries operate. Many now only provide tastings if you've pre-booked, numbers are limited, the range of wines on offer is also pared back and there is a tasting charge - generally redeemable on the purchase of a couple of bottles. You will be astonished dear reader to know that never, ever, have I had to pay to taste wine. And today that record remains intact.

Another view from the mausoleum

The lovely Maddie talked us and walked us through the wines available for tasting. In keeping with the Barossa tradition she also wanted to know our names. We exceeded our allocated 45 minutes, no surprises there, and finished chatting with one of the other staffers as well. The wines were excellent and there will be a carton wending it's way back home very soon. Our discussions were wide ranging including Para port and the fact that we had tasted the 1930 vintage. While the port is still made, sadly the old bottle style no longer exists, the makers went out of business. The last vintage in the old bottle was 1992. They still have barrels and barrels of the wine but no bottles to put it in!

The palm trees? You'd thought I'd forgotten ... they were a part of an employment program during the Great Depression. A time where Liberal Governments didn't have huge stores of money to splash around to ensure re-election ... or to help people ... in times of flood, drought or bushfire. The Seppelt family looked after their workers by having them plant avenues of date palms. It is a curiously impressive sight. 

It was an excellent morning and it was very tempting to stay for lunch, but I was keen for some more basic fare and we asked for pub food recommendations. I rejected the first suggestion as too basic, burgers and not much beside, the closest option was the Vine Inn. The menu was quite substantial but, yeah, let's just leave it there.

We stopped at a supermarket to purchase some water. In bulk. The water here is not the best. This is somewhat surprising because we have been drinking water from the tap at all other points so far. It was here that I came across the first trolley sanitizer. Speechless.

With the afternoon in front of us, we ventured to Torbreck Wines. Another excellent choice. The tasting room is lovely and has a beautiful aspect overlooking an olive grove and their gardens. The olives are planted in an area of water egress through the property and do a wonderful job in soaking up the water before it reaches the grapes, ensuring their feet stay dry. 

Towards the olives

Fortunately, after a busy morning, we were the only visitors. Once again we sipped our way through one of the tasting menus. It wasn't really a choice, one option sampled a selection from their range, the other was focused on their aged reds. Tempting, but not for this trip. 

Manicured gardens

Wines purchased, repatriation to NSW arranged we drove back to the Resort and the balcony (with a now free-sliding door) to enjoy the encroaching evening, a glass of wine and each other's company.

And the title today? Well, dear reader, I'll be honest, we had nothing that we hadn't used before so I decided to use titles of songs that I have enjoyed over the years. Todd Rundgren is a greatly underestimated talent and I am going to use his work when I lack inspiration on this trip. This one is from 1972. You can listen here, enjoy.

Until tomorrow.