Governor’s Cafe
At some quiet moment, like the rest of the world, Dunedin found itself obsessed with coffee. These days, you’re never too far from a café or barista’s, ready to offer comfort in a cup. New spots continue to bloom like unexpected thoughts, while the old haunts still pour for those who return, seeking something familiar in a world that never stops shifting.
Moray Place, Dunedin.
At this early hour, the city whispers in hushed tones. Silent echoes from forgotten doorways spill into the night and cast unfamiliar shadows across the pavement. In these sleepy streets, lost souls, taxis and garbage trucks are the only ones left to roam the unguarded city.
There’s something about this hour, small noises echo through the stillness of the night. In the absence of sound, everything becomes louder, strange and new. The unfamiliarity draws out misplaced memories from a forgotten past. They emerge in moments like this, when you least suspect. Walking ahead of you, impossible to follow yet impossible to ignore.
Memories are like reflections of our previous self. They aren’t always visible; some only exist in our unconscious mind.
Princes Street in Dunedin
The usual food caravan’s and coffee venders weren’t there.
Not today. Not when the wind is sharp and the rain is heavy. Nobody lingers on days like these. There’s somewhere else to be, somewhere sheltered, somewhere warm. On days like this, thoughts quickly get forgotten and washed away in the rain.
Dunedin does this. It turns on a heartbeat. The weather comes in quickly — like a thought you didn’t see coming. It starts with an insignificant puff of wind through the trees, an irrelevant rain drop on the footpath, or a bank of cloud appearing over the horizon that sets the scene for something wild and interesting to come.
The thing is, you never know how long it’ll last. But, on days like this the rain will wash away your thoughts and reshape your view of tomorrow.
Under the Hull
You didn’t need an alarm clock in Belfast when the Titanic was being built. The sound of footsteps on pathment with thousands of workers heading to the shipyards would have been enough to wake the city.
But the story of the Titanic is much more complicated than being a simple story about a ship. It’s a story of a love affair, about hopes and dreams, death and survival, of passion, of lust, of beauty, greed, wealth, vision and a promise of a golden age yet to come. It’s a tale of love between a ship, the city it was built in, the people that built her and the families that watched it grow into the sky at the Harland & Wolf shipyard. It’s a Belfast love story.
It makes you realise we don’t always know the scale of the things we’re standing next to — only how small they make us feel.
Autumn conditions at St Clair
It’d been a fine autumn day. I walked the St Clair Esplanade, aimless and slow. I drank coffee without hurry, bought an ice cream for no reason and enjoyed the still, warm afternoon. Out to sea, the tide rolled in lazily while I strolled, watching surfers chase waves.
The Shotover River n the Queenstown Lakes District
Let me assure you of this much (and it’s absolutely true)—only in the Queenstown Lakes District could you drive through traffic that was so insanely stupid and chaotic, yet be surrounded by scenery that was so breathtaking it could be the backdrop for a Hollywood movie. There I was, sitting in a seemingly endless procession of cars, buses, boats, camper vans, trucks, and motorbikes—being overtaken by grandparents with walkers out for an afternoon stroll, slowly developing a healthy dose of road rage as my knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. And yet, all the while, I was encircled by majestic mountain peaks that reached up into the sky and stretched beyond the horizon, and crystal-clear blue lakes that sparkled and shone in the sunlight. Nowhere else had I ever found a situation that was such a shambles—and so spectacular—all at the same time.
The classic Fish & Chips shop.
The day had been long and I felt like I’d been driving for hours. I’d skipped lunch, a decision I was now regretting as night took hold. So, I decided to have a classic Kiwi takeaway for dinner, fish and chips. With my mind made up as I twisted and turned my way home through the darkened suburban streets, I called in at the local chippy. So quintessential Kiwi, it practically wrote itself into local folklore as a Friday night staple of the community. It had everything you’d want to find in a local chippy. A scooter laying on the footpath outside, the smell of hot oil, the sound of a wok, a randomly placed poster from the 1990’s, the disused arcade game, the awkwardly placed fridge and best of all-the menu written in faded pen sitting above the deep fryer. Yes, this place was so authentically kiwi it practically apologised. I ordered without speaking much and before I could waste $2 in the grabber machine, my greasy parcel of treasure was delivered with a smile and a “have a nice day!”
Gore – ‘the brown trout capital of the world’
Gore’s claim to fame is that of being the brown trout capital of the world and the location of the country’s prestigious Gold Guitar Awards for country music. I was on my way home from Invercargill and decided to stop for coffee and a walk around. The town was quite delightful in the afternoon sunshine with flower beds and hanging baskets lining the town’s main street. In fact, it was almost charming, a pleasant surprise.
Carey’s Bay
I made my way to Port Chalmers, a village nestled on the edge of Otago Harbour. My first stop was Observation Point, perched high above the town. From there, I took in the panoramic views—of the port below, the township, and the expanse of the harbour stretching out to the horizon. Just a short walk away, I discovered the Hotere Garden Oputae, a striking sculptural space dedicated to renowned New Zealand artist Ralph Hotere. After soaking in the art, I wandered down through the town’s quiet streets and made my way to Carey’s Bay, where I paused for a leisurely lunch by the water.
The former National Bank in Kurow
I was on the way to Omarama via lakes going by the names of Aviemore and Benmore, and small towns with names like Kurow and Otematata. By the time I arrived in Kurow, I was ready for a bite to eat and wander in the sunshine. So, having purchased lunch at a local bakery and eaten it in the sun – I enjoyed a quiet stroll around the rural town by heading off in the direction of Otematata.
The Linid Pass in Summer
The Lindis Pass is another stunning area of New Zealand, offering vastly different experiences depending on the season. In winter, it’s often blanketed in snow and ice, with caution advised when the road is open. In summer, the landscape transforms into a sunburnt, otherworldly terrain, its dry textures stretching across the hills. Set between the Lindis and Ahuriri Rivers, the pass was traditionally used by Māori as they journeyed through the land. In 1857, surveyor John Turnbull traversed the area and named it after his homeland—Lindisfarne Island in northeast England.
When the Otago gold Rush took hold across the region in the early 1860’s, the moving hoard of miners who rambled from rush to rush eventually came upon the Lindis River in April, of 1861. An estimated 300 miners swarmed over the hillside as news of a find at the Lindis River spread. However by July most of the miners had moved on due to the remoteness of the area and the extreme climate.
On a fine summer’s day, I stopped at the Lindis Pass lookout and decided to join the steady stream of people heading to the summit to take in the view. From the peak above the Omarama–Lindis Pass Road in Central Otago, the view across the pass is breathtaking—a reminder of the natural beauty and history that define this unique part of the country.
Closing time at Erricks
In the evening I went to Erricks, a music, hospitality, entertainment and accommodation venue that hosts anything from 50th birthdays, to music concerts for up to 500 people. On this occasion, I was there to see Li’l Chuck, who is advertised as a one man skiffle band. Now, to be completely honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what a skiffle band was, or what to expect from a one man operation. However, I figured he would either be really good or I’d be spending a lot of time at the bar!
But I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. I have certainly paid a lot more, to see much more well known artists, who have played a lot worse. After several hours, when the concert finished, I walked away in a very contented frame of mind.
Autumn weather in Dunedin City
There was rain in the forecast, heavy rain! Not only that, hail, even thunder and lightning. This was going to be one impressive evening of weather! Yet, I was sceptical. It’s not that I don’t believe the Met Service, it’s just that they have let me down so many times before. I can’t tell you the number of times that I’ve read of there being snow in the forecast, only to find that nothing more than a few messily flakes drifting across the city.
Having read that an impressive thunderstorm was on the horizon for the evening, you could forgive me for being a little dubious. Even more so, given the fact that the day itself was a gloriously sunny, cloudless day with the temperature hovering in the early 20s and the warm radiance of the sun beating down on the city. As I stood there looking across the city to the aqua blue harbour, it was a little hard to believe that the weather was going to turn so dramatically. However, if there was going to be a lightning storm, I at least wanted to be in a position to see it!Which brings to mind the story of Roy Sullivan, an American park ranger who was given the nickname the ‘human lightning rod’, for holding the Guinness World Record for being struck by lightning more times than any other human being. Over the span of his 71 years, Roy was struck a staggering seven times by lightning. The first recorded strike was in April 1942 when he was hiding from a thunderstorm in a newly built lookout tower that had no lightning rod. He was then struck again in 1969, 1970, 1972, 1973, 1976, and again in 1977. Amazingly, Sullivan’s wife was also struck when a thunderstorm suddenly arrived and she was hit while hanging out the clothes in her backyard. Seriously, this is one couple you don’t want to go out for dinner with.
Despite his incredible luck (or misfortune) when it comes to lightning, Sullivan didn’t die of a lightning strike. He died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the stomach, which is quite a tragic end to a really bizarre life story. If it tells us anything, it’s that when a lightning storm is around, you certainly don’t want to be in Roy Sullivan’s shoes.
Breaking wave at Aramoana
I’d parked at the informal carapark off Heyward Point Road, on Dunedin’s northern coast. From there, I followed the well-trodden track that led me through open farmland, a gentle incline that soon delivered me to the edge of the cliffs. It was an easy, steady walk and before long, I’d reached a vantage point that was quite splendid.
The view opened up dramatically, revealing the Pacific Ocean in full splendour, with Aramoana laid out far below. I stood for a while, watching the waves roll in and out along the curve of the beach. Further out, ‘The Mole’ cut a line into the sea, stretching 1200 metres into open water. Behind it, Taiaroa Head and the entrance to Otago Harbour framed the horizon, rugged and timeless.
The Beehive in Wellington
I awoke in the morning feeling refreshed, well rested and more than ready for a walk and something to eat.
I ate breakfast at a very retro place called Midnight Espresso. After ordering, I sat in the window watching rain fall and Cuba Street slowly come to life, passing the time by marveling at how maple syrup instantly improves bacon and banana pancakes. When finally my plate was empty and my stomach full, I set off into the sleepy Wellington streets.
I made my way from Cuba Street along Wakefield and Willis Streets to Lambton Quay. Suddenly everything was busier. Feeling very underdressed without a shirt and tie on, it occurred to me at one point that I seemed to be the only one to not have a lanyard around my neck. As I walked, I pondered if these lanyards had a practical use or if they were part of some fashion movement I’d missed, like wearing trousers that are too short! It crossed my mind to stop and buy one as a way to blend in, however I began to feel dizzy under the pressure of such an important fashion decision. Besides, I had arrived at my destination, the Beehive.
The Beehive as a government building opened on the 27th February 1977, however its origins date back to 1964. The birth of the Beehive came about when British architect Sir Basil Spence sketched the building on the back of a napkin while dining with then Prime Minister Keith Holyoake.
I spent some time wandering around the parliament grounds, however there was only a certain amount that could be seen without going inside. For a moment, I considered booking a tour, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I’d promised my wife I wouldn’t hang around and annoy anyone who was trying to run the country. So, I left the pencil sketched building behind, crossed several streets and jumped in a few puddles before arriving at the waterfront where a zealous wind was swirling off the harbour.
Kawarau River in the Kawarau Gorge
Tucked away in Otago’s history is the short-lived mining settlement of Gee’s Flat. It emerged during the height of the Otago Gold Rush as miners pushed into the rugged Kawarau Gorge, searching for new riches. By 1862, nearly 100 prospectors had set up camp here, battling the harsh terrain in hopes of striking gold. But mining at Gee’s Flat was no easy task. Water supply was unreliable, with miners depending on nearby creeks or the river itself fir a steady water supply. This was relatively easy when the river level was low, however when the river swelled, the dangers became all too real—flooding was common, and drowning became a consequence of life on goldfields near rivers.
The Taieri Gorge Railway carriages at Middlemarch
I had driven out to Middlemarch, a small town nestled in the heart of Otago’s Strath Taieri region- intent on finding something for lunch. It was then, a few blocks from the main road that I found the town’s railway station. The Taieri Gorge Railway carriages stood silent on the tracks, their once vibrant hues faded from the sun. The windows were clouded with dust, no longer pulsing with life and ferrying passengers through the dramatic Otago landscape. As I wandered alongside the idle train, long shadows were cast in the afternoon light, the air crisp with the faint scent of rust and aged wood. In that quiet moment, I could help but ponder what railway’s have become.
Hindon car and railway bridge
When Gabriel Reid discovered gold in a small gully near the Otago town of Lawrence in 1861, everyone went absolutely bonkers! Within weeks, the population of Dunedin skyrocketed as news of his announcement spread and everyone headed for the newly discovered gold fields in the hopes of getting rich. Following Gabriel’s initial find, small towns sprang up all over Otago as people with very little knowledge or experience in how to mine for gold arrived, and everyone went crazy with gold fever. One of those places was a small settlement in the Silverpeaks Mountain range near Dunedin, called Hindon.
At the time of the gold rush, nearly 1200 miners swarmed the gullies and terraces of Hindon hoping to strike it rich with an easy find. However, given the nature of gold rushes, once the gold ran out, miners quickly moved on to new goldfields while the real fortunes were made by the merchants selling shovels, the innkeepers charging exorbitant fees for a night’s rest, and the people who figured out that gold is easier to extract from the desperate than from the earth itself.
Sutton Salt Lake
The next day I drove to Sutton, through scenery that looked like the backdrop of a Hollywood movie-mainly because it was. The vast, rolling hills covered in golden tussock grass with scattered schist rock were one of the filming locations for Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy ‘The Hobbit’. But I wasn’t there to see film locations, I was in the area to visit New Zealand’s only inland salt lake at Sutton which sits in a enclosed shallow basin and is accessible via a 3.5 kilometre walking track.
Upon arrival. I discovered the car park empty and no sign of human activity on the trail. Please by this, I set off through the tussock to Sutton Salt Lake
Autumn dawn in Dunedin city
It was one of those autumn mornings that was fresh, crisp, and clear. Across the harbour, a late burst of colour from the sunrise hung over the city and reflected off the still, calm waters of the harbour. The new morning light glowed as it reflected off new and old buildings throughout the city. In a few moments, the street lights would switch off, the light would shift above the horizon, and the day would begin. I stood and watched for a few fleeting seconds, for before the chaos of day came bliss.
Homestead near Dunedin
In 1964, Bob Dylan released his third album, titled The Times They Are A-Changin’. On that album was a song called The Ballad of Hollis Brown. In that song he told the fictitious story of Hollis Brown, a South Dakota farmer who, overwhelmed by the desperation of poverty, took a shotgun and shot his five young children, his wife, and finally himself. When I listen to that song, in my mind’s eye, I like to think that Hollis Brown’s cabin and surrounding farmland looked something like this.
The Ballad of Hollis Brown. (song: Bob Dylan, 1964)
Sunrise on Dowling Street
There are two things I discovered after taking this photo. Firstly, the lady who walked past me moments before I captured this scene seemed to be having an extremely good morning, judging by the high pitched enthusiasm with which she was talking on the phone. Secondly, it was on this day in 1790 that Brit Harvey Kennedy made our lives a little easier. He patented the modern shoelace with an aglet. Thus, no longer would the fibers from shoelaces unravel. They became easier to hold and could be fed through eyelets relatively trouble-free.
From there, things got really crazy. The invention of different fibres and fabrics meant the colour of shoelaces changed. The aglet became plastic, zips and Velcro replaced the shoelace altogether, and finally, highly embellished buckles came back into fashion-where the whole thing started in the first place.
Lower Hutt Street Art, created in 2021.
Before I experienced the madness and chaos that is the Lower Hutt traffic system—which seems obsessed with roundabouts—I went looking for some local street art. I had read, back in 2021, that twenty-one internationally acclaimed street artists had their work on show as part of The Most Dedicated: An Aotearoa Graffiti Story exhibition, held in the city. Intrigued and curious to see what was still around, I left the Queens Gate Mall and hit the streets.
Mount Cargill from the Organ Pipes in Dunedin
If we take ourselves back in time, say, 15 million years ago, we’d find Dunedin to be a very different place. While such a journey would bring with it a number of issues, one of the most pressing problems would be that annoyingly active local volcano that just won’t quit erupting. During one of these eruptions, molten lava flowed across the landscape. As the lava cooled, it contracted and cracked, forming hexagonal basalt columns that can be found all over the region and at well-known local places such as Lawyers Head, Blackhead, and the Pyramids at the Okia Reserve on the Otago Peninsula. However, over the last 10 to 15 million years, erosion has shaped the landscape and features like the Organ Pipes into the forms we recognise today and love to climb over.
The Exchange near Water Street
Generally speaking, whenever you travel somewhere you’ll have given some thought to what you’ll do when you get there. Where you’ll stay, how you’ll get around, what you want to see and do, who you want to visit and some idea as to why you’re there! Now, imagine travelling to a place and having to build your accommodation before you can stay in it. Well, that’s exactly what the first pilgrims to Dunedin did upon arrival.
If you stand on Water Street in Dunedin’s Exchange, you’ll find a memorial plate that marks the spot where the first European settlers from the ship John Wickcliffe came ashore on the 24th March, 1848. Upon landing following a 3 month voyage, they stepped ashore to find themselves surrounded with rough, uneven ground, intersected by a small stream with bush clad hills rising steeply immediately in front of them. To the right were mud flats and wide marshy ground with Mount Cargill looming high above. To the left, more swamps, marsh land and lagoons separated by a line of sand dunes that connected to the Peninsula. Before them, apart from a few survey lines cut through the bush and scrub the land was all but untouched. This was their new home.
Autumn in the Octagon
I made my way back down the hill as the Otago Peninsula rose into sight from across the harbour. Set neatly between St. Paul’s Cathedral and the nearby office blocks, the iconic clock tower of Dunedin Railway Station emerged, rising high above the harbour. In the foreground, trees from the Octagon displayed warm yellow undertones and traces of ochre and olive, scattered amongst the domed steeples of the Law Courts, Dunedin Railway Station, and The Otago Daily Times. All of this was backdropped by the calm blue waters of Otago Harbour, with distant houses and farmland stretching across the Otago Peninsula.
Sunset over Saddle Hill in Dunedin
If I may talk scientifically for a second-well, as scientifically as I can, there are two days every year when night and day are the same length. These are called the equinox or a solar equinox.
That is to say, the sun appears directly above the equator, rather than north or south of it. Here in New Zealand, the autumn equinox happens in March (March 20 this year) and the spring equinox happens in September. Now, for those in the Northern Hemisphere they will obviously be reversed. What all this means is that for us folk who live in the Southern Hemisphere, the daylight hours will now be getting shorter, and for those that live in the Northern Hemisphere, the daylight hours will become longer. So, while all the nations north of the equator are heading into the spring and summer months, here in Aotearoa we’re stacking the firewood, plugging in the electric blankets, putting away the speedos and bikinis because winter is just around the corner.
To celebrate the equinox, the official start of the autumn and winter months, and all the glorious colour that is appearing to this part of the world, I sat in the afternoon sunshine, enjoyed a beer and watched the sunset sinking below the horizon.
Waterfall near Ross Creek
I arrived to find the usually sedate stream had become inundated with water after three days of intense, heavy rain. The torrent of water before me cascaded over three levels and crashed through a series of rocks before continuing its journey through the gorge. In this area of the bush, several small rivers ran from around Ross Creek and the Leith Valley before connecting up with the Waters of Leith.
Otago Harbour from Harbour Cone
About halfway down the hill, I came to the road. On the way up, this is where the true ascent of Harbour Cone really starts. At this point, I realised I must have taken a wrong turn, I shouldn’t be on the road at all! I should be on the other side of Harbour Cone walking down the side of the hill, dodging sheep poo and enjoying the coastline views of the peninsula. Having said that, the view of Otago Harbour that was now in front of me was fairly amazing.
Sunshine on St Kilda Beach
There really is something rather grand and delicious about walking along the beach, letting the breaking waves swirl around your feet on a hot summer’s day. However, come to think about it, this was autumn. The Dunedin summer weather was rubbish!