The Blue Door Cafe in Melbourne

Daily Photo – The Blue Door Cafe in Melbourne

While roaming the streets of Melbourne, I decided to follow a hot tip I’d been given earlier in the day and went in search of the Blue Door Cafe, which I’d been assured was a great little spot with a nice vibe. After a couple of false starts, I found it in an unassuming laneway off Little Bourke Street. Three or four young professionals were busy on their laptops, tapping away furiously at their keyboards, while a few people were hunched around a table outside, engrossed in conversation around an iPhone on the table in front of them. I made my way to the counter, ordered a coffee, found a table towards the back, and happily read my book for a while.

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The Belfast Bean Stalk

Daily Photo – Victoria Square Shopping Centre

To clean and tidy up the city, Belfast officials poured £400 million pounds into a new complex which they named Victoria Square Shopping Centre. The crowning glory of the entire complex was a huge glass dome that sat an impressive 45 metres off the ground and provided an impressive 360-degree panoramic view of the Belfast skyline.

As impressive as all this was, the thing about building a viewing platform 40 metres in the air, under 635 panes, providing a 360-degree view of the city, is that once it is there, you have to get people up there to use it! This was solved by constructing what looks like a space-age plant from a futuristic version of ‘Jack and the Bean Stalk’. So everyone could see the wondrous complex on their way to the top, a glass elevator was installed so shoppers could soak up the vista on the way up, while a glass spiral staircase was wrapped around the outside for those feeling a bit more enthusiastic.

Earlier in the day, my wife and I had met up with a close family friend from home who happened to be in Belfast too, largely because she grew up in a village just down the road. Faced with the choice of catching up over coffee or joining me for a hike to the top of the dome to see the skyline, they had opted for the coffee, agreeing we’d all regroup once I’d finished.

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Hooray for Hollywood

Daily Photo – The Wild Uplands of County Wicklow

A few years back, I had the pleasure of spending Christmas with my wife and her extended family on the Emerald Isle, and at one stage we gathered near a village called Hollywood in County Wicklow, Ireland, for a little post-Christmas get-together. It was a delightful affair filled with good company, good food, and plenty of good humour. At one point, I took a moment during the festivities to step outside with my camera and tripod, which is when I took this photo.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ll be asking the obvious question: is Hollywood, California, named after Hollywood in County Wicklow, Ireland? Well, according to local folklore, a local named Matthew Guirk emigrated from the village to California following the Great Famine. Being a blacksmith and horse breeder, he built a cabin and a small racetrack in the northwest of Los Angeles, naming his homestead “Hollywood”, and thus the name stuck! Unfortunately, the truth is somewhat different and doesn’t involve the little Irish village at all, but let us not let the truth get in the way of a good story!

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Mong Kok In Hong Kong

Daily Photo – The Bustling Mong Kok Street in Hong Kong

Here’s a statistic for you: in Hong Kong, there are roughly 2,100 kilometres of paved road and over 800,000 licensed vehicles. If we do the maths, that means there are around 380 vehicles for every kilometre of road. Consequently, Hong Kong has the second-highest vehicle density in the world (behind Monaco), yet 90% of all daily passenger journeys are made by public transport.

Looking at those statistics, you’d think that when the motor vehicle first came on the scene, Hong Kong would have wholeheartedly embraced it – but no! Initially, early cars were widely disliked by the general public and viewed as noisy, smoky, unreliable nuisances that terrified horses. That didn’t stop the wealthy from getting their hands on these new “toys,” which is exactly how they were viewed: as novelties. Although completely useless on Hong Kong’s steep hills, the very first cars were imported by wealthy merchants who had made fortunes through international trade. They bought them for the exact same reason billionaires buy hypercars today: conspicuous consumption and bragging rights.

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The (Very) Big Laugh Out

Daily Photo – Fed Square & The Big Laugh Out

On one of my wanders through Melbourne, I came across Federation Square on my way to a place named the Transport Hotel – Public Bar. I was meeting my brother-in-law, who had promised me a beer before catching a train across the road at Flinders Street Station, and I seemed to recall being told it was just across the square near the bridge. Casting my eyes across the square, I noticed it was filled with deckchairs neatly arranged in rows and occupied by people, which I thought was very lovely, presumably so everyone could sit and enjoy the sunshine free of charge. It was only when I noticed that every chair was facing a stage that I realised something was going on. A performer was entertaining the crowd at an event called ‘The (Very) Big Laugh Out’, part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, and I’d happily strolled straight into the middle of it. I apologised to those around me, spied a sign saying ‘Transport Hotel – Public Bar’, and headed directly for it.

Entering the Public Bar, the place was full of a lively crowd who were either incredibly well co-ordinated when dressing that morning, or a sporting event was on. Pushing my way through the mass of people, I noticed on one of the many TV screens that the Richmond Tigers were playing the Port Adelaide Power that afternoon in the AFL at the nearby Melbourne Cricket Ground (an imposing colosseum of a sporting ground if ever there was one) and, judging by the colours and paraphernalia, this was a Richmond crowd. The chatter seemed to be that although the Tigers had had a tough start to the season, and were yet to win a game, they had a good chance against ‘The Power’ that afternoon. Not that all of this really meant anything much to me!

Later that evening, I read in passing that Port Adelaide defeated Richmond 90 to 48. So it really wasn’t even close. Meanwhile ‘The (Very) Big Laugh Out 2026 was deemed an overwhelming success. Maybe all those Tigers supporters should have stayed in the square!

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The Dome

Daily Photo – The Solar Sail in the Belfast Dome

When Belfast needed a central city upgrade after the signing of the Good Friday agreement in 1998,they poured £400 million pounds into a new complex which they named Victoria Square Shopping Centre. Its designers had ambitious and lofty goals with the crowning glory of the entire complex – the cherry on top if you will – was a huge glass dome that sat an impressive 45 metres off the ground. Made up of 635 individual triangular panes of glass held in place by a massive steel framework weighing 200,000 kilograms – it was the equivalent of roughly 40 adult elephants floating effortlessly above the city. When finished, the dome provided an impressive 360-degree panoramic view of the Belfast skyline, which the public could enjoy from a public viewing platform, offering views that stretch from the historic Belfast City Hall and the contours of Cavehill, all the way across to the towering yellow Harland and Wolff cranes in the Titanic Quarter.

The only problem with all of this was that engineers quickly discovered during the design process that what they had created was in actual fact a giant hotplate above the streets of Belfast. On the rare occasions that Belfast had a sunny day, the dome would act as a massive glasshouse and without intervention, the viewing platform and streets below would become unbearably hot. The solution was a stroke of genius. Instead of pulling the whole thing apart, the solution came in the form of a simple rotating fabric solar sail designed to track the sun throughout the day, filtering out the intense glare and heat of the Belfast sun, naturally regulating the open-air microclimate below so everyone could happily go about their day without having to worry about being burnt to a crisp or spontaneously combusting while shopping for socks!

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The Night Markets of Temple Street

It’s easy to think of Kowloon as having always been a neon forest of concrete, but there was a time when Yau Ma Tei was dotted with vegetable plots, duck farms, rice paddies and fishing villages. People bought fresh produce from fields that occupied the same ground where apartment towers and car parking buildings now cast their shadows.

Daily Photo – The Atmosphere of the Temple Street Night Markets

If we were to stand in one spot outside the Yaumatei Tin Hau Temple in Hong Kong and somehow transport ourselves back to the 1920s, we would find ourselves in a very different place. The most obvious and dramatic change would be the fact that our toes would be standing on the shoreline rather than it being three kilometres further west. Gone would be the stalls offering four digital watches for $10 and silk pyjamas that dissolve into a puddle of static electricity at the very mention of a washing machine. But most of all, gone would be the restless, intoxicating neon energy of the night markets. What we would find is a dusty chaotic waterfront square crowded with fishermen stepping straight off their boats selling the morning catch while hawkers sold food and traditional herbal remedies from under makeshift stalls.

At its core, in most respects, and allowing for a little technological advancement, the market remains exactly how it was over a hundred years ago; a vibrant, bustling gathering space where people come to eat and socialise under open-air stalls.

Dublin’s Secret Garden

If you find the Iveagh Gardens in Dublin, and make your way to the large sunken lawn, you’ll find yourself standing on one of only two purpose-built archery fields in Ireland, which tells you all you need to know about Victorian nobility’s leisure activities. It looks like a remarkably elegant Victorian lawn, yet buried beneath the immaculate grass lies an elephant from Dublin Zoo, interred there in 1922.

Daily Photo – The Iveagh Gardens in Dublin

On my first morning in Dublin, my hosts informed me we’d be going on a little wander through the city centre before meeting friends for a spot of breakfast. Having just stepped off a twelve-hour flight from Hong Kong in the wee hours of the morning, an amble seemed a capital idea. 

After some cursory ablutions and a short car ride, we were soon pushing through the crowds of Grafton Street and past St Stephen’s Green where we meet friends. Following a round of introductions and much handshaking, it was announced that a detour through the Iveagh Gardens was required before breakfast. Not wishing to commit treason by complaining, I happily followed.

Known as Dublin’s “Secret Garden”, the Iveagh Gardens are tucked away behind walls and largely free of lost-looking tourists. On this particular morning, apart from a lone artist sketching near the Count John McCormack statue, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. So we were free to happily discover rustic grottos, fountains, winding paths and sunken lawns all combined to create a peaceful retreat from the city outside. 

The gardens spent much of their history in private hands. One early owner, the 1st Earl of Clonmell, was apparently so keen to avoid mixing with the public that he connected the garden to his townhouse via a secret tunnel. Later, the Guinness family enclosed the grounds so they could entertain other nobles with lavish parties and drink beer presumably.

The gardens finally opened to the public in the early 1990’s. Which is just as well, otherwise I’d have had to walk a heck of a lot further for my breaky.

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A Walk In The Melbourne Forest

Daily Photo – Melbourne’s Floating Forest Canopy

On a recent trip across the ditch to Melbourne, I found myself stepping out of the city’s familiar laneways and into the modern retail architecture of Collins Street, which brings me to the thing I like about Melbourne. Shopping malls, arcades, and gallerias are rarely spaces that inspire creativity, but at some point Melbourne has completely rewired that perspective.

Shuffling through St Collins Lane, suspended high above the modern, minimalist paths below, is an incredible architectural installation featuring hundreds of dark green glass cylinders arranged into a giant geometric dome. Above that sits a massive arched glass skylight, specially designed to allow light to swirl through as it hits the glass bottles.

Depending entirely on the shifting Melbourne sun, natural light filters down through the grid, refracting off the emerald elements to bathe the interior in a moody, earthy glow. It is a brilliant piece of design that completely strips away the standard commercial inner-city retail precinct, transforming it instead into a striking, floating forest canopy.

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Low Tide at Malahide

Daily Photo – Low Tide at Malahide

This is low tide at Malahide Beach which you can find on Dublin’s northern coastline. It is a wonderful two kilometres of pristine sand that transforms dramatically when the tide retreats. At the low tide the water reveals a fascinating pathway of seaweed, shallow rock pools and intricate patterns etched into the sand. 

Only a few hours previously I’d gotten off a long-haul, 12-hour flight from Hong Kong. Wanting to stay up as long as possible to reset the body clock, I went on a long walk to stay awake. I can’t remember how far I walked, but it was a decent enough way in the crisp Irish air.

The Corner College & Westmoreland Street in Dublin

Daily Photo – The Corner College & Westmoreland Street in Dublin

A while ago, while visiting Dublin, I found myself standing at one of the busiest and most historic intersections in the city. It was early evening, the crowds were streaming past in every direction, and the fading light had turned the sky a wonderful shade of blue. As photographers are prone to doing, I became completely distracted by the prospect of a good photo and paid very little attention to anything else going on around me, becoming completely absorbed in the spot where I was standing.

After all, this is the spot where Dubliners affectionately nicknamed a statue of poet Thomas Moore “The Meeting of the Waters”, entirely because the city decided to build an underground public toilet directly beneath his feet.

This is the spot where Victorian architects concluded Irish stone simply wasn’t dramatic enough, importing enormous blocks of pink Peterhead granite from Scotland just to make a bank corner appear suitably imposing.

This is the spot where deep underground vaults, once used to guard the gold and fortunes of the Provincial Bank, were later cleared out and transformed into a cocktail bar, allowing hotel guests to sip craft drinks within thick subterranean stone walls.

This is the spot where 18th-century planners from the Wide Streets Commission demolished a tangled maze of medieval lanes, deliberately carving out a grand triangular space so wealthy pedestrians could enjoy a better view of the parliament buildings.

This is the spot where millions of hurried commuters, confused tourists and perpetually late students have gathered for generations, mostly unaware they are walking directly above the long-buried course of the ancient Poddle River as it quietly makes its way towards the River Liffey.

And this is the spot where, while attempting to photograph the evening light over College Green, I became so absorbed in setting up my camera and tripod that I wandered off with my wife’s phone and wallet, leaving her stranded in the middle of Dublin’s rush-hour crowds wondering where on earth I’d disappeared to.

Fortunately, after a brief and entirely justified telling-off beside the Thomas Moore statue that included the phrase, “Where the hell have you been?”, the matter was settled in the traditional Irish fashion: with a visit to the nearest pub.

The Ever-Changing Canvas of Hosier Lane in Melbourne

Daily Photo – Hosier Lane in Melbourne

On one of my last full days in Melbourne, I spent the afternoon wandering between a few inner-city spots I wanted to tick off my list. First was the Old Melbourne Gaol, second was the State Library, and lastly, Hosier Lane. Even before I reached it, I knew I was close. Tourists with phones were drifting in the same direction while somewhere ahead a spray can rattled away against a wall.

For the uninitiated, Hosier Lane is best known as Melbourne’s famous street art laneway, celebrated for its constantly changing murals, graffiti, and vibrant urban art culture. Today, people come here for selfies, coffee, and street art tours. A century ago, you probably came for entirely different reasons.

Named after businessman Robert Hosier, exactly when the lane received its name seems to be as mysterious as why it was named after him in the first place. In fact, there appears to be very little recorded about Robert Hosier beyond the fact he was supposedly a local businessman. Still, he must have done something of note. After all, they don’t just go around naming alleyways after anyone, especially ones that would become associated with boarding houses, gambling rooms, brothels, and various other after-dark activities that tended to gather in less respectable corners.

Needless to say, the lane was named after him and for decades existed largely unnoticed behind warehouses, factories, and commercial buildings as little more than a rear accessway and somewhere to disappear to for a quick bonk.

By the 1920s, Hosier Lane had become closely tied to Melbourne’s garment trade and warehouse district. Trucks and deliveries rattled across the bluestones while workers shifted goods in and out of factories, clothing businesses, and storage buildings backing onto the alley. Through the middle decades of the twentieth century, very little changed. It remained a narrow service lane cluttered with loading bays, brick walls, metal staircases, bins, and the sort of industrial mess most cities try not to advertise.

By the late 1970s, as industry and manufacturing slowly drifted away from central Melbourne, the lane had become increasingly neglected. Funny enough, neglect is probably the very thing that saved it. During the 1980s, a new generation of graffiti writers and underground artists began appearing. While graffiti was largely dismissed as vandalism elsewhere, in Hosier Lane nobody seemed especially concerned, and artists were largely free to experiment.

As Melbourne’s laneway culture gained attention through the 1990s, Hosier Lane became part of a wider underground street art movement spreading across the city. Stencil artists, mural painters, and paste-up artists transformed the once-forgotten alley into a constantly evolving outdoor gallery where artworks regularly disappeared beneath fresh layers of paint.

Then, in 1998, Melbourne began embracing street art as part of the city’s identity and Hosier Lane effectively became an unofficial open-air canvas. Artists could work relatively freely, helping turn the alley from a neglected shortcut into a recognised creative space. The rest, as they say, is history.

Today, Hosier Lane sits somewhere between tourist attraction, outdoor gallery, and controlled chaos. Every few days something new appears, something old disappears, and another layer of paint is added to the walls. Somehow, despite the crowds and camera phones, it still feels rough around the edges, which is probably exactly why people keep coming.

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Behind the Grin of Melbourne’s Luna Park

Daily Photo – Luna Park in Melbourne

I spent the morning riding free trams around Melbourne and, with absolutely no plans for the day beyond having to be in the suburb of Brunswick late in the afternoon, I decided to get on a tram that said it was going to St Kilda. Not having the faintest idea what was in St Kilda, or how long it would take to get there, I settled in for a leisurely ride across Melbourne as the tram rattled from side to side, and some time later, after the property prices had clearly taken a substantial leap skyward, I decided I must have arrived.

On the way, as the scenery passed, I noticed a sign advertising ‘Luna Park’. This I found curious, as I thought Luna Park was only a Sydney thing. However, it turns out I was wrong. The clue was the giant, toothy grimace of the Mr Moon entrance to the park that left me wondering if he was welcoming me or considering having me for lunch. It’s a face that has seen a lot of things since 1912, even if it is a slightly unsettling smile.

The origin of Melbourne’s iconic Mr Moon entrance face traces back to the shores of New York, when a handful of ambitious showmen designed the concept of entering a theme park through a giant gaping mouth. It was pioneered at Luna Park on Coney Island, New York, which opened in 1903, and the creators of Melbourne’s park wanted to replicate the wild success of the New York original.

When the Melbourne version was built in 1912, it was thought of as “illusionistic” architecture, and the giant face was designed to immediately transport visitors out of their everyday lives and into a world of fantasy, nonsense, and fun.

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Tea, Opium, and a Short History of Hong Kong

Daily Photo – Nathan Road & Kansu Street In Hong Kong

The history of Hong Kong is a bit of a colonial “now you see it, now you don’t.” I’m certain Hong Kong wasn’t, then was, but now isn’t a British territory. It all started in 1842 when the British decided they quite liked the look of the island after the First Opium War. After some unpleasantness involving tea and opium, the British decided Hong Kong Island would make a fine trophy, using the Treaty of Nanking to wrap the whole acquisition in a layer of official paperwork.

A few decades later, in 1860, they added Kowloon to the collection when the British decided they quite liked the view across the harbor too. But the real kicker came in 1898 when the British signed a one hundred or so year loan agreement with China for what was termed ‘New Territories’.

I’m not sure about you, but to me, this sounds very much like wanting the lawn mower back you lent to the neighbours, particularly if it’s one of those fancy ride-on ones. Britain had spent a century turning what was essentially a barren rock into a glittering global financial hub. So, by the time the 1990s rolled around, China liked what they saw, and checked the calendar.

Because the New Territories held all the important bits (like the water and the space to actually put people), Britain couldn’t really keep the island and give back the rest – it was an all-or-nothing deal. So, on July 1, 1997, amid a lot of rain and some very stiff upper lips, the lease ended. The Union Jack came down, and Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region of China. It was the end of an era, proving that even in international diplomacy, you eventually have to return what you borrowed.

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All Roads Lead to the Arrow River

Daily Photo – Autumn in Arrowtown and Bush Creek

When Jack Tewa first found gold near the Arrow River in May 1862, it’s fair to say he would have been quite surprised, considering he was searching for lost sheep at the time. The valley of the Arrow River was so inaccessible that, for some time, the first miners had the place all to themselves. That was until their closely guarded secret was discovered by the rest of the world, and a canvas town sprang up almost overnight, yet getting there was no easy task.

During the 1860s gold rush, getting to the town we now know as Arrowtown, or Fox’s as it was known back then, was a gruelling test of endurance. Located in the Wakatipu Basin, it was one of the most inaccessible regions in the country and, before the development roads, miners used a combination of river trekking, mountain scaling, and sheer determination to get there.

The most common route was to travel to Cromwell and follow the banks of the Kawarau River through deep gorges and past vertical rock walls that were little more than narrow ledges high above the ferocious river. For those coming from the Cardrona Valley, the most direct path was also the steepest, over the rugged and often snow-covered Crown Range. Another common approach was via a steep ridge track that climbed out of the Kawarau Gorge and bypassed the dangerous river bluffs; this path was called the ‘Gentle Annie’. It was a punishing and brutal climb that was anything but gentle. Yet another completely different route was taken by those choosing to travel via Lake Wakatipu. They would trek to the town of Kingston at the southern end of the lake, take a boat to Queenstown, and walk the final 20 kilometres across the Frankton Flats to reach the Arrow River in the Wakatipu Basin.

Getting to the Arrow River was a brutal journey and not for the faint-hearted. It would be some time before anything resembling a road was created and, when they were, things didn’t get any easier. Wagons had to be dragged axle-deep through mud by teams of up to eighteen horses.

Life at the Arrow River was anything but idyllic and a far cry from the picturesque scene. In the early 1860s, miners arrived to find it loud, dirty, and physically grueling, a long way from the “Golden Arrowtown” we know today.

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The Magnificent Clutha River in Autumn

Daily Photo – The Magnificent Clutha River in Autumn

When I set out on this section of my trip, it had been my intention to stop in Roxburgh and call in to the Jimmy’s Pie shop (which just happens to be the best pie shop in the world, and I won’t hear a word against it) and grab some lunch. Unfortunately, it was Sunday and it was closed. So, instead I got some lunch in Alexandra and ate it sitting in the sunshine on the banks of the Clutha River, admiring the town bridge and the autumn hues reflecting in the river as it gently floated past.

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The Miners’ Cottages of Arrowtown.

Daily Photo – The Miners’ Cottages of Arrowtown

Before we leave the charm of Arrowtown, a place whose very existence feels almost like a fable, let us visit Buckingham Street and the historic row of gold miners’ cottages. In the early years of the gold rush, most European miners were not living comfortably in neat wooden cottages; many were in tents, rough shacks, or whatever shelter they could throw together.

These tidy weatherboard cottages seen in Arrowtown today often appeared slightly later, once the town stabilised and miners and business owners had made enough money to build something more permanent. So, it’s tempting to picture European miners settling into solid wooden cottages while Chinese miners made do with rough stone huts exposed to the elements by a creek, but the truth is a bit messier. Most miners started out rough, but over time built more permanent structures like the ones lining Buckingham Street, using milled timber and corrugated iron, materials that were more expensive and durable. The Chinese miners, arriving later and working the leftovers, rarely had that same chance. The contrast between the two styles of housing tells a significant story about the social and economic divisions of the 1860s and 70s Otago gold rush.

And with that sobering thought, I left the autumnal flow of beauty announcing itself loudly across the Arrowtown basin, heading for State Highway 6, which would take me past the Nevis Bluff, through the Kawarau Gorge, and on to Cromwell, Lake Dunstan, and the sedate town of Alexandra.

Small Huts, Harsh Lives & Arrowtown’s Chinese Settlement

Daily Photo – Small Huts, Harsh Lives & Arrowtown’s Chinese Settlement

I went to the historic Chinese Settlement in Arrowtown. It was early, and I expected it to be busy, but it wasn’t. I had the whole place to myself, which was a lovely surprise. I spent the time, as I often do in these situations, imagining that I had to pick one to live in. It was a hard choice, and even harder to imagine living in one through a Central Otago winter.

It would have been a gruelling test of endurance. These small, windowless dwellings offered little insulation against the biting frost and snow, relying on a small hearth for both warmth and cooking. The cramped space would have been damp and dimly lit, making for a lonely existence during the long, freezing nights. If anything, it speaks volumes about their character, even more so when combined with the harsh treatment they received from the wider community.

The hypocrisy of the European miners, particularly those who had arrived from the Victorian goldfields, was quite something to behold. On the one hand, many communities viewed the Chinese miners as “aliens”, fearing that if they were not Christianised, they would somehow become an “evil” influence, tainting the region. Furthermore, their preference for congregating in gambling houses or opium dens was heavily frowned upon.

However, when one compares these relatively unobtrusive vices to the behaviour of many Europeans, whose daily exhibitions in grog tents, street brawling, pothouse pugilism, and general public lewdness were common occurrences, it becomes clear there were much larger social issues to worry about than a few gambling debts and the odd smoking pipe.

Autumn in Arrowtown’s Historic Chinese Settlement

Daily Photo – Autumn in Arrowtown’s Historic Chinese Settlement

In 1865, when the initial excitement of the Otago Gold rush had settled and many of the miners had drifted to other gold fields, the Dunedin Chamber of Commerce decided that they wanted to keep the economy going. To do this they invited Chinese miners to the region. For many of the invited miners, the plan was simple. Spend a few years finding gold and send the money home before returning themselves. So it was that by the mid-1860’s the first of the recruited Chinese miners reached the Otago goldfields, yet what they found was not what they expected. Upon arrival they discovered they weren’t allowed to have new claims of their own and instead were told they had to pickover the abandoned European claims. Within a few years, thousands of Chinese miners could be found on the goldfields – spread throughout Central Otago and one of these locations was Arrowtown. It’s a sad tale really because many of the miners never made anywhere near enough money to send home. In fact, many of them never made it home. Penniless and persecuted by many of the Europeans, a large number of those who were invited to the Otago goldfields never saw their families again. 

I visited the Arrowtown Chinese Settlement in the full throws of an autumn blanket. Not being allowed to settle in the main village, the Chinese community set up homes and market gardens on the outskirts of the town beside the river. Now, not more than a 5 minute walk from the town’s main street, the historic village and surrounding tracks twist and turn through trees, past streams and the nearby Arrow River. It really is quite special.

The Night Markets of Hong Kong

Daily Photo – Night Markets on Temple Street

If we were to stand in one spot outside the Yaumatei Tin Hau Temple in Hong Kong and somehow transport ourselves back to the 1920s, we would find ourselves in a very different place. The most obvious and dramatic change would be the fact that our toes would be standing on the shoreline rather than it being three kilometres further west. Gone would be the stalls offering four digital watches for $10 and silk pyjamas that dissolve into a puddle of static electricity at the very mention of a washing machine. But most of all, gone would be the restless, intoxicating neon energy of the night markets. What we would find is a dusty chaotic waterfront square crowded with fishermen stepping straight off their boats selling the morning catch while hawkers sold food and traditional herbal remedies from under makeshift stalls.

At its core, in most respects, and allowing for a little technological advancement, the market remains exactly how it was over a hundred years ago; a vibrant, bustling gathering space where people come to eat and socialise under open-air stalls. 

Navigating Trains in Melbourne

Daily Photo – Train at Flagstaff Station in Melbourne

I set out in the morning with what felt like a very clear plan, tested and approved by someone far more organised than me. Walk to Newmarket Railway Station, catch the City Loop to Flagstaff Station, change trains, continue through to Southern Cross Railway Station. From there, board the train to Yarragon. Straightforward enough on the App.

Somewhere along the way, things began to loosen slightly.

At Flagstaff, the trains moved with a kind of quiet efficiency that suggested everything was working exactly as it should. There’s a certain confidence to a train arriving on time, doors opening in precisely the right place, people stepping on and off without hesitation. I, on the other hand, hovered just far enough back to suggest I was observing rather than participating, quietly double-checking that I was still following the right version of the plan.

By the time I reached Southern Cross, the plan had unravelled just enough to become interesting. Power lines had been damaged somewhere further along the line, and the train to Yarragon had been quietly replaced with a coach departing from bay 54. There was something mildly disappointing about it, though no one seemed particularly surprised. It had the feel of a well-practised disruption, as if this sort of thing happened often enough that it barely registered.

The coach made its way out to Pakenham, where we were funnelled back onto a train that carried on as if nothing had happened. No announcements, no grand explanation, just a seamless return to the original script.

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Autumn in Central Otago

Daily Photo – Autumn in Central Otago

I stopped in Alexandra long enough to grab some lunch and pay a small fortune for a tank of petrol. From there I headed towards Clyde, where I had planned to eat while taking in the view from a hillside lookout. The road slipped quietly out of town, passing row upon row of dark green conifers before giving way to farmland, with timber post-and-rail fences running alongside the road. Then came the scattered piles of schist, tussock, and dry grasses that define so much of the landscape in this part of the country. Beyond them,fruit trees carried their autumn colours, oranges and golds dominating the palette. All around, the hills, rocky and sun-bleached, rolled off into the distance. I stood at the Clyde Lookout and ate my lunch, taking in a view that stretched far beyond me as the mid-morning sun settled into the autumn day.

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Centre Place Lane in Melbourne

Live in Centre Place Lane – Melbourne

Daily Photo – Centre Place Lane in Melbourne

I left the market and caught a tram into the heart of Melbourne’s CBD. After a short journey I alighted at a stop that read “Bourke Street Mall” and walked a block or two until I found myself outside St Paul’s Cathedral on what was called Swanson Street.

It was then that I suddenly realized I was rather hungry and so went looking for a place to eat – a job that you might expect to be relatively easy in a place widely considered the culinary capital of Australia. But that’s the thing about Melbourne: the city wants you to eat out as soon as you get there, launching an assault on your senses that only the very strongest of wills can resist. This is due in no small part to the fact that the city is home to more than 3,500 restaurants and cafes serving cuisines from over 70 different countries. Take Lygon Street in Carlton as an example; this “Little Italy” precinct boasts approximately 100 restaurants, cafes, and bars alone – and that’s just one street.

Consequently, choosing a place to eat becomes insanely difficult, mainly owing to the fact that there are so many options. Give me a choice between seafood and Italian and I can usually manage, add Indian, Chinese, Greek and a range of Lebanese and Asian influences to the mix and things start to get complicated. But multiply those choices by a thousand and you have a situation that is frankly alarming.

Walk down any central Melbourne street and you’ll find long queues to establishments that are now city institutions. But that doesn’t matter because you can always duck down an alleyway or side street and find a cafe that is impossibly small and roughly the same size as your living room, squeezed between two equally small eateries that nevertheless welcome you like a long lost friend, which is what I did now.

From Swanson Street I turned into Flinders Lane and then again into a small alleyway not more than 2 metres wide and 50 metres long called Centre Place. 

Centre Place was transformed from a neglected service alley into a revitalised laneway by the City of Melbourne and the Victorian State Government in the 1980s, and they’ve done it exceedingly well. The alleyway is tiny, yet it holds upwards of 20 small scale cafes, sushi bars and eateries and is as much a tourist destination as it is a venue, and choosing a place to eat can be quite an overwhelming task. Fortunately the job is made easier by a series of maître d’s eagerly enticing you in.

I was on my second lap down the lane when I must have said out loud “ooh Eggs Benedict” as no sooner had the words left my mouth than a pretty young waitress dressed all in black and clothing that left little to the imagination stepped forward and pointed out they also do a New York version featuring a beef brisket. Well, before I knew what was happening I was seated, had ordered and a glass of coke was being placed in front of me by a young man in equally tight clothing and a multitude of piercings that frankly looked like they’d be both painful and annoying. From my vantage point at a table that was placed where a window once sat, I watched the comings and goings of a busy lane in the heart of Melbourne. It really was quite fascinating to watch the people drift by, and for a cafe that couldn’t have been more than 50 square metres, the food was exceedingly good.

Satisfied and full, I paid by waving my phone at a machine on the counter, a neat trick I’d recently been taught by both my wife and daughter a few nights earlier, and stepped out into the throng of foot traffic to consider my next options. 

Melbourne’s Queen Vic Market

Live at Queen Vic Market – Melbourne

Daily Photo – Melbourne’s Queen Vic Market

When one of Melbourne’s founding father’s, John Batman died in May of 1839, he was 38 years old and buried in the Old Melbourne Cemetery. While his name would forever be linked with founding the city of Melbourne, his death wasn’t so heroic. In fact, it was rather tragic. Having contracted syphilis, the disease quickly took over his body, he became disfigured, crippled and in the final months of his life, the disease was so advanced that his nose had rotted away, he became incapacitated and had to be pushed around in a wicker carriage. He died in debt, estranged from his wife and alone. His funeral was a modest, yet well attended affair, after which he was buried in the Old Melbourne Cemetery. In the coming years he would be joined by merchants, Ministers and many other of the city’s earliest settlers until the cemetery was closed for burials in 1854. 

Throughout this time, Melbourne grew at a lively pace and small wholesale and retail markets started popping up to serve the rapidly growing population. One of which surrounded the Old Melbourne Cemetery. As the market encroached on the cemetery, the public outcry became furious and proved unpopular with market gardeners and  traders who refused to use the space – fearing disease and the disrespect of selling food over graves. 

That was until 1876 when everything changed. The Victorian Government passed an Act officially gazetting the Old Melbourne Cemetery site as land to be reserved and developed into markets. A year later as bodies and skeletons were exhumed and re-interred at the Melbourne General Cemetery – things got a little messy. You see, back in 1864, a fire at the lodge belonging to the Old Melbourne Cemetery gatekeeper destroyed most of the burial registers. This meant when it became time to exhume most of the bodies, officials had absolutely no idea who was buried and where. So while identified graves were shifted, some 6,000 to 9,000 graves remained buried as the new market space was developed and officially opened as The Queen Victoria Market on the 20th March, 1878.

The City of Melbourne

Daily Photo – Tram on Elizabeth Street in Melbourne

I was flying to Melbourne, a city that was settled twice, in two different decades, in two separate locations, by two different groups of people. The first attempt took place in late 1803 and was a spectacular failure. Led by a man named Lieutenant-Governor David Collins, a British army officer, colonial administrator and newly appointed Governor of the intended settlement, the expedition set sail from England on 27 April 1803 aboard the HMS Calcutta. The purpose of the trip was to establish a penal colony and secure the southern coastline of Australia for the British, before the French laid claim to it. Accompanying Lieutenant Collins in his wee fleet was a dozen Civil officers and administrators, 50 Royal Marines, 50 free settlers and their families, 300 male convicts and around 16 convict wives who had come along for the ride. 

The party arrived at the chosen site of Sullivan Bay on the Mornington Peninsula in late October 1803 and set about clearing land, constructing shelters, storehouses, developing a parade ground and completing other tasks vital to their survival. However, within a month it became clear the site was poorly chosen at best. The sandy soil was difficult to work with, there was a lack of fresh water, the timber unusable for building, crops struggled and morale quickly dipped. By January they’d decided to abandon the settlement and in February the expedition packed-up and sailed for Van Diemen’s Land, landing on the banks of the Derwent River – thus establishing what is now known as the city of Hobart. The entire experiment had lasted 14 weeks and was a complete failure in establishing a British presence on the intended coastline. 

Thirty years later, in June 1835 colonial settler and part time explorer John Batman returned to Van Diemen’s Land, having completed what can only be described as a short, brief trip. Traveling with a group of likeminded Tasmanian settlers, they’d been tasked with looking for new land, suitable for grazing and one of the areas they explored was beyond the abandoned Sullivan Bay site in a place called Port Phillip. Here Batman claimed to have negotiated a treaty with local Aboriginal and recorded in his diary: “This will be the place for a village.”  It was by no-means a long, drawn-out expedition. Batman had crossed Bass Strait, explored quickly, made his claim, and returned within a month.

Things progressed quickly! In August settlers arrived on the banks of the Yarra River and began establishing a permanent camp – a mere 60 kilometres from the original 1803 site. Unlike the attempt made by Collins, the northern banks of the Yarra River proved much more suitable. It supplied a reliable source of fresh water, better soil, shelter and was much more practical. From there, the settlement took off with surprising speed. Within a year rough streets were beginning to form, basic buildings replaced tents and the population had grown to some 200 people. By 1837 land sales had begun, the population had sprung to nearly 1000 people and the location was officially given the name – Melbourne. 

Vintage Austin Truck in Middlemarch

Daily Photo – Vintage Austin Truck in Middlemarch

Following the need to head out of town for a few hours, it wasn’t long before I found myself leaving the settlement of Outram and rolling along State Highway 87 towards Middlemarch. It’s one of those roads that drifts quietly into the hinterland, leaving town life behind as it follows the Taieri River through wide, empty plains and low, weathered hills, where the mountain ranges do most of the talking and you find yourself driving a little slower without quite knowing why.

As I approached Middlemarch and chugged past the outskirts of town, I came across an unusually large gathering of vehicles near the local rugby club. Every available space along the road and in nearby paddocks had been taken, cars and 4WDs of every description were lined up and separated by hay bales acting as makeshift road markers. Propped up against them were large signs announcing the “Strath Taieri A & P Show 2026”.

For a moment I considered calling in and wandering around, but then thought better of it. There’s only so much farming talk you can bluff your way through before someone asks a question you can’t answer, and I wasn’t in the mood to be found out.

Several streets later I came across the local museum which proudly displays (and quite rightly may I add) New Zealand’s only submarine and I thought about stopping by, but it appeared to be closed. Instead, I settled for a quiet stroll around the local train station where I could wander about without the risk of being drawn into a conversation I wasn’t equipped to have.

Rail Shed Near Pukerangi

Daily Photo – Tracks Heading West Near Pukerangi

This little train shed isn’t at Pukerangi, it’s actually further on from Pukerangi, about halfway between the old train station there and the former station at Sutton. I was heading to Middlemarch for a few hours out of town, and took the opportunity to detour down some of the sideroads that break off from State Highway 87. Before long the sealed surface gave up entirely, turning to gravel that crunched under the tyres as the road twisted its way into the dry, tussock and rock-covered hills that surround the Strath Taieri.

Out here, the landscape feels open in a way that’s hard to describe, wide skies stretching overhead while the land rolls away in soft browns and golds. The shed itself appears almost by accident, a small, weathered reminder of a time when the railway was the only real thread tying these places together, quietly enduring long after the trains have passed.

Horseshoe Bay to Bathing Beach to Oban

Daily Photo – Bathing Beach Estuary

I caught a lift with a local who was heading to Lee Bay and the Rakiura Track. When I told him I was wanting to walk from the Mamaku Point Reserve back to Oban, he’d promised to drop me off at the northern end of Horseshoe Bay, where the beach meets the Reserve. It was here that I began my walk back to Oban, a distance of about five kilometres. Horseshoe Bay features a long, flat beach surrounded on three sides by bush, along with a handful of houses overlooking the sand, the bay and beyond to Foveaux Strait. With the tide well out and nobody else around, I decided to walk along the sand. There were footprints heading in both directions. Clearly other people had enjoyed the scenery and the idea of walking close to the tide, although there was no sign of them now.

At the end of the bay I rejoined the road and cut up through the bush before descending on the other side where it opened out onto Butterfield Beach. Once again, I walked on the sand for as long as I could, before rejoining the road for a short stretch and arriving at yet another beach, this one called Bathing Beach. For the most part, the weather had been kind, but by the time I arrived at the beach, the weather was changing. I decided not to hang around and was pleased that the final section of the walk climbed steadily over yet another hill before dropping down again into Oban.

An Evening Wander Along Marine Parade

Daily Photo – Last Light at Paraparaumu Beach

I was flicking through some of my unpublished images and came across this one from Paraparaumu on the Kapiti Coast. I think it was taken after a few minutes wandering along Marine Parade from Paraparaumu Beach in the direction of Raumati South and Paekākāriki. I’d been watching the sun drop slowly behind Kapiti Island while ambling along the beach and, just as I was about to call it a day, something caught my eye. The toetoe bushes that line the sand dunes, quietly separating the beach from the road and footpath, were swaying in the evening breeze and suddenly seemed worth a second look.