Daily Photo – Dunedin’s St Paul’s Cathedral

In 1862, amidst the chaos of the Otago Gold Rush, the first St Paul’s Cathedral rose from the empty, muddy landscape of Dunedin’s Octagon. Constructed from Caversham stone, the church was an ambitious symbol of English heritage in a new and raw town. Unfortunately, the soft local sandstone proved to be completely unsuitable for the biting southerlies that whipped through the city, the stone crumbling so rapidly that the church’s elegant spire had to be dismantled within a few years to prevent a complete collapse.

Despite this, by the turn of the century the congregation had outgrown the rapidly decaying structure, so thoughts turned to designing a new, less collapsible building. Enter architect Edmund Sedding, who had plans for a cathedral of grand proportions. As the world descended into war during 1914 and 1915, the old Dunedin church was razed to make way for a Gothic masterpiece of reinforced concrete and Oamaru limestone. For four years, stonemasons laboured on a magnificent vaulted ceiling, the only stone-ribbed roof of its kind in the country.

Yet the shadow of the Great War drained both coffers and manpower. By 1919, the grand vision had stalled. With no funds left for the planned central tower or chancel, builders erected a “temporary” wooden wall to seal the end of the nave. In 1920, the truncated cathedral was consecrated, a majestic but unfinished torso of stone that would wait fifty years for its completion.

Daily Photo – The Otago Coastline

There’s something quietly wonderful about standing above the ocean and watching the land fall away beneath you. From up here, the coastline dissolves into haze, headland after headland, each one slightly less certain than the last. The sea moves with that steady confidence it always has, unconcerned by the surrounding hills or the thin lines of road carved into the slopes.

It’s a view that encourages slowing down. Not stopping entirely, just easing back a notch or two. You notice how the light skims the water, how the cliffs carry the memory of older shapes, how distance gently erases detail until only form and feeling remain.

This is the kind of place where thoughts wander without effort. Where the city feels present but politely distant. You don’t come here looking for answers. You come to let the questions stretch out a little, carried off toward the horizon.