Dunedin’s Traditional Chinese Garden

Daily Photo – Dunedin’s Chinese Garden

The idea to develop a traditional Chinese garden right in the city had been ruminating around the council officials for some time. Then, in the early 200o’s the idea swung back into life. It wasn’t just about creating a pretty space, it was a way to recognise the Chinese community that had been part of Otago since the gold rush in the 1860s and made a big impact on the region. 

The garden was designed in the style of a classic Chinese garden, and to keep it authentic, most of the materials were shipped straight from China, everything from tiles to timber. Then in 2007, around 40 skilled workers came over from Shanghai and built the whole thing by hand, using traditional Ming Dynasty techniques. A tribute to history, heritage, and the bond between cultures.

Otago Peninsula from Harbour Cone

Otago Peninsula from Harbour Cone

It was steep, very steep and the weather was changing quickly. Turns out that pamphlet I had read before leaving home was right. Who knew the people who wrote those things actually knew what they were talking about? I hadn’t noticed it at first, but now I was actually starting to feel rather cold. The wind? Oh yeah, definitely picking up. And the rain? Spitting again, this time a wee bit harder.

At the summit, I stood for a moment, let the wind blow through my hair, and fixed my gaze beyond the horizon. I stayed a while to take a few photos, enjoy the view, and have a drop of water. It really was quite spectacular. Standing there, at the highest point on the peninsula, I suddenly knew what it must have felt like for Sir Edmund Hillary when he reached the top of Mount Everest. It was nice to have something in common with the great man.

Papanui Inlet

Papanui Inlet

Recently, I’ve been spending a fair bit of time on the Otago Peninsula on a number of photographic outings. These journey’s aren’t particularly planned ahead of time, instead I have a list of locations in my head that I pick from, depending on the time of day and weather. The peninsula can be such a moody place when the weather changes and low clouds roll in. That’s what happened here while at Cape Saunders – low misty rain and heavy cloud cover drifted in from out at sea within a matter of minutes.

Dunedin’s Quiet Moments: Dusk at the Beach

Dusk at Blackhead Beach

Now, I know I might be completely biased here, but New Zealand has some wonderful beaches—and Dunedin’s are some of the best. They’re long, unspoilt, full of wildlife, as moody as they are imperfect—and I won’t hear a word against them!

On this occasion, I spent the evening watching the waves at Blackhead Beach roll in a steady rhythm, catching the last colours of dusk as they swept over the rocks as if in time with a Mozart symphony. Offshore, Green Island sat quietly beneath a lavender sky, as if it too were patiently waiting for night to return. I lingered for a few moments, watching the colours of the sky fade as evening took hold.

Dunedin’s Quiet Moments: A Waterfront Evening

Dunedin waterfront at dusk

I ambled through the streets until I came to a section of wharf called the Steamer Basin. Located right beside the railway lines on the eastern edge of the main business district, it was here that cargo was once loaded, unloaded and passed through the Customs Department Wharf Office. Thus, showing the importance of the area as a transit point between markets in the first decade of the twentieth century. 

For some time, the local city council has been developing this area by very strategically doing nothing at all. A strategy that successive councils have had in place for sometime now, and appears to be going according to plan. About every five to eight years a new, grand design is unveiled to the public which is always received with much oohing and ahhing, before eventually getting forgotten about and disappearing into the annals of time. 

The most recent push to redevelop the waterfront happened in 2017 when a group of notable locals got together to produce blueprints and 3D modelling that would transform the Steamer Basin into a stunning array of buildings and spaces over a span of thirty years. The designs included public spaces, Ecotourism office space, cafes, a Marine Research Centre and Aquarium, walkways, cycleways, docks, exhibition and office spaces, apartments, a luxury Hotel and a Culture Centre. All done in a futuristic space-age design and finished with a foot bridge linking the waterfront to the city. Unfortunately, after the initial enthusiasm wore off, the plans floundered, the whole project was put in the ‘too-hard basket’ and life moved on. Leaving the Steamer Basin to look as it always does, a little past it’s best 

I thought about this as I walked around and looked across the water to where a Marine Research Centre and Aquarium could now be standing. If that plan had gone ahead, we’d be eight years into a thirty year plan. I ambled a little further in the fading afternoon. Still, the people fishing seemed happy, and at least there’s a lovely pontoon that can fit up to twelve people on it.

Dunedin’s Quiet Moments: Overbridge Sunrise

Overbridge sunrise

The forecast for the day was for long periods of fine weather with evening high cloud, light northeasterlies, and a high of a delicious 20 degrees.

Now 20 degrees — for Dunedin at any time of year — is practically tropical, but in May is simply unheard of. The city’s infrastructure simply isn’t built to handle such extreme weather. When you take into consideration that this was the third day of the current run of fine weather, Dunedin was approaching, it must be said — a heatwave. 

In fact, we were teetering on the brink of what I like to call the John Caswell Heatwave Threshold —  an entirely unscientific, arbitrary benchmark that is based on nothing but my own personal feelings about the weather! To be clear, my own personal threshold for heatwave in Dunedin is as follows: any spell of weather that is better than the previous summer. So, while my system might not be as reliable as the official one, it’s my rule, so I get to make-up the parameters.

Now, the previous summer, and I will be quite frank here, was simply awful. It was a masterclass in disappointment. Throughout most of December, January, and into February, there hadn’t been more than three days in a row where the weather was fine, warm, and pleasant. What you might traditionally associate with summer. Most of the time, there had been low cloud, wind and long periods of rain hanging around the city like it had nowhere better to be.

Yet, here I was, on a warm Dunedin morning in May, watching the sun appear over the peninsula, with another long, fine day in prospect, wondering if we’d need to declare a state of emergency if the mercury hit 21 degrees. The only question was, what was I going to do with it? A completely rhetorical question I can assure you.

Boulder Beach, Otago Peninsula

Boulder Beach, Otago Peninsula

Before I went there a few days ago, about all I really remembered about Boulder Beach, beyond the fact it had sand and rocks, was that access was via a farm road, followed by a short walk through sand dunes.

Like so many parts of the Otago Peninsula, Boulder Beach is managed by the Department of Conservation. Once upon a time, a well-maintained and signposted track led down to the beach, with further walking tracks branching off through the dunes and up over the nearby hills. All those paths are now a distant memory.

The beach survives, but in a very different way. As a protected area under the Department of Conservation, it is often visited by fur seals and sea lions, and is a favoured nesting spot for yellow-eyed penguins. In fact, the beach is so popular with these shy, nesting birds that the track is closed to the public from November to February during the breeding season.

I walked down to the beach. The farm road was longer and steeper than I remembered, and the nearby sand dunes had collapsed, resulting in an unexpected excursion through newly formed valleys, overgrown and heavy with dune. Reaching the bottom of the hill, I pushed my way through dense bushes tangled with vines. Every so often, the path would disappear—only to reappear moments later.

Eventually, after much swearing, I stumbled upon the isolated, wild, windswept beach. Golden dunes spilled to the shoreline, while large mounds of dark, smooth stones stretched along the beach and into the distance. The air was rich with salt, and the rhythm of waves rolling beneath the endless blue sky. It was just as I remembered it: quiet, peaceful, and serene.

Hare on Fence Line

Hare on Fence Line

This image is my take on rural life on the peninsula—unfiltered and a bit rough around the edges. I initially drove past this scene after first seeing it. Something about it stuck with me. It’s not an easy picture, and that’s part of why I took it. There’s no drama, no movement—just a quiet, weathered kind of finality.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. But on a still, grey morning, walking the same fenceline, I realised this was really a photo about boundaries, both literal and symbolic. Out here, fences mark more than just paddocks. Sometimes they hold stories, or reminders. This hare, caught and left, becomes part of the land in a strange way. You see things like this from time to time. No explanation, just a presence.

Rural life can be harsh. There’s beauty in it, but not always the kind you hang on a postcard. This photo sits with that reality. Quiet, a little uncomfortable, and honest.

Farm Field on Cape Saunders Road.

Farm field on Cape Saunders road.

The metaphor of lines dissolving into the horizon crops up often in my work. Here, the fence line draws the eye through, threading its way into the brooding grey sky. I’m often drawn to the way the land seems to pause, as though waiting. There’s a tension between what is visible and what remains just out of reach beyond the rise. I nearly passed this scene by on a gloomy afternoon, but something about the scene made me stop. The light was heavy, flat—but quietly alive. There’s no grand gesture here, only wire, grass, and sky—but that’s all that’s needed. Everything is pared back to the essentials, and in that bareness, something honest emerges.

The City Gathers

Cenotaph, Queens Gardens

The cenotaph was a quiet, somber place. The usual crowds were elsewhere, and those passing by didn’t linger. Not today—not with the wind whipping autumn leaves like a child’s toy and rain sweeping the city in steady waves. Nobody lingers on days like this. It’s a day to be indoors, somewhere sheltered, somewhere warm. On days like this, people don’t stop to read, to talk, or to ponder.

But on ANZAC Day, this is Dunedin’s gathering place—whatever the weather. Each year, at 6am on April 25th, the city gathers. It has for 110 years. The people come to remember, reflect, and honor the fallen. At 6am in 1915, the ANZACs landed on the shores of Gallipoli. And now, the city gathers before dawn, as darkness gives way to light.

The wreaths laid on ANZAC Day remind us and teach us. They remind us of sacrifice, identity, and unity. They teach us mateship, courage, and peace. And in the days that follow, they remain—a quiet, enduring reminder.

Dunedin’s Iconic First Church

First Church in Dunedin

First Church is one of Dunedin’s most iconic landmarks and holds a significant place in the city’s history. Its original congregation consisted of Scottish Free Church settlers who arrived in the 1840s. Several different structures once stood on the site, but the foundation stone for the current building was laid on 15 May 1868, and the church was ready for use by 1873. With its striking Gothic architecture, it’s no surprise that First Church is considered one of the most impressive nineteenth-century churches in New Zealand.

I Wandered Through The Darkened Lanes

Corner of City Rise, Ross Street and Leven Street.

I’ve come across this intersection many times, and I’ve always thought it would make an interesting subject. However, it depends on a number of factors. During the day, it really looks like just another drab and dull intersection. Yet, if I could find the right conditions—with a little ambient street light, an interesting sky, and some traffic—it could be compelling.

To be honest, I don’t think this image is quite there yet; it’s more a work in progress. I’m thinking a few more attempts on a winter morning might do the trick.

The Orokonui Ecosanctuary

The Orokonui Ecosanctuary

One morning, I found myself at Orokonui Ecosanctuary. The warmth of the sunlight spilled over tussock and flax and caught the curve of the visitor centre like it was a natural part of the landscape. The nearby ponds reflected the still morning sky as tui’s and bellbirds tuned up for their morning symphony. Somewhere out there, a takahē waddled through purposefully looking for a spot of breakfast. I hadn’t even started walking the tracks yet, and already, nature was making me grin like an idiot.

Natural Beauty & Rugged Charm

An isolated section of coast on the Otago Peninsula

I’d spent the afternoon walking some of the tracks that cross farmland on the Otago Peninsula. Tucked away on the southeastern edge of New Zealand’s South Island, it really is a treasure trove of natural beauty and rugged charm that never fails to impress. It has so many wonderful and incredible spots sometimes it’s hard to know where to start. This is the view from part of the Highcliff track looking down on one of the isolated sections of coast.

The Coffee Obsession

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.

The Stillness of the Night

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.

Forgotten Thoughts In The Rain

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.

The Quintessential Kiwi Takeaway

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!”

Carey’s Bay


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 Lindis Pass

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.

Erricks & the One Man Skiffle Band.

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. 

There Was Rain in the Forecast

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.

Aramoana Waves

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 Gullies and Terraces of Hindon

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.

Before the Chaos of Day Came Bliss

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.

Hollis Brown

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)