Aotearoa, New Zealand, Summer, Wild Horses

The Classic Kiwi Summer

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Daily Photo – The Kiwi Summer

If you have ever wondered what it might feel like to live inside a postcard, you need only visit New Zealand in summer. The days stretch on with an air of confidence, lingering until nine thirty or even ten at night as if the sun sees no good reason to leave. 

A Kiwi summer is essentially a national migration either inland to Central Otago or to the beach. Every person in the country seems to own a pair of jandals, a chilly bin, and a slightly overoptimistic idea that the days will be long, hot and sunny. Most of the time, temperatures sit in the comfortable twenties which is perfect for tramping, cycling, or leaping off bridges while attached to a glorified rubber band.

In the evenings the entire population gathers around barbecues sizzling with sausages and fresh seafood. All of this is accompanied by a UV index so fierce you can get sunburned simply by thinking about going outside. Thankfully there is fresh fruit, real fruit ice cream, and endless road trips to make you forget your glowing red shoulders.

#dailyat6am, #fromtheroad, Aotearoa, Moeraki, Moeraki Village, New Zealand, South Island, Wild Horses

Classic Coastal New Zealand

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Daily Photo – Boats at Moeraki Fishing Village

I was ambling around the Moeraki Fishing Village, enjoying that quiet feeling you get when a place is perfectly happy without you. The sky was doing its best impression of a damp woolen blanket and the sea had settled into a gentle green that looked far more inviting than it felt. Two upturned boats rested on the concrete like old friends who had decided to lie down for a spell. The blue one was peeling like a sunburnt tourist, while the white one still looked hopeful that someone might flip it over and take it for a spin. Neither seemed in a hurry.

Out on the water a handful of boats bobbed about, each one appearing to be minding its own business. The ruins of an ancient jetty leaned into the shallows, holding itself together out of sheer habit. You could almost hear it sigh every time a wave nudged it. At the same time, nearby a local fish and chip shop was sending out hot parcels at a pace that suggested they were keeping the entire village fed. It felt like classic coastal New Zealand, simple and quietly wonderful.

#dailyat6am, New Zealand, Oamaru, Wild Horses

Oamaru (3 of 3)

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Daily Photo – Oamaru – Grand Scenes

By the time I left, the town had done what it always does. It reminded me that travel is not always about going far. Sometimes it is simply about slowing down, letting the buildings talk to you, and noticing how a place can feel both familiar and brand new at the same time. Oamaru does this. It gives you grand scenes one moment and gentle ones the next, and all you need to do is wander with a camera and pay attention to the timeless charm.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, New Zealand, South Island, Wild Horses

Dunedin Before Dawn

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Daily Photo – Dunedin Before Dawn

I was up early as a special kind of calm settled over Dunedin, just before sunrise. The city hadn’t quite woken up. The streets were mostly empty, the air sharp, and the lights glowed against a soft violet sky. It was that minute, that hour, that moment when night hadn’t entirely let go, and day hadn’t quite begun.

Down the main street, baristas, bakers, couriers, and delivery vans were starting to stir, streaks of light cutting through the not-yet-congested roads – but the alleyways remained silent. The rest of the city slumbered behind the darkened windows of the grand old buildings which watched in silence, their stone façades catching the faint promise of dawn.

In a city known for its energy and eccentricity, there was a quiet beauty. It was almost as if the city itself paused to breathe, waiting for the first light to spill over the hills and touch its buildings. And for a brief second, the city dreamed.

#dailyat6am, Dunedin, New Zealand, Otago Peninsula, South Island, Wild Horses

The Magnificent Boulder Beach

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Daily Photo – The Magnificent Boulder Beach

Boulder Beach, the place is magnificent. A rugged, windswept slice of South Island coastline that looks as though it hasn’t seen a nice promenade in its entire geological existence. No neat boardwalks, no conveniently placed benches. Just raw, elemental beauty and a sense that the wind has been in charge here for quite some time. The beach itself is a glorious jumble of colossal volcanic stones and dark boulders that clearly took a fair bit of tectonic enthusiasm to create. Between them are carefully placed pockets of fine sand, that arrived on wind and next waves. It’s beautiful, but let’s be honest, you wouldn’t want to jog on it.

More importantly, this wild stretch of coast is a vital sanctuary for the yellow-eyed penguin, or Hoiho, a bird so rare it seems perpetually startled by its own continued existence. The Department of Conservation, bless their cotton socks, does a sterling job protecting them, closing off parts of the area for months at a time while the penguins get on with the serious business of breeding. If you’re lucky enough to visit outside of those times, it’s a wonderful reminder of how nature can still write its own rules. You might spot a Hoiho making its slightly awkward way up the sand, or perhaps find yourself the subject of a disapproving glare from a resident sea lion. Best advice: keep your distance, there’s nothing quite like being told off by a several-hundred-kilo local to remind you who really owns the beach.

It’s a place that feels defiantly untamed, as if it’s politely declined every human attempt to tidy it up. And thank goodness for that. Because every so often, it’s good to stand somewhere that reminds you that nature, even here at the far edge of the world, remains profoundly and beautifully unmanageable.

Aotearoa, New Zealand, Travel, Wellington, Wild Horses

Rydges Hotel at Wellington Airport

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Wellington Airport at night

I spent the night at the Rydges Hotel at Wellington Airport. At first, for reasons I can’t explain, I was sceptical about staying in such a place. I assumed it would be pricey and beyond my means – but I was wrong. It was reasonably priced, spotlessly clean, comfortable, cozy and with incredibly convenient access to the airport. Right beside the terminal! This proved most useful in the morning. I went from being in my pyjamas at 7:30 am to standing at the check-in kiosks at 7:55 am and I wasn’t even late, in a rush or making a panicking run across the airport in a vain attempt to get to a flight that was determined to leave without me (this has happened before). 

That morning, I woke to bright sunshine streaming through the curtains. I made a coffee, read my book, made another coffee and at around 7:30 am decided with check-in closing at 8:15 am, I’d better get dressed. So, I completed my morning ablutions and minutes later presented myself at the check-in kiosks. I then proceeded through the necessary security checks and found a seat beside the allotted gate number, well rested and fresh as daisy. All without stepping outside, it was most civilised. I highly recommend it!

Australia, New Zealand

ANZAC Day

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The Last Post

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 
To the end, to the end, they remain.
By Laurence Binyon

Australia, New Zealand

We Will Remember Them.

1 Comment

The Last Post

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 
To the end, to the end, they remain.
By Laurence Binyon