wheresphil

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life

London – Sunday 1 June 2025

Having only recently announced I wasn’t going to write any more posts, I feel a little embarrassed to be posting so soon. In my defence I wrote this the day after the walk, and well before the self imposed end. I also mostly finished writing a post about a visit to London’s ‘Isokon’ building, so that may also appear. I’m still stuck on Delhi though.

It’s a rare day when friends or family come to London from New Zealand. Long gone are the halcyon days when we were young and free of mortgages and houses and children and family, friends or ourselves were in good, robust health. Travel is hard and expensive. It was just so nice to have far away friends visit.

M and B are visiting London for a few days as M has a conference to attend, they both lived here, like I did in the 80s, but not exactly at the same time as I was here, though we did cross paths, I think. M visited us a few years back and we did a great Sunday London walk through some of my favourite parts of the inner city, if you can ever define London’s inner city. M wanted to do another Sunday walk on this visit so Eleanor and I arranged to meet them at a café near Holborn tube station. Which of course, it being a Sunday, meant the café was closed.

Other than closed cafés and pubs Sunday is my favourite city walking day, it’s just so much quieter than other days, especially in the morning; a quiet walk is a good walk. We were blessed with the weather; it was neither hot nor cold, perfect for knocking off a 12km walk.

Eleanor and I had been up until 1am, so were in need of the coffee we expected to find at our meeting point, fortunately there was an open café not too far away and the coffee and almond croissant were both welcome and enjoyable. Suitably refreshed we set off on what I hoped would be the interesting walk I’d planned in my head.

Our first stop was Sir John Soane Museum on Lincoln’s Inn Fields. I stumbled on it a few years ago when my son was first here, loved it and have been planning on a revisit ever since. Having visitors was the perfect excuse. The ‘house’ is actually three houses that Sir John joined together to house not just himself and his family, but also the vast collection of ‘stuff’ he had accumulated through his and others travels. He was an architect and his collection of art, sculpture, furniture and architectural models reflect his wide curiosity and interest in things historic and beautiful. It is rammed with stuff, a lot of which are plaster casts of original works left in the countries they belong in. I took a lot of photos.

Like me, he also loved ruins, and I find it strange that 200 years ago that some of the ruins I see now were ruins back then; though of course some of those places have been ruins for hundreds of years.

The house was left as a museum when he died in 1837 and is pretty much as it was back then. He was a very well known, and powerful figure; he managed to get a law passed in parliament before he died the “Sir John Soane’s House Museum Act 1833” to prevent his possessions being inherited by his son, who he hated. Not many civilians get a law passed to support their pet grievance. As much as he disliked his son, he was besotted by his wife who died quite young. We had a great chat with one of the volunteers working there who talked about some of the images of his wife that adorned the walls.

It’s an absolute wonder of a museum and we spent a good hour there. I was glad everyone liked it as it sort of set the tone for the rest of the walk.

I took us on a fairly meandering path through Lincoln’s Inn Fields park, where the plane trees destroyed my sinuses, even though I take antihistamine tablets and use a spray; they are lovely trees, but evil.

I digress, I took us on a meandering path through the park then down to Fleet St, and then back up into the old London alleys that link the major roads and are always deserted. I wanted to walk past Dr Johnson’s house and the famous saying that heads this post. Though it was open, we didn’t go in. Not much was going to top Sir John’s pad.

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”. A sentiment I heartily agree with, which explains why I live here and not New Zealand.

While I had an overall plan for the walk there were a few sections where I had no specific route in mind, so we took in a bit of Farringdon then up to St Barts hospital and the scene of a few gruesome 14^th century executions, such as William Wallace (you need to look him up yourself if you don’t know who is. Think Mel Gibson with a blue face, actually don’t, ignore that prick). We stopped in the Barbican, my favourite place in London for a brief visit and a light lunch.

It was a straight run north from the Barbican to a short section of the Regents Canal, before it disappeared into the Islington Tunnel.

We sort of followed the canal over ground before joining it again when it reappeared back from the gloom. I take most visitors to London on a walk along the canals, they’re a bit of London that not too many people, even Londoners, appreciate. Though the paths have got much busier over the years, they are still a great way to connect interesting bits of the city, avoiding traffic filled, stinking, roads.

We followed the canal to Kings Cross where we stopped for a well earned and refreshing drink (beer) at the fabulous Spiritland.

We were now almost on the last leg of the walk, with the final stop at St Pancras Old Church and the ‘Hardy Tree’, which I discovered was no longer there. Reading about it as I wrote this, I found that it had blown down in 2022. In 1866 the writer, Thomas Hardy worked for the railways moving gravestones around St Pancras Cemetery as some of it had been purchased to build a new train station. Hardy supposedly stacked gravestones around a tree in a section of the cemetery that was to remain in use. This image is from when I visited in 2016.

Sadly, it’s now just a sad looking collection of headstones buried among a dense clump of bramble and weeds. Apparently a new tree has been planted, though I imagine I will not get to see it in its full glory. At least the stones are still there.

We walked back towards the British Museum as M and B were staying nearby and said our goodbyes, then Eleanor and I headed back to Holborn for the tube back home.

It was a great day out. The walk was a success. it was fab spending some time with M and B. I love showing visitors, and myself, bits of London that are slightly off the beaten track.

The end.

London – Saturday 22 June 2025

After much mental wrangling I’ve decided that I’m going pause the blog for a period, and at this stage I’m not certain how long that period will be. It could be forever, it could be a week. It’s likely to be somewhere in between, but it’s likely to be much longer than a week.

I’ve just renewed my subscription with WordPress so the site will be available for at least the next 12 months, maybe I will have decided on its future by then. There are about 15,000 images saved here and though I have all these backed up elsewhere it’s the only online archive I have of them. The questions I need to ask myself, and then answer honestly are;

- Will anyone care if the blog disappears?
- What happens when I stop paying? Do all my photos that massively exceed the free limit get deleted?
- What happens when I die? This is an inevitability, my blog will stop at some stage, so what is the point of keeping it going now? Though to answer that one, I do reference it every now and then.

I’ve hit a roadblock with India. It’s not that I had a bad time as I didn’t, it’s that I have a thousand photos to review and chose a small number from, and then there is all the research I need to do to make some sense of the history of the places I’m showing. It just seems like a lot of work and there is a lot going on at the moment elsewhere and I’m staring at the India photos on almost daily basis, but going nowhere with them.

I’ve decided to sell my flat in St Leonards and buy somewhere a bit cheaper, though still in St Leonards. We’ve been there a lot since we returned from our holiday and I’m enjoying being there. Hopefully at the end of that process I can be mortgage free, but that requires a lot of hope. Knowing how long it took to buy my flat in the first place I suspect this will be a long winded and stressful process. Not having the blog hanging over my head will help me focus on what is important.

Maybe once I’m settled I will have the desire to start blogging again.

Thanks to anyone who has read my ramblings and to even more so to those who found them useful.

Phil

A day in Hong Kong

Hong Kong – Friday 28 March 2025

When I was looking for a flight to get me from Brisbane to Delhi, one of the first options that popped up on the flight aggregator I was using (I use three as there are deals to be found) was a 31-hour journey on Cathay Pacific via Hong Kong. Even though it was one of the best price options, short of flying via two or three (other) Chinese cities, I discarded it as the layover in HK was 11 hours. I like to get to my destination as fast as possible. I eventually circled back to that option and when I discovered I can leave HK airport for the duration of the layover, which was almost entirely during daylight hours, I booked the flight.

I don’t sleep well on planes and this was a midnight flight out of Brisbane after a full day of family, and all the emotions attached to that. So I was tired when I finally made it through HK immigration into the public side of the airport. It took me a while to find the left luggage counter where I could dump a small bag with a change of clothes, and then I was on the train to the city centre.

I ‘d tried to work out a bit of an itinerary to make the best use of the day I had, taking in a couple of HK’s limited number of brutalist buildings, but it all seemed too difficult. I ended up with no plan, which kind of worked. At least there was no stress with trying to do everything.

I love travelling from the airport on a train, especially in modern Asian cities, the high rises are just so BIG and so everywhere, so alien.

I took the train to Central and walked around there for a bit. It was just coming into morning rush hour, though it was reasonably quiet, certainly not as manic as I expected. I ended up in some form of mega mall/office block complex and spent way too much time walking in circles trying to find somewhere to have coffee and kick my sleep-and-wine-addled brain into focus while I planned what to do with the day.

Google Maps wasn’t helpful at all, Hong Kong is built on layers and the maps app is flat. Just because Starbucks appears a hundred yards away on the map it may, in reality, be three flights up or 20 down. As I said, my brain was addled. I hate Starbucks, but it was where I ended up as it was all I could find.

I was hit by a monster wave of humidity when I finally made it out of the mega mall/office complex. I was expecting it, and had been slightly prepared after the warm and damp day in Brisbane yesterday. Still, it wasn’t nice. As soon as I was outside, the sweat just poured out of me. Locals were wearing suits and looking cool and relaxed. I looked exactly like what I was – a middle aged, saggy, pallid tourist who’d had little sleep.

I had expected to see fewer westerners than previous visits after the clampdown on dissent and a firmer grasp on affairs by the Chinese government over the last few years. I thought that many would have returned home, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It was very cosmopolitan in the areas of the city centre I roamed. It’s an economic powerhouse I guess, and I imagine there are some good jobs here.

Back in the mall I grabbed some brunch (I’ve no idea how I had room for food after two good meals on the plane) then caught the train out to Tung Chung to see the Big Buddha at Ngong Ping. I had to buy something because the ticket machine for the train only took cash, and only small bills. The ATM only provided 100 dollar bills so I had to get food to have change to buy a ticket. Hong Kong isn’t as modern as it appears on the surface.

There was an example of HK modernist architecture right outside the station in Tung Chung.

To get to Ngong Ping, in the middle of the Lantau Island hills, from Tung Chung you can get a very long and mostly pleasant cable car. What I had stupidly failed to think about was that hundreds of others would want to take a long and enjoyable cable car ride as well. There was a long queue and I was getting a little anxious as it slowly dragged itself towards the cable cars. I ended up having to rush a bit when I did get to the top to ensure I got back to the airport in time for my flight.

On the cable car ride up I shared the car with a family group with a very busy dad who just didn’t stay still for more than five minutes. This didn’t help with the anxiety I had about being hundreds of feet above jungle in a small swaying glass container. Though he is in my favourite photo from the day, so I shouldn’t complain.

The journey takes about 20 minutes and we pass over a small harbour and up and down some quite steep jungle-covered hills. At times it was quite misty and everyone in my cab was trying to be first to see the Buddha through the murk.

The Big Buddha is, by Buddhist standards, relatively new, with construction finishing in 1993. It sits on the top of a hill on the outskirts of Ngong Ping village and near Po Lin Monastery.

There are 268 steps to climb to reach the base of the 34-metre statute. There was some serious puffing going on from my fellow visitors and I must admit I didn’t stop half way up JUST to take a photo…

The view from top was great, clearer than I expected, and as busy as I expected from the queue at the base. I was pushing time a bit so didn’t linger too long.

There was a little bit of wind on the cable car ride back down to the train and I found myself pointlessly hanging on to the seat as the occasional gust rocked the cab. I was on my own, which was good, but also a little unnerving. I did get to take pictures from wherever I wanted, without being ‘the dad’ and getting in others’ way.

I took a train straight back to the airport and after retrieving my bag from left luggage, passed back though security and immigration to await my flight onto Delhi. I used a discount offer from my credit card to access an executive lounge, with the expectation of using the advertised shower to rinse off the sweat of the last 36 or so hours. Of course it was out of order, and I ended up having a sink wash in the bathroom to what I imagine was the distaste of some of my fellow ‘executives’. I did eat and drink enough to make up the fee, though, and was feeling pleasantly relaxed for the next leg of the journey. India here I come!

I enjoyed my day in Hong Kong, I wish I’d used the time more constructively, though I loved the trip to Big Buddha. I kind of had plans in my head to do stuff with the day and not just be a tourist, but a tourist is what I am.

Doing a long layover to break up a long flight is exhausting, but worthwhile and I will do it again sometime.

Family time

Brisbane, Australia – Thursday 27 March 2025

I arrived in Brisbane late Wednesday afternoon, with a mix of trepidation and excitement swirling in my head. This was potentially the most problematic leg of the entire holiday and I had no idea how it would go.

Australia isn’t high up on my ‘favourite country’ lists, and Brisbane is my least favourite city in Australia. Growing up, and spending most of my adult life in New Zealand, and most of my working life working for Australian companies I have an unhealthy, and probably undeserved, antipathy for the country. For a lot of New Zealanders it’s an almost gene level dislike, though I’m English by birth so I guess it’s just seeped into my psyche by some form of osmosis. The Aussies just think us Kiwis don’t like them because we’re jealous of their superiority; though that doesn’t seem to help the situation much. Plus they keep stealing our stuff; pavlova, for example.

My ex-wife lives near Brisbane and my two oldest children live in Australia, one in North Queensland and one in Darwin in the Northern Territory. Brisbane is their closest big city. My youngest lives in Auckland and has flown over with my grandson and the theory is we were all going to get together tomorrow. It will be the first time in 10 years since all three children have been in the same place at the same time and 16 years since them, my ex and I have been together. Who knows who will turn up and how the day would go.

I landed in a storm, an auspicious start; it was only late afternoon but it was almost dark when I exited the airport and took a taxi in the pouring rain to my hotel which was just down the road. I unpacked and got in contact with my eldest son who had come down from Darwin the day before. We agreed that he would drive to the hotel with his girlfriend and we would find somewhere to eat.

I was loathe to go far as I was tired and he’s not exactly a conversationalist and it could be a long night, I wanted a quick escape if need be. We ended up in a bar in the mall next to the hotel as the hotel restaurant was really expensive and we just wanted to eat. The burger was decent and exactly what I wanted and a couple of glasses of wine eased me into the evening and prepared me for tomorrow. It was lovely to see him and get some time together.

I’d arranged to meet the family on Brisbane’s South Bank late morning, time to hang out for a few hours, share a meal and then do our own thing. We’re not a close family, 10 years is a long time to not be together. There is no animosity and we get on fine, but I was expecting the day to be hard work, and it was, but at least everyone turned up, which was sort of a surprise and it was properly nice to see everyone after such a long time.

I had a bit of sorting out to do, repacking and getting organised for a day in Hong Kong tomorrow. I’d booked a flight from Brisbane to Delhi that gave me an 11 hour layover and I was keen to get out of the airport and see a bit of the city. I’d researched left luggage at Hong Kong airport so I could leave my small pack while I walked. I wanted to have a change of clothes for the onward flight to Delhi. Hong Kong was going to be hot and humid and I would have been three days in the same clothes if I didn’t change, and no one would want to sit next to me on the Delhi flight.

After breakfast in the same mall as last night I checked out of the hotel and headed to the left luggage lockers at Brisbane airport via a free shuttle from the mall.

I’d planned this part of the trip reasonably well, I had to do something after waking up at 4am. After dumping my bags I took the train from the Airport into Brisbane city centre; for a while I was almost the only person on the train. It was weird.

And here is where the story takes an (un)dramatic twist. I got off the train at Central station and left at the nearest exit, which was right outside the Queensland Railways building; an unexpected piece of Queensland brutalism.

I’d unexpectedly stumbled into the capital of Australian brutalism and the city is littered with lovely 60s and 70s concrete masterpieces, especially on the South Bank, fully deserving of their own post, which I will do next. I’m starting to like this place, and a return visit sounds very plausible now.

I didn’t have a huge amount of time before seeing the family so walked through some late morning drizzle down through the centre and across the Brisbane River to the South Bank. Brisbane is an interesting city to walk through, though warm and muggy on this damp day.

I waited over a coffee near our proposed meeting place and surprisingly everyone turned up, and pretty much all on time, and at the same time. We caught up over coffee and it was lovely to see everyone together, strained as it was. We are all very different people with vastly different adult experiences, expectations and aspirations. It was difficult at times, but still we’re family and it was good.

We walked for a bit, the weather didn’t really help and we had my 10 year old grandson with us, so though we were near the museum and art gallery we didn’t venture in, it didn’t really interest my ‘kids’ either. Though to be fair art galleries are only a recent interest of mine, so there is time for them to show an interest. We stopped for some photos at the Nepalese Peace Pagoda.

My grandson had been promised a visit to an amusement arcade in the city so we crossed over the bridge and went up to a viewing deck on what I think was The Star building, ultra modern and attractive in its way. It did have a very ‘cool’ glass floor overhanging the motorway a lot of floors below. I tip-toed slowly onto the glass, and then had a good laugh when I realised everyone else was doing the same. My grandson was a little nervous getting on there.

When the kids went off to the amusement arcade, I took a sneaky side trip to the nearby Queensland Parliament building, which had the look of being the best, most brutal building in Brisbane, but sadly there weren’t any good quickly gained angles, and of course being parliament I couldn’t just wander in for a nosey.

I joined up with everyone for bao buns for lunch which was nice, a good opportunity to sit around a table and chat and catch up a bit on the last few years. After lunch we all walked back to the South Bank and went our separate ways. I took a few photos of the brutalist buildings on the South Bank (which will be in the next post) before taking a short river boat ride to an area of the north bank with a bunch of bars where I had a beer to kill some time before heading back to the airport on the train.

Next stop Hong Kong!

Steampunk HQ

Oamaru, New Zealand – Tuesday 25 March 2025

Steampunk HQ. I have previously, and erroneously, referred to it as the Steampunk Museum, which it clearly isn’t. It’s an art installation and gallery and it’s mad and fantastic, and we loved it.

Oamaru is a small town about three quarters of the way down the east cost of New Zealand’s south island. It’s probably most famous for its colony of blue penguins, which Eleanor and I planned to visit when we were in New Zealand in 2022 and down this way for my nephew’s wedding. Sadly, we couldn’t because of Covid; and we didn’t get to the wedding either.

It’s a rural and local administrative centre and the largest town in the immediate area. It has a lovely ‘old’ (by New Zealand standards) Victorian heart, with some excellent examples of the local stone buildings remaining, a number of which are sadly semi-derelict. The town needs investment, like so many other rural places. Hopefully tourism will fill some of the void.

Steampunk HQ is part of that recovery. It opened in 2011 and is a popular tourist destination. There are numerous installations, some interactive, and some audio visual, inside, but the best part was the amazing collection of original imagined future vehicles. It was all very ‘Mad Max’ and totally bonkersly wonderful. I took a few photos and below are some of them.

Australia next.

Christchurch to Dunedin to Christchurch

Christchurch, New Zealand – Wednesday 26 March 2025

On Monday morning, we did what has now becoming routine, and left Christchurch after rush hour and the school run had finished. We’re staying within walking distance of the city centre, as I will discover when I return, and Christchurch traffic has not improved in the 14 years since I last visited. Our destination is just outside the city of Dunedin, about five hours south.

We missed the first place we planned to stop at, the ‘Book Barn’, a vast second hand book shop recommended by our Christchurch hosts. We didn’t see the sign until after we had driven past. Much of the drive south is a flat straight road, with the occasional ‘S’ bend as the road crosses the main train line. then back again a few kilometres further on. Unlike the trip from Blenheim to Christchurch, where we did the reverse as we travelled by train.

It’s not the most thrilling of rides and I felt a bit for Paula who did all the driving; practice she will make perfect after we go our separate ways tomorrow. The only excitement was crossing really long bridges over the frequent and very wide rivers, and stopping for lunch in a garden centre just south of Timaru. You can (usually) trust a garden centre lunch. We were, as expected the youngest people there, and we’re all in our 60s.

THE highlight of the journey was the Steam Punk Museum in Oamaru, about two thirds of the way down the coast. We stayed for a while and I took too many photos for this post, so will do a separate one next. Needless to say, it was fun!

Our final stop was to see the Moeraki boulders. I was warned that they were underwhelming and to be honest, they very much were. They are interesting and unique and worth seeing, but keep your expectations in your backpack, and maybe keep that in the boot of your car, locked of course. I wanted to see them as I don’t think there is anything else like them anywhere else in the world and for me that alone is a reason.

The ‘boulders’ are a small number of almost spherical rocks, slowly disappearing into the sand of the beach and I’m sure years ago they were much more spectacular. If you do want to visit, try and get there early in the morning to avoid other visitors, especially tours. There weren’t many people when we visited, but each one wanted a photo standing on the rocks, so I had to wait one-by-one as they did so. I was muttering with frustration by the time I got my ‘turn’.

They are cool though, and I especially liked the boulder lying at the top of the beach by itself that has been split open by a small landslide and you can see its hollow core. as if it’s a museum exhibit.

My sister lives on the Otago Peninsular in the hamlet of Portobello, a thirty-minute drive east of Dunedin’s city centre. They’ve only recently moved there from not too far from Nelson at the top of the South Island. Though there are a number of houses, a lot are holiday homes and it feels quite remote, but the house has a lovely view from the deck and the remoteness suits my sister and her family.

Just before we left New Zealand, back when we stayed here for seven months in 2021/2022, we were going to come down to Dunedin for my nephew’s wedding. Sadly we ended up not coming due to the ongoing Covid pandemic. Though it was largely over in New Zealand by then, we didn’t want to risk the confined spaces of flights and wedding venues as our return to London was immediately after the wedding. I hadn’t seen my nephews in years and had never met the eldest’s wife until today.

We had dinner with my sister, her sons and daughter in law and a very nice evening catching up. It was also Eleanor and I’s last night together for 16 days, which seems like an epically long time for us to be apart, so the evening was spent with that hanging over me. I will miss her.

We woke to an empty house on Tuesday morning as my sister had gone to work. After a quick breakfast we took a leg stretching walk down the waterfront where I found this fantastic local bus stop; I love those chairs. It was a lovely day for a walk and it is very pretty here under the sun. I expect on a windy, rainy winter evening, it’s not quite so jolly.

At the end of my sister’s road is this lovely feature made when the road was cut through, and now known as Pineapple Rock, for obvious reasons.

We drove into Dunedin and parked in a supermarket carpark in the town centre. Free parking is always good. We had a final early lunch and then it was time for (almost tearful) farewells as Paula and Eleanor headed off in the car to continue their tour of the lower south island and I took my small backpack, I’d left the big one at my friends’, and walked around Dunedin for an hour before getting one of the two daily buses back to Christchurch. Weirdly, I seem to have no photos of Dunedin, other than the below.

I discovered, a bit late, that there are some great brutalist buildings in Dunedin, particularly as part of the university. Annoyingly I didn’t really get the time to find them, though I did find the back of the hospital. There is some interesting architecture in Dunedin, a good mix of local stone buildings from the Victorian era and 60/70 construction, with a few modern buildings mixed in.

It’s a nice little city, and I want to come back again. Not least as it plays a huge part in New Zealand’s musical history, especially with Flying Nun Records in the early 80s when I was going to see a lot of bands. I remain a firm fan.

The bus ride was long and slow, but perfectly fine. It was my first time alone for a few weeks and time to mentally unwind and prepare for the next part of the trip was welcome. An opportunity to reset my brain and outlook and prepare for thinking and planning by myself.

I stayed the night at my friends’ house again, joining them, and winning, the local pub quiz, which was a lot of fun and very unexpected. On Wednesday morning I headed off with my big backpack and walked to a barbers about halfway to the centre where I had the remains of a winter beard shaved off. I didn’t want an extra coat in the hot climate of Delhi – forecast of 38 degrees towards the end of my time there.

After the shave I walked back to the art gallery and used their free bag store to leave the big and small packs. After pretending to look at some exhibits I’d seen just a couple of days ago, I grabbed a coffee and snuck out the side door in search of the brutalist council building I’d seen on Sunday. The art gallery building is beautiful.

As I previously noted, I couldn’t find the council building, so I just enjoyed an hour of walking around the city, before collecting my bags and catching the bus out to the airport for the next leg of my trip; a day in Brisbane to hopefully see all three of my ‘kids’ in the same place at the same time, a first in over 10 years. I’m excited, but pensive.

Onwards.

Christchurch

Christchurch, New Zealand – Sunday 23 March 2025

We have two nights in the same place for the first time in five nights and, as we’re staying with old friends of mine, it’s a good opportunity to unwind, unpack and throw some clothes into their washing machine.

As I will be moving around via public transport a bit more than Eleanor and Paula will be, I’m using my trusty travelling back pack, the one I started my travels with 13 years ago. The backpack means I’m carrying fewer clothes than they are and the next time I have more than one night in the same place is in three countries and five days’ time, in Delhi.

My friends lost their house to the tragic 2011 earthquake (earthquakes seem to becoming a trend on this trip, which I’ve just noticed, and is completely accidental) and it wasn’t rebuilt until 2016. It was rebuilt almost exactly as it had been, and has been decorated wonderfully. It’s such a funky place and I’m so glad they could rebuild back to how it used to be and so glad they had room for the three of us to stay.

I only visited Christchurch once after the earthquake, before I left New Zealand at the end of the same year. That was with work for a quick trip from the airport out to the production centre for the printing company I worked for and then back to the airport and home to Auckland. I haven’t seen the inner city in the 14 years since then. A lot of the centre has been completely rebuilt, though there is still work to be done. The city looks pretty good, though of course that has come at a huge cost; financially, politically, socially and emotionally.

We started our day at the new art gallery (free parking for us). We drove past a very nice bit of brutalist architecture that I promised myself I would come back to when I return to Christchurch on Wednesday after separating from Eleanor and Paula in Dunedin. Annoyingly I couldn’t find it!

I liked the gallery, it’s modern and bright and the rooms are well spaced and paced and there were some good pieces. I particularly liked ‘The Civil Servant’ (at least I think that is what it was called, I can’t find anything on the internet).

We left the gallery and walked around the new centre of the city. So much of the area was destroyed in the earthquake that there are still buildings waiting to be safely demolished and numerous building sites and blank spaces where buildings once stood.

The city has supported some fantastic murals, some of them massive, as part of the rebuild. It’s really pleasing to see authorities embrace the value that high quality large works of art on buildings can bring. When I go back, which I will, I will do a proper street art and brutalist building photo walk.

The spire of the cathedral collapsed in the quake. It was the spiritual centre of the city and a well loved building. There have been discussions and plans and court cases and challenges of court case results for years, and there has not yet been an agreed plan as to what to do with the cathedral and the land it sits on. Sadly it’s still fenced off as the remaining structure is deemed unsafe.

We walked through the new shopping precinct so I could visit the bookshop as I’m trying to find a couple of New Zealand music books: Boodle, Boodle, Boodle (the making of the EP by The Clean) and Peter Jefferies’ The Other Side of Reason, neither of which I found anywhere in NZ. I also wanted to visit the new Flying Nun Records shop. Tempted as I was, I didn’t buy anything.

We lunched in the new Riverside food court, which was not dissimilar to any of the modern, independent food courts we have visited in other countries or parts of the UK. There was a wide range of interesting choices, with all the usual international flavours represented. I had a Thai dish and it was very nice, as was the local ale I washed the food down with.

After lunch we were driven to the airport where Paula collected the rental car she will drive us around in for the next few days. We returned to our friends’ house and then were driven up into the Port Hills that overlook the city and separate it from its harbour at Lyttleton. The Port Hill road was badly damaged in the earthquake and sections of the road remain closed, and will never be reopened to cars. It made for a nice walk, and there is a good view down to Lyttleton, where we visited next.

Up here you can still see the damage that the quake caused, with bits of road just hanging off the cliff.

It was nice to see the famous cable car is back in operation.

Lyttleton is a small town, part bohemian and part port worker. It’s a nice town and after a very short walk to see the sights we stopped for a drink in a very nice little bar with a decent soundtrack going.

On the way back to our friends’ house we drove through the eastern part of Christchurch where a number of suburbs had stood alongside the River Avon before the earthquake. All that is there now are a few trees and the drop sections of footpaths that used to be the start of a driveway. The entire suburbs has been bulldozed and will never be rebuilt as the ground is just too unstable. All those people moved from their homes. So sad. It was a stark reminder of the recent history of this city, and the work that has been done to repair the damage and the soul of the place.

Blenheim to Christchurch on the scenic train

Christchurch, New Zealand – Saturday 22 March 2025

The cost of picking up a rental car in one location and dropping it off in another is just sheer lunacy, at least it is in New Zealand, I’ve not done it anywhere else. When I was planning this holiday I discovered the cost of renting a car in Picton, where we got off the ferry from the North Island, and leaving it in Christchurch where we all flew out from, was five times the price of just renting and dropping in Christchurch itself.

Luckily, there is a fantastic train between Blenheim, where we stayed last night, and Christchurch. The train is a scenic tourist train and is therefore not cheap, but even for the three of us it was still less than half the difference in the car rental. It was a no brainer really.

There is only one train a day, in the early afternoon, so we killed the morning over a leisurely breakfast in a café not too far from the motel. There isn’t much to Blenheim town centre and I think we saw most of it when we walked there for dinner last night. We did a quick circuit of the town centre then waited for the train over a glass of local pinot gris in the station.

The train arrived a few minutes late and was, surprisingly, but not surprisingly, pulled by a big old diesel engine. Which did make sense when we started slowly grinding up through hills towards the coast on the single train line that runs from Picton down towards Christchurch.

The train was full and I would guess that we were almost the youngest people on the train, which was mostly full of foreign tourists like us. There were definitely some Americans, we could hear them.

As this is a scenic train, the main carriages had larger windows than normal, but the best feature for me was an open carriage which meant no window reflection.

The one downside to the open air carriage was that it was right behind the engine and the diesel fumes got quite oppressive when the train was slowly winding up hills or through speed restricted tunnels. When the train was at full pace there was plenty of wind-blown hair action going on.

The train line mostly follows State Highway 1 all the way from Blenheim to Christchurch, and we were soon grinding our way very slowly up and over the bone-dry Wither Hills. It was a spectacular start to the journey.

I spent a lot of time standing in the outside carriage, occasionally with a glass of wine in hand. I was shocked to see so many other passengers sleeping, or reading or worse – staring into their phones. The early stages of the journey were spectacular, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the countryside.

Admittedly it is a five and a half hour journey and there were some dull bits as we worked our way through the farmland of North Canterbury, but crikey – how could you not be looking out the window at the start!

Once through the hills and passing through the small town of Seddon, we were on the coast which we followed the rest of the way, criss-crossing with the highway all the way south. This was taken through the window from inside the carriage.

It’s remarkable that this train journey exists. A 7.8 magnitude earthquake near the coast devastated the land, the road and rail line in 2016. Fortunately this is a fairly rural area and the earthquake occurred in the middle of the night, meaning only two people lost their lives; tragic as that still is. The rail line was closed for two years and though the highway has been fully open for some time, there is still significant work to be done. I’m glad we weren’t in a car.

Past Kaikoura the view settles into the sea on the left hand side, flat farmland with snow capped mountains popping in and out of sight on the right. Small towns ‘flash’ past as the not particularly fast train rumbles on through.

We cross some spectacular riverbed/flood plains on extremely long bridges. I was sitting in the cabin when I took this one through the window.

Soon enough we were pulling into Christchurch Station, slightly late as the train in front was on the single platform. Hard to believe this is the second biggest city in New Zealand! We were met on the platform by an old friend, who we are staying with for the two nights we’re in town.

The journey is fantastic and highly recommended if you’re looking for an alternative way of travelling from Picton to Christchurch or one of the stops in-between.

Cook Strait crossing

Blenheim, New Zealand – Friday, 21 March 2025

The Interislander Ferry left it’s berth in Wellington Harbour on time, at 8:45am. We’d arrived as requested at 7:45 for an airline style check-in and the big bags were taken off our hands and stowed somewhere on the ship where they store big bags. It was great not having to lug them around. The ferry is pretty big, it’s a vehicle ferry and it was full of all sorts of vehicles and all sorts of people.

We had an average breakfast and a terrible coffee as soon as we got on board, then discovered the proper café and got a much nicer coffee once we were settled and on the way out of the harbour. We wanted to beat the rush for food, but patience should have been exercised instead. I was desperate for a caffeine fix mind as the machine in the ‘departure lounge’ wasn’t working.

We were lucky with the weather; it was a stunner of a day, warm, calm and clear. Everything you want for a crossing of the Cook Strait, the band of water between New Zealand’s North and South Islands. We were heading south, across the strait and down through the Marlborough Sounds to Picton; about 3 hours and 30 minutes away. It’s about 93 kilometres in total, with two thirds being inside the sounds.

Eleanor and I have done the journey before, but I was keen to share it with Paula, as on a good day like today, it’s a stunner of a trip. It lived up to the reputation I’d given it as well.

The ferry sort of hugs the southern coast of the North Island for a while, providing some great views of the rugged coast line. I spent a lot of time on this part of the journey trying to spot dolphin pods, or even better whales; but sadly, other than a few seagulls, there was no other wildlife to see today.

As we approach the top of the South Island it is almost impossible to see the narrow entrance to the sounds from the strait and it sort of pops into view at the last minute.

The highlight was undoubtedly the final hour navigating through the stunning Marlborough Sounds. The water turned a deep turquoise as we weaved between the hills that plunged dramatically into the sea. Small isolated homes appeared occasionally along the shoreline, accessible only by boat.

As we approached Picton we carved through a monstrous pod (swarm? herd?) of jellyfish.

I’d tried to arrange a shuttle ride from the port in Picton the thirty or so kilometres to Blenheim, where I’d booked us into a motel for the night. I thought the booking had failed, but the driver was waiting for us with a sign with my name on it as we got off the ferry and collected our bags. It was an expensive ride.

We had a fairly simple motel, it was comfortable, quiet and perfectly fine. We weren’t planning on spending a lot of time in the rooms. The shuttle driver had recommended the St Clair Vineyard for lunch so we took a taxi there and were lucky to get a table – only because we’d booked ahead just before leaving the motel. It was very busy.

Marlborough is wine country and there are a significant number of vineyards in the surrounding area. Some brands, like Cloudy Bay, are very well known in the UK. I think it would be fair to say that sauvignon blanc is the primary grape variety grown here. Marlborough sauv blanc is available in most places in the world that sell wine.

St Clair wasn’t a wine producer I’d heard of before so I was keen to sample some of their product. We’re not huge fans of sauvignon blanc, much preferring the pinot gris variety of white wine. We also like a gewürztraminer, which is less well known in New Zealand, though St Clair had a very nice one.

Fortunately the vineyard only allows bookings for a couple of hours so we were turfed out nice and early. I could have sat there in the sun drinking cold wine and eating cheese for hours; though would have been broke and a bit ‘under the weather’ if that had happened.

Our South Island adventure was off to a cracking good start.

The ‘art deco capital of the world’

Napier, New Zealand – Wednesday, 19 March 2025

When planning our New Zealand travels, Napier was high on the list – especially after missing it on our previous trip due to Covid restrictions. What makes this city particularly fascinating for me is its remarkable architectural story, born from a terrible (and probably terrifying) event.

On 3 February 1931, Napier experienced a catastrophic 7.8 magnitude earthquake that lasted just 2.5 minutes but completely transformed the city. The earthquake tragically killed 256 people and almost totally destroyed the city centre, as well as causing severe damage to residential areas and the surrounding countryside.

By 1933, Napier had completely reinvented itself as an art deco city. Embracing current design trends, with a local flavour, the city was rebuilt from the ground up. Remarkably, much of that 1930s rebuild remains behind and walking through the city centre today feels like stepping into a perfectly preserved 1930s film set.

With over 140 well preserved art deco buildings, the city now markets itself as the “Art Deco Capital of the World.” I would love to visit when they properly celebrate this and ban all those pesky modern cars that park in front of all the interesting bits.

We arrived in Napier after a 5 hour drive from Rotorua, and with only an afternoon in town we were out looking at buildings soon after dropping our bags in the motel, which was directly over the road from the beach. It’s always relaxing being near the sea.

We loved Napier, and I wish we’d had more time to just walk around the city centre and admire the beautifully maintained buildings under a nice blue sky. There is a (mostly) friendly vibe here.

I took a lot of photos as we walked.

It’s a small city centre and with little time we focused on the central streets. There are a couple of locations away from the business and commercial centre, though we didn’t really have time to visit them. I would have liked to have seen some of the residential properties. I’ve saved those for next time.

Late afternoon we stopped for a drink and a sit down at Community Burgers, a really nice little bar that I would’ve been very content spending more time in if I hadn’t had a burger for dinner last night. A rare bar playing decent music.

Walking back to the motel for a break before convening again for dinner, we had the only unpleasant moment of the entire trip. We got engaged in a random conversation with an oldish man, who stopped us on the street. He was clearly drunk or on something, and it started off being just a bit weird but moved on to him making an extremely racist comment, at which point we left the conversation. This resulted in him telling us to ‘F off’ and us returning the compliment, before heading off in different directions.

Luckily, we only let it ruin our day for a few minutes, and after a planned rest, we walked to the beautiful Masonic Hotel for a very nice dinner and a settling glass of wine, or three.