The not-so-superior room in the funky art-house hotel off the square with secure parking accessed by swipe card was not hard to leave and we headed south through straggling suburbia across uncluttered, but seriously fertile alluvial plains before swinging inland to Geraldine where photos had to be taken, of course, for our friend and neighbour of the same moniker.
The pretty route climbs through the foothills of the Mt. Cook National Park and then to Mackenzie Country, where sheep are the order of the day. At the Southern shore of Lake Tekapo sits Mt. John, where the Astro Café is deemed to have the best location on the planet. As a small commercial adjunct to the Christchurch University’s observatory, it is 4km up a private track with stupendous 360° views. Sadly, they had nothing to offer that wasn’t about meat – being staffed by students, it’s only to be expected, but as we admired the vistas, the looming clouds began to shed their surprising load of – snow – in high summer. That’s just typical of the weather – four seasons in a day.
Twizel (yes, really) was just as bad in the food department – we tried two places before finding a sole salmon bagel that we could eat, and had to share, so we headed south through an old gold-mining area to Cromwell, which is in the centre of a great fruit and vine region.
The entrance to the town has a most remarkable, uncompromising and hideous tribute to its prime industry – there is a 40’ fruit salad in dodgy-looking coloured fibreglass, in front of which disbelieving tourists were queuing to have their photos taken.
From Cromwell we crossed the lake and swung west to the adrenaline factory of Queenstown, the home of bungee-jumping and subsequent birthplace of every extreme sport except ironing. Fortunately, we were booked into a tiny former gold-mining village some 20kms north. Arrowtown is über-quaint and suited us very well, having several great bars, its own brewery and some excellent restaurants. Our B & B landlady got us booked into one of these for New Year’s Eve where we would’ve been turned away as tourist punters, so we dined at the Indian where a stately Sikh gent in white robes presided silently whilst an unctuous, solicitous and bizarrely coiffed lady with a lime green sequined pinny danced attendance on her clients. To our delight, we tripped on the Blue Door, a cellar bar with no signs, a roaring fire, a skilful solo barista and a trendy, fast-moving clientele. This is likely to be the place Steve Mitchell recommended, but as it’s never been a restaurant, since the days it was a dry-goods cellar, his memory needs further investigation. We resolved to return.
I also identified our billets for next few days
Sunday 3rd – Haast p.306 AA
Aspeny Court Motel, 1 Mark’s Rd
Monday 4th – Fox p.264 AA
Rainforest Motel, Cook Flat Rd
Tuesday 5th – Murchison Commercial Hotel – LP
Thursday 31st December