Stepping onto New Zealand soil, for the third time in a year, I came via a different port of entry for once. The flight into Queenstown airport is said to be one of the prettiest landings you’ll experience and although my early autumn arrival meant the Southern Alps were lacking most of their snowy caps, I’d have to agree that it beats most urban sprawl introductions to a new land.
My brief stay in painfully pricey Queenstown was spent mostly cosied up in a warm bar by Lake Wakatipu, sampling the local wines and amazing menu offerings. Time constraints meant I missed out on a bite to eat at the crazy-popular FergBurger, whose reputation for having a line of customers extending a long way out the door appears to have not diminished.
The itinerary for this trip included meeting up with an old friend, driving up to the Marlborough region, cycle touring some wineries and then heading up to Auckland solo. Driving through New Zealand’s South Island is basically ridiculous. The stunning scenery that entices you to pull over every 2 minutes also serves to distract you from the hairpin turns through mountain passes or avoiding homicidal tourists who don’t know what side of the road they’re meant to be driving on (let’s just say I reconsidered the wisdom of only getting the most basic car insurance within the first 20 minutes of picking up the hire car).
Two long drives landed us in Christchurch the next evening and then to Renwick for our wine and cycle sojourn (small plug for Watson’s Way, that not only hires out bikes at a reasonable cost but also had a great collection of well-laden fruit trees). I’d only ever known the Canterbury region from photos and the landscape certainly didn’t disappoint. There’s something magical about the rolling sun-browned grasses and yellowing leaves. From freezing our fingers off in Queenstown not two days before, by the time we hit Cheviot, about 100km north of Christchurch, we were baking in the near 30 degree day (point of note, the Two Rivers cafe in Cheviot has the best pies I’ve ever tasted in my life, along with some fantastic local art for sale).
The sleepy little town of Renwick was my next stop. Thanks to the burgeoning wine and cycle tourism trade, it sees a decent amount of tourist traffic. Some insider gossip; Renwick is renowned for the Best Pies in NZ (I’m not able to confirm or deny this but all I will say is that they’ve got some stiff competition down in Cheviot) and if you decide to dine at the local pub (the Cork and Keg), be prepared for the undivided attention of a brown labrador..especially if you get the stew.
Our wine tour was short and sweet (with citrus and peach undertones), but a useful lesson in the art of amateur wine tasting; less is definitely more. Once a couple of wine flights have passed your lips, it’s fair to say that everything starts to taste the same and the hints of rockmelon, grass, lemon zest, pear and in one case turpentine – rapidly start to have a declining impact.
My final days in the south were spent recovering in a quaint youth hostel in Nelson (I generally fall into the ‘been there, done that, too often’ camp with youth hostels – except, as in this case, if I can score a private room), before heading across the Cook Strait…
Leave a Reply