Gardens, detours and doofers.

As the trip to Invercargill would be a relatively sedate 3 to 3.5 hours away, we thought we'd re-visit the Queenstown Gardens (it's been a while)before heading over to the nearby and abundantly pioneer-y Arrowtown.

Josh had decided that he was very tired - and dramatically demonstrated this  by dragging his feet and even draping himself on some handily-located sculptures.

The Gardens also provided a perfect vantage point for Lake Wakatipu, the lightning bolt shape body of water that supplies Queenstown with its water and even has its own "tide" - a change in water level of around 20cm every half hour or so (look up seiches if you are particularly bored / scientifically curious).

Nostalgia pic No 1

The odd deciduous amongst the pines.

Nostalgia pic No 2

Lake Wakatipu

Queenstown

As we completed the circuit of the Gardens - we spotted a playground which immediately woke Josh up. We strolled past the tree-lined beach and made our way to Starbucks (I know, I know), where Lily could purchase a white chocolate mocha monstrosity (Jen and I securing our caffeinated beverages of choice, and the boys something with syrup in it). I was stunned by the number of backpackers taking up all spare tables - hooking their numerous devices up to power points (as well as the free wifi presumably), long-forgotten beverages cast aside on adjacent tables. Charging phones and laptops abounded - I'm sure I spotted the occasional toaster, TV and 1 person tent.

Waiting for the tide unusually large seiche to come in.

Recharged by our morning stroll (helped in no small part by a mountain of caffeine and sugar), we bid Queenstown farewell and made our way to the nearby village of Arrowtown. A historic gold-mining town, Arrowtown has a number of well-restored, miners' cottages - as well as numerous deciduous trees that are a riot of colour in Autumn. In Summer, it is absolutely riddled with tourists. The main street has gone full "upmarket mining village / general Kiwiana" - nothing says historic mining town like gelato and giant gummi bears in a confectionery shop. We managed to locate the actual cottages a few streets away, and had some lunch in the shade of the nearby trees.

Okay - so it is fairly pretty.

We bid the ye olde mining village / golf-resort adieu, doubled back to Frankton and then made our way south. The journey south was jammed full of even more roadworks - almost entirely staffed by what appeared to be backpackers (uniformly young and blonde - I saw one young gent using a traffic cone as a vuvuzela).

We'd cleared the last of the road works for a while - and started to make some decent time along the highway when we came across another traffic stop. On this occasion it appeared to be a result of an accident further along the highway. The road worker asked if we knew the back road to Dipton - further explaining that we should "hang a left at Castlerock" upon witnessing the complete lack of comprehension on my face. I didn't know where we were in terms of how far along the highway, and hadn't the foggiest idea what a Dipton was, let alone Castlerock. A frantic google maps search later, we eventually discovered Castlerock was two adjoining farmsteads, while the short-cut to Dipton was actually a really straight stretch of decent road that only had the occasional giant tractor on it.

The kids appreciating the mountain vistas leading out of Queenstown.

Our original accommodation had contacted us a few days ago - saying our room booking was no longer available due to smoke damage. They were really decent about it, and had arranged alternative accommodation (giving us a few options, and paid the difference). Sure enough - our new place was lovely, and the lady at reception was soon chatting enthusiastically with Jen (surprised?). It was still going to be light for a few hours after we unpacked, so we thought we'd make our way to Bluff - the southernmost town / seaport in New Zealand. It's a really gritty, dour place, with stucco buildings along-side ship-builders and decaying shacks. The abandoned meat-works was a particularly nice touch. I was fascinated with the place (the bleak, remote environment and presumably hardy souls that reside there) - much to the irritation of the rest of the family.

Aside from gritty landscapes and returning fisher-folk, Bluff is also home to Stirling Point - of the frequently-photographed signpost fame.

There were a few cars still there - including a largish campervan. An extended family of at least 10 individuals all piled out of the van and swarmed the signpost for what seemed like an age. We eventually got access to the sign, with the kids dutifully breaking into a "let's get this over with" set of smiles for the camera.

Good work team.

Our dinner consisted of burgers from a chain over here called Burgerfuel. Meals of generous proportions included a small cardboard device / burger holder known as a doofer - designed to stop the inevitable leaking of sauces/calories onto tables/laps (it actually worked!).