Thursday 16 February 2023

A walking day today. Still glorious weather, in the low 20s and sunny. A good day to get the heart rate up. First rule, drive to the walk. We wanted to see what was on the other side of the lake, the side we can see from our room. We discover, on our drive, that the area we are headed to is the Kelvin Peninsula. Every outlook is so spectacular, with so many houses straight from Grand Designs NZ. My photos from Tuesday did not do them justice, but the enduring sense is of black. So many black houses, and they look great because they fit into this incredible landscape. We park by the Kelvin Peninsula Trail, don our backpacks, and head off. Most people who do this probably head off for an 8 hour walk. We aim for nearly an hour. On the edge of the lake, it’s hard not to continually stop to soak it all up (that’s my excuse anyway)

We walk for quite a while, along a very good track. The peace and quiet occasionally shattered by pesky tourist activities

There were once shipyards upon this peninsular and this is one of the things that remains from it. What is it? The first correct answer wins something. The first convincing answer wins two things.

The walk really is lovely, looking across Lake Wakatipui, from which there is no escape in Queenstown. Thankfully. We finally reach the yacht club

We knew this was a classy area.

Further on Cherrie is tempted. DON’T JUMP I cry

Heroically I talk her down. Or back. With another stunning view of the Yacht Club

Continuing on, we come across where the Lumberjack lives. He wasn’t there. But he’s OK.

But who is here is another intrepid bush walker. Well, frankly the only one! And we ask her if she is a local. No, she’s not. She’s from Wanaka. 64km north. Does she know what these pines are? No, says Marion, although she was tempted to say they were Douglas Pines, but perhaps they’re not. But what she did tell us was about her parents, both Dutch, and both of whom were with the Resistance in WW2. It was a fascinating story, but it wavered a bit and we heard a good deal more than we might have chosen. She warmed to us so much that she did a U-Turn and walked back with us, as the stories continued.

Marion took us to see the Angel, as she calls it. A giant sculpture which we had walked right past.

“How far do you want to walk today?” enquires Marion. She is willing to spend the whole day with us and take us on a 6 hour trek. “Gosh, is that the time?” I say. “Must be off”. And we wave goodbye to our sweet, talkative, opinionated friend

As we head back to the car, we look across that wonderful lake. And observe the ghastly scar of the popular Queenstown Gondola

And so we get to the car and drive to our next walk. The Queenstown Gardens. These are public gardens, not Botanic, but still very peaceful and lovely, and full of so many different pine trees. Some, many, of which we have never before seen. Some of which are quite big

And some of which are enormous

We wove our way through these gardens

Up hill, down dale and over bridges

and continued to admire the view

All the while dodging the activities of Frisbee Golfers, a strange game where you walk through the gardens throwing frisbees and attempting to get them into frisbee cages. Or should that be frusbees? As I say, a strange game.

All walked out (fortunately Steps did not reveal how few we had done) we returned to our flat to change for dinner. A time long long ago we had booked for dinner at Aosta, a famed Italian Restaurant in Arrowtown. Having done the recce yesterday we knew where to go. The glad(ish) rags came out and off we went for our 6pm booking. It’s clearly a popular restaurant because it was just about full when we got there. Most of the guests were in their tourist shorts with their tourist backpacks, whilst we looked like we were dressed for the Oscars. Speaking of which, who was sitting at the next table with her husband, and another couple? Sarah Snook. Now, Cherrie disputes this. She doesn’t think it was Sarah. But I’m here to tell you that it absolutely was. And she was beautifully dressed in casual clothes, which clearly cost a mint. Surreptitiously I check my phone for Sarah’s husband. And there he is, sitting at the table. Dave Lawrence. Don’t know who the other couple were but a bit older. Sometime during dinner, the other female at the table took a phone call – it was of course on silent. She looked at the screen, left the table and exited the restaurant. It was evident to me that she was either Sarah’s manager or publicist, and that it was either Spielberg or Macintosh on the phone. She returned to the table and said nothing. I guess it was simply an availability check.

Meanwhile, back at our table, the service was fantastic, the food good and the bill astronomical. NZ really does have high prices and a real cust uf luving problem. As we left I resisted blowing a kiss to Sarah and Dave, and a thumbs up to manager-lady, whilst Cherrie is still saying it wasn’t her. Now, if any of you had dinner with Sarah on Thursday night this week, please fess up. Because I reckon she really was in Arrowtown. In fact I’m sure of it.

And so to bed