Chronicles of an exhausted traveller

New Zealand 2026 — Week 3: Auckland to Dunedin (Part 2)

A typical South Island scene with the Merino sheep we grew up with. Photo by hubby.

We love the South Island, and I always smile thinking of a colleague who called it “backwaterish” years ago.

Well, then we like being backwaterish. There are fewer people, thousands and thousands of sheep, amazing autumn scenes, and the first snow already on the mountains. What more can you ask?

My senses were immediately more awake and my mind more open.

The ferry ride

We spent a very short night in a motel in Wellington as our ferry to the South Island departed at 03:00. To my surprise I slept quite well from about 21:00 to 01:00 and felt fresh and ready for the ride.

In South Africa we don’t know ferries, so a trip is always an adventure.

On the ferry, high on lack of sleep and enough coffee. Photo by hubby.

Not a Medium member yet? Read for free here!

The Interislander is quiet at that time of the night. I could spend time on the internet and also take a nap, simply stretched out on the long seat against the wall. It was not as easy as it apparently was for the few young people around, but at least I could fit on the rather narrow seat. More or less.

It was a moving experience to see the sun rising over Cook’s Strait and to think about those adventurers who opened up the world to the West. (Not that I am sure it was always a good thing.)

Picton

I did not remember anything about Picton from our previous trip 23 years ago, but I had the vague idea of a rather boring harbour town in my head.

In reality, I loved Picton. Not much more than a harbour town, but a picturesque one. The short waterfront has lovely restaurants (the carrot cake was sublime, and I am not easily pleased in that respect!) and some very nice tourist shops.

Below the grand monument for fallen veterans from the area, I found the lush green lawn with a white cross for every fallen soldier. I had time to read the dates and places, and it broke my heart.

Heartbreaking crosses in Picton. Photo by me.

I don’t think it has changed through the centuries: wars are conducted by rich old men in luxurious offices by sending young men to their death.

Still, exactly that is happening at this very moment.

I learned about the tragedy of Gallipoli, which seems to have happened because the Western allies underestimated the resistance and literally sent hundreds of young men to their (often unknown) graves.

There was even a cross for a soldier who died here in South Africa of his wounds in the South African War against the British Empire from 1899 to 2001. I stood there thinking about the millions of mothers who have lost their sons through the centuries, and about the sad reality of soldiers who stayed alive but came home as broken men and are often not looked after by their communities any more.

I cannot help but think of my beloved Bruce Springsteen’s famous song, Born in the USA, which is even now sometimes interpreted as a patriotic song. In reality it is an angry rage against the Vietnam War and all the wars before and after that.

[embed]Video from YouTube

Christchurch

I have been to Christchurch with my husband in 2023, rather shortly after the unexpected death of one of my sisters.

When she became seriously ill, we decided I would not join him on the trip to a conference. In three short weeks, she was dead. (Yes, even now it sounds harsh to me.)

On the previous trip, we flew into Christchurch. It is thus easy to understand that the first thing I remember about Christchurch is how we overslept the morning after we had landed. Luckily, there was no flight to miss, but only the hired car to pick up.

Anyway: Christchurch 2026

The highlight of this visit was our trip to the lovely botanical garden. As it was April, autumn was there, but the flower beds still were in full bloom.

Christchurch Botanical Garden. Photo by me.

The autumn garden gave me the impression of a woman just past her prime, but still beautiful in her maturity.

We immediately realized the place is huge, and there was no way I could walk it with the dreaded moon boot. It was also full of people.

I love people, but not hundreds of them at a time.

(The only times I could really stand a crowd were at the shows of my beloved Springsteen. Even though I will not try to do again.)

At the beautiful information center and restaurant, the surprise came: you could borrow a cart to use in the garden. Not even hire — you could just fill out a form and use it for as long as you need to.

Me and my free transport — top speed 4 km/h. Photo by hubby.

Unfortunately, we decided to first have coffee and cake before we started walking.

No, the coffee and cake were not the problem. It was delicious. The problem was that our cards would not behave.

A stressed me with the cake and coffee that caused the problem. Photo by hubby.

For the first time in a fortnight, we encountered card machines that required the choice of an option for the type of account. Nothing worked.

Oh, the embarrassment — due to a misunderstanding between the waiters, we had already received and eaten our cakes, and now we could not pay for them. Thankfully, the young people behind the counter were really nice and understanding. It was probably not the first time something like that happened.

In the end, I stayed behind as security, and my husband had to drive to the nearest ATM (too far to walk in the limited time we had), find a parking space, get money, drive back, and find a parking space again.

And poor old me could not take a decent walk in the meantime and had to content myself with people watching. Luckily, I like people watching, although it’s better if I can choose the time and place.

This little adventure had the result that we did not really have enough time to appreciate the garden to the full. (I now realize I should have taken the cart and explored on my own, but of course, I was too nervous about driving the thing to do that. Also, I was so stressed and embarrassed about the card thing that I simply did not think of it.)

Dunedin

What I remember of Dunedin is the little place we stayed in without a kitchen, and the enormous bed you weren’t allowed to eat in. The lovely cats that welcomed us and then never appeared again. The unbelievably steep streets, and the awkward gate that the hostess forgot to warn us about.

And the beautiful church, my husband didn’t want to take me to because he’d already seen it. I eventually spent a few moments sitting on a bench outside it on a dark, quiet Sunday evening.

The Dunedin church where I could only spend a few minutes. Photo by hubby.

Like with so many things on this trip, all I could do was look.

And I’m someone who loves to experience things, not just watch them from the sidelines.

And all of it was for nothing.

I know I shouldn’t keep looking back. It happened, and there’s nothing that can be done about it now. But I’ve never been very good at putting things neatly into boxes and leaving them there.

The next morning, we drove to the tip of the Otago Peninsula. It was a beautiful morning, and the scenery was stunning. The road was everything New Zealand roads tend to be: spectacular, but narrow and winding.

Dunedin area. Photo by hubby.

We eventually reached the lovely Royal Albatross Centre, perched high on a hill, where the history of the area is brought to life in a really engaging way.

There was also a section on the pioneering birdlife research carried out there, mostly by Lancelot Eric (Lance) Richdale. What I remember most is that he spent months living alone on a tiny island, completely dependent on the occasional supply boat.

That kind of dedication amazes me. Apparently his wife, Agnes, was very supportive of his work, and she is credited for quite a few photos in the museum.

I remember seeing a photograph of him returning as an old man, accompanied by various dignitaries, probably to receive some sort of award. The poor fellow even had to put on a suit for the occasion.

I could practically feel his suffering.

Next up: Invercargill to Twizel, a better part of the trip.

I am a published writer of romantic fiction in my native language, Afrikaans, trying my wings in the vast English world. I mainly write about travel, mental health, personal growth, and the privilege of growing older.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoy my work, you are welcome to buy me a coffee!

[embed]Adventures of a Tired Traveller New Zealand 2026 — Week 3: Auckland to Dunedin (Part 1)medium.com