Lions in New Zealand? Oh, yes, there are!
It’s got jaw-dropping scenery, wonderful wine and, of course, the All Blacks, so no wonder Simon Walters says...
On entering our B&B, we’re told by the landlady that in the event of an earthquake, we should assemble at the cattle grid. We’ve just arrived in the historic town of Thames, 90 minutes’ drive southeast of Auckland on New Zealand’s North Island.
This country’s spectacular, exotic beauty was forged by earthquakes and volcanoes over millions of years. It’s no surprise that Kiwi film-maker Peter Jackson used his native country as the backdrop for The Lord Of The Rings. The only wonder is he didn’t need CGI techno-trickery to tone DOWN the landscape. Simply being in NZ is an exhilarating breath of fresh air.
Our trip was part holiday and partly an opportunity to follow the British & Irish Lions rugby tour. Air New Zealand has won an Airline of the Year award for the past four years. Its stylish business class and premium economy menus were drawn up by Samoanborn and New Zealand-raised Michael Meredith, and Peter Gordon, who is part-Maori, part-Scot. My favourites were prawns with spring pea purée and Bloody Mary jelly, followed by chicken breast stuffed with
mozzarella, pine nuts and honey. The airline even conducts blind tastings to ensure its New Zealand wines are just as good at altitude. The fact that it was NZ’s autumn was our excuse to take up Air New Zealand’s unique offer of a free Los Angeles stopover to enjoy some southern California-sunshine.
A two-hour drive from LA took us to Santa-Barbara, a picturesque resort whose magnificent, red-tiled courthouse evokes its Spanish roots and whose wooden pier with lobster bars is a sight to behold.
We stayed at Santa Barbara’s elegant Cheshire Cat Inn in the beautiful, split-level White Rabbit room, with a sun-drenched balcony overlooking the Santa Ynez mountains. The inn’s quirky theme honours Alice In Wonderland author Lewis Carroll, who came from Cheshire, near Manchester.
After a few days, it was on to New Zealand, arriving in Christchurch, still scarred by the 2011 earthquake that killed 185. There had been an earthquake hours before we landed – thankfully, tiny by comparison but a reminder of the ever-present peril in this postcard paradise.
Driving south to Dunedin, we spent a glorious day exploring the craggy Otago Peninsula.
We saw rare royal albatrosses with wings like wind turbines crash-land on a cliff to feed fluffy chicks too fat to move; we watched baby-blue penguins waddle up the beach at dusk for a cuddle, honking amorously; and we nearly tripped over a snoozing sea lion on windswept Allans Beach.
There are two sets of initials a visitor to New Zealand should know: the All Blacks rugby team are the ABs – and SBs are sauvignon blanc wines.
The New Zealand SB boom is exemplified by the Woolshed Vineyard, which produces Mud House wines in the Marlborough region at the top of the South Island.
Outwardly, the Woolshed ranch has hardly changed since it was asheep farm but the sound of shearing has been replaced by that of Mud House SBs being swirled round the palate by brilliant young winemaker Cleighton Cornelius.
Despite its NZ roots, Mud House was sporting enough to sponsor the British & Irish Lions – another reason to buy its excellent wines, including sauvignon blanc and pinot noir. After sipping several, and without, ahem, depositing all in the spittoon, we took a ferry to the North Island, passing many hidden sandy coves glinting in the moonlight.
From there, we headed north to Rotorua, New Zealand’s unofficial Maori capital.
The Maoris came to New Zealand some 500 years before Captain Cook landed here in 1769, but no one is sure where from. Guesses range from Hawaii to Indonesia.
They arrived on fast, oceangoing multi-hulled canoes – paddled prototypes of the flying catamaran that won the America’s Cup for NZ while we were there.
The early Maori are said to have been drawn to Rotorua because the thermal springs were good for cooking and healing. Rotorua’s Kuirau Park is speckled with geysers spouting mud and puffs of pongy sulphur gas.
A more fun way to experience New Zealand’s primeval underfloor heating is at Hot Water Beach, on the Coromandel Peninsula tourist trail further north.
Dig a hole in the beach, let the cold waves dilute the boiling sand and you have your own bubble bath. But beware: get the mix wrong and you’ll be scalded where it hurts.
We ended our tour in Auckland, where we joined thousands of rugby fans who swapped beer, banter and ballads with the locals in harbourside bars and restaurants.
The epic Lions games with the All Blacks were brutal. But we were touched by New Zealanders’ warm welcome and willingness to chat.
‘Get the mix wrong for your beach bath and you’ll be scalded where it hurts’
New Zealand’s endless miles of neat wooden bungalows, with pretty Victorian ornamentation, white picket fences and soporific verandas, filled me with nostalgia for my childhood.
We stayed in Auckland’s Ponsonby district, an affluent neighbourhood with yet more quaint bungalows.
They make for a novel skyline, with skyscrapers and the ocean right behind them. We twice bumped into Brian O’Driscoll in Ponsonby and were a mere rugby hand-off from AB star Beauden Barrett – although a friend laughed off our celebrity sightings, saying: ‘There are so few people in New Zealand, you soon get to meet them all!’ As we marvelled at the country’s visual majesty, we wondered whether, after a while, the effect dulls. Beneath a stunning crimson sunset, I found myself chatting to an English chap, admiring the same view, who emigrated to New Zealand a decade ago. Had the magic faded? ‘Not a bit,’ he replied. ‘I gaze at it in wonder every day.’