These are some photos of the buildings and landscapes I saw on our last trip to the south. We spent two days driving through central Otago, eating pies, perusing bookshops, and trying to find where all the people were (failing in Naseby but succeeding in Alexandra - the supermarket!). Unfortunately none of my pictures show what I found most startling about Otago, which was the amazing yellow-gold of the landscape; light, leaves, grass - everything was perfectly matched as if by Wes Anderson's hand. I love how different each part of New Zealand is from the next; how even if there were no signs, you would know when you had crossed from Auckland to Waikato, or Canterbury to Otago. And I love the idiosyncrasies of every place. During our days there, Central Otago underwent a number of costume changes; we saw her bathed in sun, scattered with hail; we saw snow on not-too-distant mountains and felt it in the wind; we ran through rain in Ranfurly, and everywhere it became her.
The bracing wind, the frank friendliness of the people we met, and the schist we saw everywhere defined the area and its history, to me. Pete and Barb said only a few weeks ago, the yellow roads we drove up and down on had been covered in snow, and that in summer those same places are almost unbearably hot. Change is supposed to be as good as a holiday; change combined with a holiday is mystical and exotic. I can't wait to go back.