A few days in Dunedin.

On Sunday I’ll be headed back to Antarctica, this time approaching from the Ross Sea on the opposite side of the continent. It’s where Robert Falcon Scott, Ernst Shackleton, and Roald Amundsen all based themselves on their attempts to be the first man to reach the South Pole. Roald succeeded, Scott following though with tragic results to himself and his team.

I fly into the city from Auckland, landing on a cold and rainy morning. I love the airport. It’s small and cozy and it’s not long before I have my bags and am ready to head into town.

A woman stands near the exit and I ask her about taxis to the city center. She tells me I should take a shuttle as it’ll be significantly cheaper. She’s adamant and directs me to a woman with a clipboard who can help me arrange it.

She checks her clipboard and asks if I have a reservation. I have not. She checks her clipboard again and directs me to another exit and asks me to wait. Slowly, the sidewalk fills with people and their luggage. A man arrives with a clipboard of his own and they start calling out names, conferring amongst themselves as to who will take which passengers.

I’m one of the last to be called. I load my bag into the back and buckle myself into a seat.

I’m the second to be dropped off after we leave a man by his house up on the hill. He has no luggage.

It’s too early to check in and so I leave my bags with reception and step out to explore the town. The hotel sits right above The Octagon, a park around which sits restaurants and galleries and theaters and bars. It serves as the de facto center of Dunedin. I descend towards the Octagon and find the doors of St Paul's Cathedral open. I duck inside.

The foundation of the cathedral that currently sits on teh site was laid on 8 June 1915 and consecreated on 12 February 1919. However, due to lack of funds, the cathedral opened with a temporary chancel and the building wasn’t completed until 1971 with a new chancel with a modernist design.

I exit the cathedral and cross the Octagon, following Stuart Street as it heads towards the harbor. I run into the railway station, a Flemish Renaissance-style edifice dating back to 1906. It’s an impressive structure that I vow to explore on a nicer day.

From the railway station I backtrack and wander down George Street a long street running north of the Octagon lined with shops. I’ve torn my jacket grabbing it from an X-Ray machine in Tunis and am looking for patches. One store has run out and recommends another just down the street. Fortunately, they have patches big and small. They’re also running a sale and I pick up a pair of hiking pants to replace a set I have where I’ve broken the zipper as well as backup pair of baselayer bottoms in case my first pair get wet.

On Friday I head to the Octagon and walk the street running south. It’s less commercial, but I’m headed to Catalyst for lunch. It’s a pleasant cafe and I sit on the second floor overlooking the kitchen. It’s a little too cold to sit outside.

Walking back towards the center of the city I decide to revisit the railway station without the rain. The sun teases its presence, but the clouds refuse to allow it to shine.

A wedding party has gathered inside the station and the walls echo with their presence. I’m not sure if they’re there for pictures only or if the ceremony will be conducted therein.

I wander back along George Street, walking past Knox Church, the largest in the city, in search of food. I’ve decided to eat as much Asian food as I can assuming that it’ll be few and far between on our voyage to the Ross Sea. The clouds part for a bit and I welcome the sun for the first time in a few days. I also try and appreciate these last two days of steady land underfoot. The voyage could get rocky. 🇳🇿