From TV to Tahiti via Paradise

Yes, shocking resolution, sorry about that, it's what happens when you actually photograph the TV screen. Ok, sorry too about the primitive, untechnological skills on display here. But all that aside, what you see is a capture from the current TV advertisement for the BMW X5, which is shown powering through a series of spectacular scenes (all right, less of the powering in this particular shot - no sheep were presumably harmed, etc). All of them, or very nearly, are in the South Island and, if you've been paying attention to my more recent blogs, you will recognise this one as quickly as I did. No? Tch. Well, how about this, then:

Now you see it: it's the Dart Valley at Paradise, at the top of Lake Wakatipu, and these are some of the people on my Paradise Trail cycle ride with Revolution Tours a couple of weeks ago, heading off along the same dirt road to its end beside the Dart River. Magnificent scenery, literally movie-star glamorous, it's in constant demand for film, TV and advertisement locations. The owner of the Paradise station makes more money from permissions than from sheep, I believe. And you can just see why, can't you? Those peaks are classic profiles, great from any angle.

Speaking of Paradise, I'm away again on Thursday to somewhere that's commonly described that way, in ad-speak anyway: Tahiti. Yes, more turquoise water, this time with palm trees and snorkelling, plus croissants and baguettes and Bonjour! Bienvenue! Ca va? Also with the manta rays, sharks and quad-biking, plus stand-up paddle-boarding. (I can't help remembering that the last time I did anything similarly aquatic, it was sailing a dinghy in Fiji, and I had to be fetched back on the end of a rope after heading helplessly towards the horizon.) This time there will be no over-water bungalows, spa treatments or fancy dinners with French champagne for me. No, it's all about showing how Tahiti can be cheap and exciting, so I'm going to be self-catered and active. We travel writers don't always get it all our own way, you know.

Shaking - or shivering?

Since this was, is and will be the only time in my entire life that I am described as either a mover or a shaker - hell, let's go with both - it deserves recording. This flattering entry is in today's Press Room daily summary in the run-up to next month's IPW Travel Conference in Chicago. It's a massive marketplace where travel and tourism operators, buyers and media come together for some intensive consultation and networking: it's been going for years but this is my first time attending, and it's all slightly scary. It's also going to be a marathon, the days full of meetings and the evenings all about making contacts, so though I'll be staying at the Hilton I won't be seeing much of my room.

It's going to be a great opportunity to connect with people and set up future trips to write about, and I'm also looking forward to to the events that various tourism operations are hosting. Apparently the San Francisco one is unmissable; and I have high hopes of the Disneyland one, too (the famil to Anaheim for the opening of the Finding Nemo ride years ago now is still a vivid memory). What there won't be, sadly, is much in the way of free time for exploring the city, though I am doing a couple of tours. It's an exciting destination with so much going on, amazing architecture (they invented the skyscraper there, did you know: all of 10 storeys), great food, lots of diversity, wonderful museums and art galleries, and so on and on. Oh, and the lake right there, of course.

Though boy, it's been cold there. I've been watching, and this winter has been tough, with lots of snow and negative double figures. The photos of the frozen lake were horrifying, though beautiful. Even now it's still -4 or colder at night, and during the day mostly just single figures; I can only imagine what the wind must feel like ('Windy City', remember). Augh! Because, not only will I be coming from what has been a very hot and dry summer here that's still clinging on, but en route I'll be spending a week in Tahiti, where the temperatures are hovering around 30 degrees. Again, augh! This trip is going to be a sod to pack for.

Matakauri Lodge: I beat you to it, Wills and Kate

So, in the papers this morning, the tabloid Herald on Sunday got all excited about revealing where Prince William and Kate are going to stay for their night in Queenstown next month, while the broadsheet Sunday Star-Times put a teaser on the front page and wrote about it inside in great detail but "chose not to name" the lodge after disdainfully noting that the Daily Mail had "inadvertently identified the luxury lodge" and mentioning security concerns. Which would be all very proper and responsible if - by sheer coincidence, obviously - they hadn't run a two-page travel story about Matakauri Lodge in their Escape section.

I could have written that. In fact, I did, for the HoS, after staying there in 2006 (before an ownership change and some alterations, but it's still essentially the same place). I reckon it's got the best views of any hotel in the area - yes, even including Blanket Bay, where *cough* I've also stayed. Why? Absolutely the views. Blanket Bay is brilliant, but Matakauri has the advantage of being perched on a cliff above Lake Wakatipu, just 10 minutes out of Queenstown but feeling miles away, with glorious views across the water to the Humboldt Ranges, the Remarkables also within sight, and the only sign of human habitation Walter Peak Station across the lake.

There's also the dear old Earnslaw fussing back and forth, but she's an asset to any scene; and at the beginning and end of the day a handful of little planes doing the Milford Sound run, looking ridiculously tiny against that magnificent jagged rocky backdrop.

You can see all of this glory from everywhere: dining room, spa, pool of course, but also, in my slate, schist and timber villa, from the terrace outside, from the living room, the bed and even the bath. Now that's a real treat, to lie back with bubbles popping under your chin and look out on all that natural splendour.

If it had been summer, I could have slid open the window for real connection; alternatively, had it been winter, I could have put on my fluffy robe and gone to sip wine in front of the log fire. As it was, I had to content myself with a massage and salty foot scrub there instead, before heading to the dining room for something delicious enough to drag my attention away from the view. It's a real treat to stay at Matakauri Lodge - and I say that without having seen the top-of-the-range Owner's Cottage the royals are to have. Wills and Kate are going to love it.

Lusi times two

This is Lusi. She was a shy but friendly five year-old about ten years ago, who took me by the hand when I arrived in her remote village in the Yasawa Islands in Fiji, and showed me proudly around her bare-bones school. There was neat cursive handwriting on the blackboard, a single netball hoop in a circle of beaten dirt in the playground, and a mixed group of cheerful pupils waiting to sing songs for us - like 'The Wheels on the Bus', on an island where there were no buses or cars, or probably even much in the way of wheels. But it seemed a laid-back, comfortable sort of life under the palm trees there, surrounded by warm seas full of fish.

I always wonder though, whether they saw us white visitors from our even whiter ship out in the bay as just a diversion, or as a source of envy. In lots of third-world places on the tourist trail, we're seen as a resource, and that's fine; but in the endless quest to divert from the beaten track (as much for mere bragging rights as anything else) many communities are being introduced to things they've never dreamed of, and could never attain; and that way lies discontent and disintegration. It's the traveller's conundrum: how to discover and explore new places, without destroying them in the process. We're all Livingstons, in our way.

Speaking of destruction, this is Lusi too: a tropical cyclone that's worked her way down here from the Pacific, giving all the Met and media people plenty of time to talk her up into "a beast of a storm" with subsequent battening-down of hatches throughout the country, cancellations of outdoor events and general disaster preparation. Why, I even removed the pottery chicken from the table out on the deck! But, so far, this Lusi's turning out to be a bit shy too, and isn't looking likely to be as memorable as the other. Not that I'm complaining...

And to think I actually went all the way to the Canadian Rockies...

Two stories are already written about my Revolution Tours cycle ride along the far shore of Lake Wakatipu, all the way to the top. The icy wind, straight off the fresh snow on the peaks, scarcely registers any more, and the toil of working up the hills is forgotten - now it's all about the glorious scenery sparkling in the sunshine, the eternal thrill of whizzing down the slopes, stones pinging out from under my wheels, splashing through fords, and all the yummy food we ate. There was no losing weight on this trip, despite all that healthy exercise: all it did was generate an equally healthy appetite that was more than sated by so much irresistibly delicious food.

But what really spun my wheels (sorry) was being outside all day in such beautiful surroundings, changing from lake to farmland to bush to river flats, all surrounded by mountains, experiencing the changes in the weather, and feeling connected with it all in a way that you never can in a car, sealed inside your metal box. You can't appreciate the freshness of the air, the good farm smells and the damp bush, or hear the bellbirds, magpies and yellowheads, the water splashing over the rocks, the waves on the lake breaking on the shore.

Walking is just as good for that, of course, and the Routeburn day walk made a refreshing change from the cycling. On the tour, not everybody did the tramp, a couple of people staying at Paradise Lodge for what they thought would be a quiet day, not anticipating the activity of a Subaru ad photo-shoot. That end of the lake has appeared on film so many times - not just in Peter Jackson's Tolkien epics, but many others as well, even X-Men Wolverine (although, onscreen, it was labelled 'Canadian Rockies' pft) - and there's no marvelling at that at all. It's mind-blowingly photogenic, and on a still, golden evening just too pretty for words. So here's a photo instead.

Goodbye to Paradise

One of the nice things about this Revolution Tour (and there are very many) is that spending several days in one area, exploring it by bike, on foot and by car, I've come to feel a connection with this amazing scenery. I've heard the stories, learned the names, made my own memories; and it will always be a special place for me now - as special as even those who live here always know that it is.

We went to the end of Paradise Road this perfect morning, coasting along with some splashy ford adventures, and I wasn't the only one to slow down at the end, to try to make it last longer; and to be really reluctant to finally let go of my bike.

But then we walked out into the Dart River valley for our last picnic lunch, the glories of the scenery somewhat modified by the voracious sandflies. A jetboat swirled past, a helicopter clattered overhead, and then we turned and headed back to civilisation ourselves.

I had a bit of a reprieve: a personal photography tutorial with Laurence, visiting locations around Glenorchy to record them with my camera frighteningly set to Manual. It was great - watch this space later for evidence.

If you have to return to civilisation, you might as well make it properly civilised, so here I am at the Sofitel, with champagne by the bath and Baileys and nougat by the bed. Could be worse, I suppose.... (NB Photo taken after depredations already made to the cheese, etc.)

Legs and lamb

With thanks to Revolution Tours for this lovely famil

No biking today: instead we were driven up to the start of the Routeburn Track, a 3-day tramp over the Divide to the Milford road (but which Matt has run in 4 hours, so no more sympathy for him over having the big trailer behind his bike). It was another glorious day and though I've done this walk before, it was pure pleasure to follow the extremely well-made path through the beech trees, past cliche tumbling mountain streams.

There was coffee and lemon loaf on a stony beach by the river, and a bit of drama as Matt had to run after and retrieve a stray group member, falling and dislocating his finger in the process (actually, absolutely no drama at all about that).

Then it was another 5km or so to the grassy river flat for lunch surrounded by peaks and beech forest: just another cliche tourist scenario really, ho hum. Not.

And on our return to Paradise Lodge, a welcome-back huge platter of cheeses and super-tender lamb to dip into wild mint sauce; before a feast of freshly manuka-smoked salmon, lamb shanks with garlic, salads and veg, then apple and blackberry crumble and cream. All prepared by Matt's father Laurence, a man of many talents.

Finally bed, after stepping outside to admire the Milky Way in all its spectacular un-light-polluted glory. A good day.