It's all work

 
After a beautifully quiet night in one of the Martinborough Hotel's garden suites, I took a wander around town and was really quite captivated. Last time, I was amused by the trailerload of sheep I encountered but this time it was the people who I warmed to. Everyone I encountered on the street gave me a warm smile and greeting, and I felt very welcome.

It's also such a pretty place, with so many lovely buildings, all of them clearly treasured. 

We had a flat white and bacon butty at a busy cafe with the chattiest and cheerful lady behind the counter (wearing shorts!) and then toddled off for a look around Greytown, where I went last time and is even prettier.

And finally it was time to head off over the Remutaka Hill again - such a mental and physical barrier, though it only takes twenty minutes to negotiate all its curves and corners. Back to the airport and away home, Wairarapa finally properly ticked off. Except Toast Martinborough is coming up next month, and it sounds really good…

A Foley freebie

With thanks to Foley Wines for this famil

Up in the air again, hooray, I was heading back to Wairarapa to fill in a gap from last time. The Runholder is a brand new cellar door that's opened just outside Martinborough to present both wine and gin, and it sure is classy. We went straight there and spent about nine hours on the premises, much of that time being indulged with delicious food and some excellent drinks.

The building is a big, stylish take on the traditional woolshed, with a wine cellar below and the gin distillery alongside the tasting room. The vineyard is owned by American billionaire Bill Foley, the cellar's full of French oak barrels, and the distillery has a shiny, brand-new steel and copper still just arrived from Germany, but everything else is genuine Kiwi, and mostly local - gin botanicals, grapes, food.

Oh, the food! Chef Tim served us lamb ribs, sashimi, wagyu steak and all the sauces but, peasant that I am, it was the spuds that blew me away. Pommes Anna, to give them their proper name - sliced super-thinly, pressed overnight, flavoured with rosemary and garlic and then baked to be brown and crisp on the outside and soft inside. My mouth is currently watering again. Delicious.

Toby, the man in charge of supplying the fish, came and told us all about how sustainably it's done - to order, line-caught, spreading the harvesting in both time and space - and, when I asked, said he did, occasionally, still fish for fun.

Of course we tasted lots of wine, which added up, with the consequence that though I conscientiously took notes throughout, they're now totally illegible. But the wine was good. Wine master John gave us the tour of the pressing room and cellar, talking lots of technical stuff which I noted down, see above, and gave us tastings from several barrels. This involved, I was mildly repelled to see, his sucking a sample up into a metal tube which he then released into our glasses. Traditional, and hygienic, I'm sure, but still.

Speaking of which, we went to look at it and marvel at all the pipes and dials, after which we had a tasting. They do three varieties, ranging from 42% up to a gasping 57%, which was challenging when we had to sip it neat - but impressively subtler when tried with ice, and then tonic. But I liked the wine better.

Then, with the public all gone, we had the big, airy dining room all to ourselves, and "made our own pizzas" in the open kitchen: ie, we wrangled the dough Tim had made, and put some toppings on, before he slid it into the wood oven. Pretty impressed that it cooked in 90 seconds, I must say - but 450° will do that. Yummy too.

We sat around for ages while it got dark outside, eating, drinking and chatting, before finally going back to the Martinborough Hotel, which looked lovely at night.

Such a shame

And so we continue. Last post Rhodes on fire, now it's Maui. The pictures and stories coming from the island are truly horrendous and the destruction is mind-boggling. Lahaina is was such a pretty place when I visited in December 2016, with Uncruise. As I wrote in the blog that day, it reminded me strongly of Russell, in the Bay of Islands here, because of its position by the sea, the historic buildings all pretty, wooden and individual, and the atmosphere friendly and relaxed, but still buzzing with contented visitors.

After a busy morning starting with yoga on deck, followed by spotting turtles while out snorkelling, and then a bit of whale- and spinner dolphin-watching, we went ashore after lunch to wander around Lahaina. The town was totally focussed on tourists, all the shops along Front St bright and colourful, full of tempting non-essentials (though I did buy a sun visor), the picturesque historic buildings explained on storyboards, the jetty by the lighthouse busy with adventure activities. There were peaceful bits too, especially in the shade of the vast banyan tree by the sea, with its multiple trunks and its branches full of birds.

I've read that the lighthouse and banyan tree are, though damaged, still standing, and are about all that's left now of that busy, bustling, pretty place that I, and everyone else, was so pleased to be exploring. In the photos all those buildings are completely gone, the streets full of half-melted cars, the palm trees just blackened stalks. It's so awful, and the terror of being caught in the middle of it all is unimaginable. The death toll is currently 90+ with lots more to come. So very, very sad.

Kia kaha, Rhodes

Now, which current disaster shall I link to today? Spoiled for choice, really - as usual, sigh. Let's go for Rhodes. Currently sweltering, as are most places around the Mediterranean, in eye-popping temperatures, now there are raging forest fires driving locals and tourists away from their homes and hotels, into halls and stadiums, and even onto the beaches for evacuation. Horrendous.

It was autumn 2015 when I was there, on a Silversea cruise, and ironically my first blog comment about the island was that it has trees - having just visited Mykonos, which has none (but is still gorgeous). I liked Rhodes very much, and was impressed by its antiquity, which was pervasive, and its sheer prettiness. It’s understandably a standard port for the cruise ships. Many of their passengers guests would be Brits, who without a doubt would have fallen foul of my guide Stefanos's declaration that, with 300 days of sunshine a year, any conversation in Rhodes about the weather is considered rude, as a sign of boredom. Not now though, I bet.

He took us south to Lindos, which is one of the towns that have been evacuated. It's famous for its Acropolis, an arty ruin on top of a hill, ancient of course, and with splendid views over, I have to say, not a remarkably tree-clad landscape by our standards, though still very picturesque. The town itself is classically pretty, all narrow lanes, cobbles, white paint, colourful shops, stray cats, and quite a lot of resigned-looking donkeys descended from Californian imports donated by the US after WW2 destroyed all the roads on the island.

Later on I had a lovely wander around the Rhodes Old Town - more cobbled lanes, fountains, frescoes, stalls, buskers, a castle with a grassy moat and pyramids of cannonballs. Really lovely, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, especially the cup of iced tea at a café on a hill with a cooling breeze and a view of the castle, mosques, a church spire, the city wall, a windmill, the harbour with ferries, yachts and cruise ships, and, not far away, Turkey Türkiye.

Mostly made up

                                  With thanks to Visit Wellington for this famil

The edible delights continued today with an Anzac scroll from Café Polo that is still making my mouth water, in memory of its sweet, flaky deliciousness. Then we headed (me for the second time) to Miramar's most famous attraction, Weta Workshop. This is where all the magic for LOTR, the Hobbit and so many other fantastical movies is created - honestly, SO many, you wouldn't believe it. We had a super-enthusiastic guide, Sully, who must have seen it all many times before but still seemed agog at the mastery. Which is what it really is - imagination, skill, finicking detail and amazing creativity. We got to see processes, like making prostheses, chatted to a couple of artists, got hands-on with swords and such, heard behind-the-scenes stories, and viewed close-up costumes and props that were truly amazing.

These are supplied images because you're not allowed to take photos there, until the end where we had a go at tinfoil sculpture. Everyone on the tour was enthralled throughout, especially the nerdy types in long black coats who asked particularly detailed questions. 

Lunch was at Arcimboldi, who make an excellent pizza, as you'd expect from the name; and then I was back at Weta for one of their Experiences - today making a bloody wound on my hand. Artificially, of course, with silicone and dyes. It was actually less fun than I expected - our guide this time wasn't as outgoing as Sully, and mostly it was heads-down over our paintbrushes with no talking. The results were fairly impressively disgusting, and some of the others were enjoying themselves - "Can I do my gunshot wound on your forehead?" - but for me it was a bit disappointing (though I hope you're impressed at how old I was able to make my hand look).

Never mind - on to the next treat, which was dinner at the Roxy. This is an Art Deco cinema that was first built in 1928 as the Capitol Theatre. This is the same year the Miramar Film Studios were established, I was surprised to learn, to produce tourism films, much later being taken over by Peter Jackson. It was Richard Taylor's wife Tanya who was behind the restoration of the Capitol into today's cute Roxy. We had their Sunday roast which was nice, but a bit mean with the gravy. Then we headed into the very comfortable cinema to see the latest Mission: Impossible movie - silly, but irresistibly exciting, as usual. And that was that for Miramar - well worth the visit. Would recommend.

Admiring Miramar

  With thanks to Visit Wellington for this famil

For once, leaving Wellington airport, I turned right instead of left, to spend some time exploring the peninsula suburb of Miramar (since I now have family there). It turned out to provide the perfect combination of exertion and reward, the latter mostly, I'm happy to say, edible. It's a hilly neck of land at one side of the entrance to the harbour, and there are some steep climbs up its slopes, through both bush and pretty suburbs of wooden villas. On a good day when, famously, Wellington can't be beaten, the views are excellent - unfortunately (but also predictably) this wasn't one of them, though the misty, moisty conditions produced a moodier picture which was still attractive.

Spreading the love, we collected a very good almond croissant from the Shelly Bay Bakery (which isn't actually in Shelly Bay) and then an excellent coffee from Swimsuit, and headed off on a walk that included enough steep bits to both cancel out the breakfast and earn the lunch we had at Scorch-o-Rama, in Scorching Bay (which wasn't scorching, but cool and silvery). I really liked the menu there, which was full of genuinely funny jokes, viz the vegan dish: "No animals were harmed in the making of this, unless Chef chopped another digit off. No? High three!" The food was yummy, too.

Then we carried on along the waterfront, past sandy beaches, pohutukawa, and a fringe of interesting houses, modern and traditional, with turrets and towers. Six, count them, in a row belong to Peter Jackson, so of course there be dragons. It was an interesting route, but long, with lots of steps, so after a rest back home I was ready for some indulgence.

First we went to Double Vision Brewery, in a mildly industrial area, where in the taproom with its big shiny silver tanks the bar serves a very appealing range of drinks. I really like that they're not grim purists, and was very taken by their offering such treats as Cocowbell - a coconut chocolate milk stout, as well as a strawberry and lime cider, and honey mead, plus all the usual ales and lagers. This month's cocktail was Chocolate Mud Slide - coconut stout with Baileys, vodka, chocolate syrup and cream. Sounds disgusting? Clearly, you haven't tried it.

Then we went to Oiko's restaurant for dinner, and had the nicest, friendliest waitress I've ever encountered. She also knew her stuff, and we did so enjoy our tasting plates, especially the chicken skewers and fish sliders. The sesame-crusted halloumi was a bit too delicious though for the family atmosphere, especially when it came to the last morsels - that's the downside of shared dishes.

Plus ça change...

                                      With thanks to Destination Wairarapa for this famil

Brrr! It was -2°C this morning, and the ice was so thick on my windscreen that I had to scrape it off with a redundant credit card - it's been a long time since I've had to do that. Beforehand, though, I had my last yummy breakfast at Parehua Resort - which has been a lovely, quiet, rural place to stay. Almost 30 villas and cottages scattered around a pretty and very neat garden, with a pond, bushwalk, and lots of trees. That means birds too, and it was a sheer delight to be woken by the echoing musical notes of a magpie this morning. I shall miss being fussed over in the restaurant by host Dean - I haven't experienced such friendly but perfectionist service since my last Silversea cruise. That's high praise, you know.

I whipped into Martinborough for a quick squizz, and found it to be a classic country colonial town - ie, neatly-mown town square focused on its war memorial, deliberately impressive stately buildings, and, er, a rather smelly trailer of sheep passing by. Some nice shops, though, and apparently also a sweet shop that I missed, tch.

Then it was off through the crisp, frosty morning back to Greytown, for a proper look around. I started at Cobblestones Museum, which is a town within a town, comprising a good collection of historic buildings, most of them moved onto site. One of the originals is a cute little Cobb & Co stable, which would have been a busy place, back in the day. I wasn't such a fan of the basic hospital, though, especially its bed with raised stirrups for you-know-what. I was taken, though, with the display inside the main building about wheelbarrow races, and the story of poor Samuel Oates, who in 1858 pushed one loaded with saplings from Wellington right over the Remutakas. When he called into the local pub for a well-deserved refreshment, some low-life nicked three of his trees. Painful.

Right next door, also in a pretty cottage, is Schoc Chocolates, where they make a huge range of tablet and fancy temptations from Belgian chocolate. They even make colourful, and edible, bowls and shoes there. It's just one of a whole townful of quirky little boutiques, proudly individually owned, and each one determined to be as appealing and surprising as possible. So, at Mango Interiors, you can buy a shiny wooden motorbike or Vespa 90 from Bali; or in Blackwell & Sons a fantastic, traditional English Pashley bike, when I was there for a whole $1000 off the usual $4 thou-plus price. Books, clothes, antiques, crafts, food... and all beautifully displayed in pretty wooden shops. No wonder it was busy.

It was lunchtime by now, so I had to head back to Featherston's Royal Hotel to eat with three of the driving forces behind the town's Book Festival. 'Driving forces' is right - they are totally dedicated and infectiously enthusiastic book devotees. The town has seven bookshops, which is going some for a population of less than 3,000. The festival draws writers, illustrators and publishers in ever-growing numbers for all sorts of events over a weekend in May. The hotel plays a big part - opened in 1868 it is, naturally, a feature on the Featherston streetscape, and is plushly Victorian inside, including the accommodation which I got to see.

I was starting to fade a little now, but I got another injection of enthusiasm from Garrick, who drove me back out of town to the racecourse he runs, to see the campsite there. On the way, we passed the huge site where, in WWI, there were rows and rows of 90 huge wooden barracks at the military camp. It was resurrected in WW2 as a Japanese POW camp, where there was a riot in 1943 and almost 50 prisoners were killed. All rather grim, but the racecourse was a classic country set-up and had some interesting buildings too, including an octagonal hospital used during the 1918 flu pandemic, which originally had a hole in the roof for ventilation. In less than two months, flu killed 9,000 people in NZ - that's half of the 18,000 soldiers who died over the whole of WWI. Sounds familiar...

And then it was time to leave Wairarapa and drive back over the Remutaka Hill to Wellington, happily against the surge of traffic heading out of town for the weekend. I had lots more treats to look forward to - in Miramar.