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Orange or Mudgee: which regional NSW town wins the wine-and-weekend crown?
Orange or Mudgee: which regional NSW town wins the wine-and-weekend crown?

The Advertiser

time18-07-2025

  • The Advertiser

Orange or Mudgee: which regional NSW town wins the wine-and-weekend crown?

They both have food, wine and views, but which country town wins? Tasting at Printhie Wines in Orange. Picture: Destination NSW By Mal Chenu and Amy Cooper Updated July 18 2025 - 9:06am, first published 10:00am Two of NSW's most beloved wine and food destinations - Mudgee and Orange - have been battling (politely, of course) for the title of the state's best country escape. Subscribe now for unlimited access. or signup to continue reading All articles from our website The digital version of Today's Paper All other in your area So which one deserves your weekend? We break down the case for each. The case for Mudgee: warm, welcoming and full of flavour I do love the name Mudgee. Simultaneously snuggly and tasty, the sound of it conjures up fresh scones and sun-ripened fruit, handwoven blankets and blooming flowerbeds, warm hearths and happy hearts. A place where people have time to chat, make jam, bake bread. And drink bucketloads of wine. The real meaning isn't far off. In the local Wiradjuri language, Mudgee's a word for "nest in the hills", or "contented". Better still, the reality matches up. Of all the charming country towns dotted across the bucolic NSW Central Tablelands, Mudgee best personifies the rural idyll imagined by wistful urban dwellers sitting at traffic lights surrounded by road rage and existential despair. Mudgee's scenic countryside. Pictures: DNSW Mudgee doesn't have traffic lights. It has wide tree-lined streets with pubs on most corners and fine old heritage buildings dating back to the 1800s. It nestles in a patchwork quilt of vineyards, fields and orchards, and boasts both a beer and a wine school, educational assets absent from even sophisticated cities. Coincidentally (and perhaps regrettably, given his troubled relationship with the bottle) the great poet Henry Lawson spent his school years in Mudgee. You can see the remains of his family home at the Henry Lawson Memorial and his name now belongs to Mudgee's lovely Lawson Park where you can picnic on the banks of the Cudgegong River. You'd better bring a big basket. Food and wine practically spring from the soil in this furiously fertile region. More than 35 cellar doors beckon at some of Australia's oldest vineyards, with some established more than 150 years ago. Scenic Mudgee. Picture: Destination NSW Whether you're chatting with Burrundulla's award-winning viticulturalist Ted Cox, whose family were among the town's first settlers in the 1820s, or Robert Stein's Jacob Stein, whose forebears brought Rhine riesling to Australia in 1838, you'll find a welcome from winemakers eager to share generations of passion for the land. Lowe Family Wine Co has turned a dedication to biodynamic and organic farming into an epicurean epicentre where vineyards and market gardens sprawl around The Zin House restaurant, holder of a chef's hat for 10 years in a row. You can taste wines and produce in historical former horse stalls at Gooree Park Cellar Door at The Stables, and wander through cherry, fig and citrus orchards with a glass in hand at 10's Estate. Wherever you wander, Mudgee's artisans, growers, farmers and shopkeepers greet you with the genuine hospitality that scored Mudgee fourth place and top NSW town on 2025 Friendliest Towns list, while Orange scraped in at number 10. As Henry Lawson famously said: "Beer makes you feel the way you ought to feel without beer." And I say: Mudgee makes you feel the way you ought to feel without Mudgee. The argument for Orange: cool-climate class and endless choice Orange and Mudgee are fine destinations for wineries or romance, or both, and in that order, as God intended. Separated by just two hours, these towns sit on the traditional lands of the Wiradjuri people and boast lovely colonial heritage buildings and robust art, food and wine scenes. Tasting at Swinging Bridge Wines in Orange. Picture: Destination NSW So, what's the difference between Orange and Mudgee? Well, besides the spelling and pronunciation, Orange rises head and shoulders above Mudgee with an elevation advantage of 400 metres. The superior altitude (along with the rich terroir) produces excellent cool-climate wines, as you will find at the region's wineries (there are more than 80, and about 30 of them have cellar doors), including well-known purveyors Printhie, Philip Shaw, Ross Hill and Swinging Bridge. Four times as many people choose to live in Orange as they do Mudgee, and this is reflected in the accommodation options. Another top-end winery - Nashdale Lane Wines - offers luxe glamping cabins with views across the vineyards and out to Mount Canobolas. Pinnacle Reserve and Lookout, the Spring Glade walking track and Nangar National Park offer similarly fab views. Back in town, the 1876-built Duntryleague Guesthouse is the most elegant landmark in Orange, while Yallungah Boutique Hotel, where original architecture meets mod-cons and mod art, is the go-to digs for a heritage-comfort blend. Tasting at Philip Shaw Wines in Orange. More epicurean art can be appreciated at the Orange Regional Gallery, Corner Store Boutique Gallery and The White Place. The Orange Botanic Gardens and Cook Park offer a colourful taste of the local flora, and you can explore limestone caves at Borenore Karst Conservation Reserve and Federal Falls in the Mount Canobolas State Conservation Area, play a round at Duntryleague Golf Club and watch dragon boat racing on Lake Canobolas. Fancy a bevvy? Start at local institution Ferment the Orange Wine Centre & Store, then push on to the tiny wine bar Hey Rosey. For fine dining, check out The Peacock Room, Whitney's Restaurant, Sisters Rock Restaurant, Lucetta Dining or The Schoolhouse Restaurant. Everything F&B in Orange is superb, a function of the local produce and intense competition. The spot where the town sits was originally called Blackman's Swamp but was quickly renamed to honour William, the Prince of Orange of the Netherlands. This makes Orange the new Blackman. "Orange" has suffered from some recent dubious associations, and the burghers of the town want to make it abundantly clear they are not affiliated with any presidents or face-tanning products. While Orange is the more a-peel-ing option for your Central West getaway, I would never be judgy about Mudgee.

Two epic journeys, one tough travel choice: Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan?
Two epic journeys, one tough travel choice: Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan?

The Advertiser

time04-07-2025

  • Entertainment
  • The Advertiser

Two epic journeys, one tough travel choice: Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan?

World Nomad Games in Kyrgystan. Picture: Shutterstock By Amy Cooper and Mal Chenu Updated July 4, 2025, first published July 5, 2025 Subscribe now for unlimited access. or signup to continue reading All articles from our website The digital version of Today's Paper All other in your area I'm a Stan fan. Show me a Central Asian country with those four letters ending a name no spelling bee contestant would ever wish to encounter, and I'm there quicker than you can say Borat. Just to be clear, Borat does not come from Kyrgyzstan - probably because nobody would ever dare mock the second smallest and by far fiercest of the seven Stans. You do not mess with a country where instead of playing footy, men grapple a headless goat carcass on horseback at breakneck speed and where, instead of calling Uber Eats, you send your trained golden eagle to hunt down a jackal, which you will butcher yourself. To be an influencer in Kyrgyzstan, you must be able to recite word-perfectly and by memory the 500,000 lines of your nation's immense epic poem passed down orally for more than 1000 years. In short, Kyrgyz people are badass. Light on vowels but heavy on bravery, pride, virtuosity and harmony with nature, Kyrgyzstan is one of the world's last bastions of nomadic culture. Practically born on horseback, Kyrgyz clans still follow the seasons across central Asia's highest peaks in the towering Tian Shan ranges to graze their flocks in alpine summer meadows. It's a life of astonishing freedom and beauty, and thanks to Kyrgyz nomads' hospitality - as legendary as their history - visitors can join in. You'll be invited to sleep in a traditional yurt on the shores of glacial lakes, ride across the steppes on horses, yaks or camels, accompany the eagle hunters and their remarkable raptors, then toast your new friends with fermented mare's milk while yurt-y dancing around the open fire. You'll be high the whole time. Kyrgyzstan is about 90 per cent mountainous, with more than half the land over 2500 metres above sea level; a rarefied, unfolding wonder of needle summits soaring to more than 7000 metres amid plunging gorges, roaring waterfalls and emerald forests and meadows. The world's second-largest mountain lake, Issyk-Kul, shimmers like a mirage surrounded by snow-capped peaks. In the icy wilds of Tash Rabat, the remains of a 15th-century Silk Road inn recall that this was once a superhighway. Now you can trek or ride for days and see nobody but the odd shepherd. Bliss. And then there's the World Nomad Games, Kyrgyzstan's insane answer to the Olympics. At this biennial festival of unhinged heroics, next staged in 2026, you can see horseback wrestling, foot archery, bone hurling, an opening ceremony in which performers are aflame and - the Kyrgyz national sport - Kok Boru, a brutal mix of rugby and polo in which two teams on horseback battle for possession of a decapitated goat. Meanwhile, next door in Uzbekistan, Mal might be marvelling at mosaics and minarets, but he's missing out on the most out-stan-ding Stan of all. The Stans of Central Asia may sound like a spin-off of The Kumars at No 42 , but they are actually fascinating travel destinations, and not just so you can wait and wait and one day be a hero at pub trivia, or at an albeit less likely geography spelling bee. Gur-e-Amir mausoleum in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. Picture: Shutterstock Of the five Stans, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan are the most impressive if you are a place name dropper. After your friends tell you about the cool bar they went to in Kuta, you can casually mention the magical twilight that accentuates the glazed azure tiles of the Kalta Minor Minaret in the walled city of Itchan Kala in the Khanate of Khiva. But you can only do this if you go to Uzbekistan. If you go to Kyrgyzstan, you can tell your friends you saw some nice sheep shivering on the steppe. Kyrgyzstan is in more danger of overgrazing than overtourism. You may think you would only travel to the Stans if you have literally been to every country. If this is the case, you would only visit Kyrgyzstan because you've been to all the other Stans. As a central hub of the legendary Silk Road, the region that is now Uzbekistan thrived. Prior to Genghis Khan's scorched earth pillaging in the early 13th century, the cities of Bukhara and Samarkand were prosperous centres of science, culture and learning. One lesson they learned well was architecture, and Uzbekistan's ancient cities remain a repository for some of the most stunning buildings in the world. Magnificent mausoleums, mosques and madrasas, many finished in turquoise and gold, are sprinkled throughout the country like sumac on a kebab. In Samarkand, Registan is a sprawling network of three grand madrasas filled with gorgeous majolica pottery and mosaics. Samarkand is also home to the Gur-e-Amir and Shah-i-Zinda mausoleums, built as the final resting places of famous Uzbeks that even the most demanding pub quiz is unlikely to probe. The Ark in Bukhara was the residence of emirs from the 5th century until the Russian Red Army bombed it in 1920. Now mostly ruins, it still hosts several museums and the 17th-century-built Juma Mosque. Nearby Maghoki-Attar has been a religious site since the 5th century and was once a mosque by day and a synagogue by night. Imagine! Legend has it that the locals saved Maghoki-Attar from the Mongol hordes by burying it in sand. More architectural wonders can be found in Namangan, Andijan, Nukus, Fergana and Kokand, all of which will provide you with better bragging rights than Kyrgyzstan. Or Kuta. Those who say a good Stan is hard to find should put Uzbekistan on their uz-bekit list.

The ultimate Indian Ocean island showdown: the Maldives v the Seychelles
The ultimate Indian Ocean island showdown: the Maldives v the Seychelles

The Advertiser

time16-05-2025

  • The Advertiser

The ultimate Indian Ocean island showdown: the Maldives v the Seychelles

By Mal Chenu It's not often reality says "Screw you, filters, retouching and HDR. We don't need you for our pics." Not just any old beaches some influencer blue-washes to turn heads (and a quid), the Seychelles and the Maldives are already picture-perfect Indian Ocean idylls with endless seascapes, occasional landscapes and coral reefs so clear and brightly coloured they make QLED TV technology look like early celluloid. But if you have to choose one, without the "benefit" of an influencer's profundity and online editing, the Maldives should be your first resort. The accommodation here is all about opulent hotels - think luxury, then think of a word that means more luxurious than luxury, then double it, and you're still not luxurious enough. Every hotel chain celebrated for seamless spoiling with a soupcon of sycophancy has staked a sunny, sandy, cerulean spot in the Maldives. Every company that sneers at five-star ratings as mere entry level is here - Ritz-Carlton, Como, St Regis, Six Senses, Four Seasons, Waldorf Astoria, One&Only and dozens more. There's even a Raffles, which offers a mesmerising and entirely appropriate coconut iteration of its famous Singapore Sling to accompany the impossibly gorgeous sunsets. And most of the Maldives' overwater bungalows and water's edge suites are just a seashell's skip away from an oversized bathtub with lagoon views, private pool, sumptuous day spa and fine-dining restaurants. The Maldives' average natural elevation is 1.5 metres above sea level, stretching up to a giddying natural high point of 2.4 metres. Mount Villingili looms above you at an altitude of 5.1 metres, and you can make the ascent in thongs and without oxygen, before posing for a triumphant photo at the summit. The Maldives may not offer drone's-eye-view panoramas, but it is the consummate romantic getaway, especially for acrophobic couples. It also tops the list of places to see while you still can. Much of the country is expected to sink beneath the waves within a century, so you'd better hurry if you want to beat the tide. It's ironic that a paradise endangered by global warming is all about chilling, but this is the Maldivian lure. Dewy-eyed couples can take a break between relaxing and unwinding for a massage, and then don their freshly pressed white linen outfits for dinner and an unfiltered Insta post about foie gras, Veuve Clicquot and languid lagoon life. Amy will try to tell you the Seychelles is the superior utopia, but just getting there involves making more connections than a job seeker on LinkedIn. She can sell Seychelles by the seashore as much as she likes, but this Mal is a Maldives man, and not just because I can scale a mountain before the ice in my cocktail melts. By Amy Cooper The problem with humans is that we can have too much of a good thing. Even when that good thing is a picture-perfect, sundrenched Indian Ocean island idyll. Just ask Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball, or the kids in Lord of the Flies. Or my friends, a couple who fell out so ferociously during their romantic Maldives sojourn they weaponised their swizzle sticks. Paradise with no escape route can only end one way: a descent into savagery. Which is why I hope Mal dives in the Maldives, because SCUBA may be all that stands between him and that scene from The Beach where a raving troppo Leo DiCaprio starts swallowing caterpillars. In the Maldives, you're shipped out to your isolated one-island-one-resort situation and there you remain, on a flat sandy circle devoid of topography, local community or businesses, entirely dependent upon your gilded bubble for sustenance that's served with a monopoly-enabled mark-up. Luxurious, sure, but a trap nonetheless. Like Alcatraz, except with floating breakfast trays. In the Seychelles, you're gloriously free to roam an entire country of 115 islands, through landscapes dramatic with curves and character: misty mountains rising from the jungle; secret coves; rainforests alive with exotic birds and rare orchids. People come just to gaze at the scattered, stacked and strangely sculptural giant granite boulders on the beaches of the inner Seychelles - the world's only granitic oceanic islands. Instead of wondering which of your fellow castaways will crack first, you'll be meeting Seychelles locals, immersing in their rich cultural blend of African, European and Asian as you hop between islands like Mahe, Praslin and La Digue, choosing from swanky resorts, family-run guesthouses, eco-lodges or self-catering set-ups. Even if you fly and flop, there's minimal risk of monotony. Mahe alone has 25-plus beaches, ranging from big Beau Vallon with its street food stalls, water sports and epic sunset viewing to surfy Anse Louis and restaurant-dotted Anse Royale. In Mahe's capital, Victoria, you can eat Creole curries in colonial mansions; inhale Indian, Chinese and African spice aromas amid the bustle of Sir Selwyn Clarke Market; and take a tot at Takamaka Rum Distillery, on an 18th-century estate with two resident giant Aldabra tortoises. I defy even a teen with a two-minute attention span to tire of the Seychelles. Sea kayaking on Cerf, biking through villages on La Digue or spotting wildlife wonders like rare brown boobies (stop giggling at the back Mal, or you'll be denied parole from the Maldives) in the pristine outer atolls - all these await. When you fly home, look out for the Maldives down below. You might spot someone spelling out the word "help", in expensive beer bottles on a small, flat, remote and exclusive beach. By Mal Chenu It's not often reality says "Screw you, filters, retouching and HDR. We don't need you for our pics." Not just any old beaches some influencer blue-washes to turn heads (and a quid), the Seychelles and the Maldives are already picture-perfect Indian Ocean idylls with endless seascapes, occasional landscapes and coral reefs so clear and brightly coloured they make QLED TV technology look like early celluloid. But if you have to choose one, without the "benefit" of an influencer's profundity and online editing, the Maldives should be your first resort. The accommodation here is all about opulent hotels - think luxury, then think of a word that means more luxurious than luxury, then double it, and you're still not luxurious enough. Every hotel chain celebrated for seamless spoiling with a soupcon of sycophancy has staked a sunny, sandy, cerulean spot in the Maldives. Every company that sneers at five-star ratings as mere entry level is here - Ritz-Carlton, Como, St Regis, Six Senses, Four Seasons, Waldorf Astoria, One&Only and dozens more. There's even a Raffles, which offers a mesmerising and entirely appropriate coconut iteration of its famous Singapore Sling to accompany the impossibly gorgeous sunsets. And most of the Maldives' overwater bungalows and water's edge suites are just a seashell's skip away from an oversized bathtub with lagoon views, private pool, sumptuous day spa and fine-dining restaurants. The Maldives' average natural elevation is 1.5 metres above sea level, stretching up to a giddying natural high point of 2.4 metres. Mount Villingili looms above you at an altitude of 5.1 metres, and you can make the ascent in thongs and without oxygen, before posing for a triumphant photo at the summit. The Maldives may not offer drone's-eye-view panoramas, but it is the consummate romantic getaway, especially for acrophobic couples. It also tops the list of places to see while you still can. Much of the country is expected to sink beneath the waves within a century, so you'd better hurry if you want to beat the tide. It's ironic that a paradise endangered by global warming is all about chilling, but this is the Maldivian lure. Dewy-eyed couples can take a break between relaxing and unwinding for a massage, and then don their freshly pressed white linen outfits for dinner and an unfiltered Insta post about foie gras, Veuve Clicquot and languid lagoon life. Amy will try to tell you the Seychelles is the superior utopia, but just getting there involves making more connections than a job seeker on LinkedIn. She can sell Seychelles by the seashore as much as she likes, but this Mal is a Maldives man, and not just because I can scale a mountain before the ice in my cocktail melts. By Amy Cooper The problem with humans is that we can have too much of a good thing. Even when that good thing is a picture-perfect, sundrenched Indian Ocean island idyll. Just ask Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball, or the kids in Lord of the Flies. Or my friends, a couple who fell out so ferociously during their romantic Maldives sojourn they weaponised their swizzle sticks. Paradise with no escape route can only end one way: a descent into savagery. Which is why I hope Mal dives in the Maldives, because SCUBA may be all that stands between him and that scene from The Beach where a raving troppo Leo DiCaprio starts swallowing caterpillars. In the Maldives, you're shipped out to your isolated one-island-one-resort situation and there you remain, on a flat sandy circle devoid of topography, local community or businesses, entirely dependent upon your gilded bubble for sustenance that's served with a monopoly-enabled mark-up. Luxurious, sure, but a trap nonetheless. Like Alcatraz, except with floating breakfast trays. In the Seychelles, you're gloriously free to roam an entire country of 115 islands, through landscapes dramatic with curves and character: misty mountains rising from the jungle; secret coves; rainforests alive with exotic birds and rare orchids. People come just to gaze at the scattered, stacked and strangely sculptural giant granite boulders on the beaches of the inner Seychelles - the world's only granitic oceanic islands. Instead of wondering which of your fellow castaways will crack first, you'll be meeting Seychelles locals, immersing in their rich cultural blend of African, European and Asian as you hop between islands like Mahe, Praslin and La Digue, choosing from swanky resorts, family-run guesthouses, eco-lodges or self-catering set-ups. Even if you fly and flop, there's minimal risk of monotony. Mahe alone has 25-plus beaches, ranging from big Beau Vallon with its street food stalls, water sports and epic sunset viewing to surfy Anse Louis and restaurant-dotted Anse Royale. In Mahe's capital, Victoria, you can eat Creole curries in colonial mansions; inhale Indian, Chinese and African spice aromas amid the bustle of Sir Selwyn Clarke Market; and take a tot at Takamaka Rum Distillery, on an 18th-century estate with two resident giant Aldabra tortoises. I defy even a teen with a two-minute attention span to tire of the Seychelles. Sea kayaking on Cerf, biking through villages on La Digue or spotting wildlife wonders like rare brown boobies (stop giggling at the back Mal, or you'll be denied parole from the Maldives) in the pristine outer atolls - all these await. When you fly home, look out for the Maldives down below. You might spot someone spelling out the word "help", in expensive beer bottles on a small, flat, remote and exclusive beach. By Mal Chenu It's not often reality says "Screw you, filters, retouching and HDR. We don't need you for our pics." Not just any old beaches some influencer blue-washes to turn heads (and a quid), the Seychelles and the Maldives are already picture-perfect Indian Ocean idylls with endless seascapes, occasional landscapes and coral reefs so clear and brightly coloured they make QLED TV technology look like early celluloid. But if you have to choose one, without the "benefit" of an influencer's profundity and online editing, the Maldives should be your first resort. The accommodation here is all about opulent hotels - think luxury, then think of a word that means more luxurious than luxury, then double it, and you're still not luxurious enough. Every hotel chain celebrated for seamless spoiling with a soupcon of sycophancy has staked a sunny, sandy, cerulean spot in the Maldives. Every company that sneers at five-star ratings as mere entry level is here - Ritz-Carlton, Como, St Regis, Six Senses, Four Seasons, Waldorf Astoria, One&Only and dozens more. There's even a Raffles, which offers a mesmerising and entirely appropriate coconut iteration of its famous Singapore Sling to accompany the impossibly gorgeous sunsets. And most of the Maldives' overwater bungalows and water's edge suites are just a seashell's skip away from an oversized bathtub with lagoon views, private pool, sumptuous day spa and fine-dining restaurants. The Maldives' average natural elevation is 1.5 metres above sea level, stretching up to a giddying natural high point of 2.4 metres. Mount Villingili looms above you at an altitude of 5.1 metres, and you can make the ascent in thongs and without oxygen, before posing for a triumphant photo at the summit. The Maldives may not offer drone's-eye-view panoramas, but it is the consummate romantic getaway, especially for acrophobic couples. It also tops the list of places to see while you still can. Much of the country is expected to sink beneath the waves within a century, so you'd better hurry if you want to beat the tide. It's ironic that a paradise endangered by global warming is all about chilling, but this is the Maldivian lure. Dewy-eyed couples can take a break between relaxing and unwinding for a massage, and then don their freshly pressed white linen outfits for dinner and an unfiltered Insta post about foie gras, Veuve Clicquot and languid lagoon life. Amy will try to tell you the Seychelles is the superior utopia, but just getting there involves making more connections than a job seeker on LinkedIn. She can sell Seychelles by the seashore as much as she likes, but this Mal is a Maldives man, and not just because I can scale a mountain before the ice in my cocktail melts. By Amy Cooper The problem with humans is that we can have too much of a good thing. Even when that good thing is a picture-perfect, sundrenched Indian Ocean island idyll. Just ask Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball, or the kids in Lord of the Flies. Or my friends, a couple who fell out so ferociously during their romantic Maldives sojourn they weaponised their swizzle sticks. Paradise with no escape route can only end one way: a descent into savagery. Which is why I hope Mal dives in the Maldives, because SCUBA may be all that stands between him and that scene from The Beach where a raving troppo Leo DiCaprio starts swallowing caterpillars. In the Maldives, you're shipped out to your isolated one-island-one-resort situation and there you remain, on a flat sandy circle devoid of topography, local community or businesses, entirely dependent upon your gilded bubble for sustenance that's served with a monopoly-enabled mark-up. Luxurious, sure, but a trap nonetheless. Like Alcatraz, except with floating breakfast trays. In the Seychelles, you're gloriously free to roam an entire country of 115 islands, through landscapes dramatic with curves and character: misty mountains rising from the jungle; secret coves; rainforests alive with exotic birds and rare orchids. People come just to gaze at the scattered, stacked and strangely sculptural giant granite boulders on the beaches of the inner Seychelles - the world's only granitic oceanic islands. Instead of wondering which of your fellow castaways will crack first, you'll be meeting Seychelles locals, immersing in their rich cultural blend of African, European and Asian as you hop between islands like Mahe, Praslin and La Digue, choosing from swanky resorts, family-run guesthouses, eco-lodges or self-catering set-ups. Even if you fly and flop, there's minimal risk of monotony. Mahe alone has 25-plus beaches, ranging from big Beau Vallon with its street food stalls, water sports and epic sunset viewing to surfy Anse Louis and restaurant-dotted Anse Royale. In Mahe's capital, Victoria, you can eat Creole curries in colonial mansions; inhale Indian, Chinese and African spice aromas amid the bustle of Sir Selwyn Clarke Market; and take a tot at Takamaka Rum Distillery, on an 18th-century estate with two resident giant Aldabra tortoises. I defy even a teen with a two-minute attention span to tire of the Seychelles. Sea kayaking on Cerf, biking through villages on La Digue or spotting wildlife wonders like rare brown boobies (stop giggling at the back Mal, or you'll be denied parole from the Maldives) in the pristine outer atolls - all these await. When you fly home, look out for the Maldives down below. You might spot someone spelling out the word "help", in expensive beer bottles on a small, flat, remote and exclusive beach. By Mal Chenu It's not often reality says "Screw you, filters, retouching and HDR. We don't need you for our pics." Not just any old beaches some influencer blue-washes to turn heads (and a quid), the Seychelles and the Maldives are already picture-perfect Indian Ocean idylls with endless seascapes, occasional landscapes and coral reefs so clear and brightly coloured they make QLED TV technology look like early celluloid. But if you have to choose one, without the "benefit" of an influencer's profundity and online editing, the Maldives should be your first resort. The accommodation here is all about opulent hotels - think luxury, then think of a word that means more luxurious than luxury, then double it, and you're still not luxurious enough. Every hotel chain celebrated for seamless spoiling with a soupcon of sycophancy has staked a sunny, sandy, cerulean spot in the Maldives. Every company that sneers at five-star ratings as mere entry level is here - Ritz-Carlton, Como, St Regis, Six Senses, Four Seasons, Waldorf Astoria, One&Only and dozens more. There's even a Raffles, which offers a mesmerising and entirely appropriate coconut iteration of its famous Singapore Sling to accompany the impossibly gorgeous sunsets. And most of the Maldives' overwater bungalows and water's edge suites are just a seashell's skip away from an oversized bathtub with lagoon views, private pool, sumptuous day spa and fine-dining restaurants. The Maldives' average natural elevation is 1.5 metres above sea level, stretching up to a giddying natural high point of 2.4 metres. Mount Villingili looms above you at an altitude of 5.1 metres, and you can make the ascent in thongs and without oxygen, before posing for a triumphant photo at the summit. The Maldives may not offer drone's-eye-view panoramas, but it is the consummate romantic getaway, especially for acrophobic couples. It also tops the list of places to see while you still can. Much of the country is expected to sink beneath the waves within a century, so you'd better hurry if you want to beat the tide. It's ironic that a paradise endangered by global warming is all about chilling, but this is the Maldivian lure. Dewy-eyed couples can take a break between relaxing and unwinding for a massage, and then don their freshly pressed white linen outfits for dinner and an unfiltered Insta post about foie gras, Veuve Clicquot and languid lagoon life. Amy will try to tell you the Seychelles is the superior utopia, but just getting there involves making more connections than a job seeker on LinkedIn. She can sell Seychelles by the seashore as much as she likes, but this Mal is a Maldives man, and not just because I can scale a mountain before the ice in my cocktail melts. By Amy Cooper The problem with humans is that we can have too much of a good thing. Even when that good thing is a picture-perfect, sundrenched Indian Ocean island idyll. Just ask Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball, or the kids in Lord of the Flies. Or my friends, a couple who fell out so ferociously during their romantic Maldives sojourn they weaponised their swizzle sticks. Paradise with no escape route can only end one way: a descent into savagery. Which is why I hope Mal dives in the Maldives, because SCUBA may be all that stands between him and that scene from The Beach where a raving troppo Leo DiCaprio starts swallowing caterpillars. In the Maldives, you're shipped out to your isolated one-island-one-resort situation and there you remain, on a flat sandy circle devoid of topography, local community or businesses, entirely dependent upon your gilded bubble for sustenance that's served with a monopoly-enabled mark-up. Luxurious, sure, but a trap nonetheless. Like Alcatraz, except with floating breakfast trays. In the Seychelles, you're gloriously free to roam an entire country of 115 islands, through landscapes dramatic with curves and character: misty mountains rising from the jungle; secret coves; rainforests alive with exotic birds and rare orchids. People come just to gaze at the scattered, stacked and strangely sculptural giant granite boulders on the beaches of the inner Seychelles - the world's only granitic oceanic islands. Instead of wondering which of your fellow castaways will crack first, you'll be meeting Seychelles locals, immersing in their rich cultural blend of African, European and Asian as you hop between islands like Mahe, Praslin and La Digue, choosing from swanky resorts, family-run guesthouses, eco-lodges or self-catering set-ups. Even if you fly and flop, there's minimal risk of monotony. Mahe alone has 25-plus beaches, ranging from big Beau Vallon with its street food stalls, water sports and epic sunset viewing to surfy Anse Louis and restaurant-dotted Anse Royale. In Mahe's capital, Victoria, you can eat Creole curries in colonial mansions; inhale Indian, Chinese and African spice aromas amid the bustle of Sir Selwyn Clarke Market; and take a tot at Takamaka Rum Distillery, on an 18th-century estate with two resident giant Aldabra tortoises. I defy even a teen with a two-minute attention span to tire of the Seychelles. Sea kayaking on Cerf, biking through villages on La Digue or spotting wildlife wonders like rare brown boobies (stop giggling at the back Mal, or you'll be denied parole from the Maldives) in the pristine outer atolls - all these await. When you fly home, look out for the Maldives down below. You might spot someone spelling out the word "help", in expensive beer bottles on a small, flat, remote and exclusive beach.

Snow action vs classy city. Which New Zealand tourist hub is for you?
Snow action vs classy city. Which New Zealand tourist hub is for you?

The Advertiser

time09-05-2025

  • The Advertiser

Snow action vs classy city. Which New Zealand tourist hub is for you?

One's a flat-out party town, the other an English-style slice of gentility. So which of these New Zealand hubs is for you? By Mal Chenu This battle of the South Island cities boils down to class versus crass. I asked my mate Dean, who was born in Christchurch, to compare the pair. "What's the best thing about Christchurch?" I asked. "No bloody Queenstowners!" he replied, before launching into a rant about expensive coffee, fat golfers, backpackers and ski bums. While Christchurch is not bereft of Dean's targets, New Zealand's second biggest city is more like a little slice of genteel England, even to the point where you can punt on the Avon. This is not gambling on whether the cosmetics salesladies are making a comeback but rather a tranquil excursion on an old-time river punt, pole steered by a classically attired punter in a jacket, tie, suspenders and straw boater. And if you don't like a punt, you can take a guided tour in a hand-crafted Maori waka, or row, row, row your own boat, kayak or stand-up paddle board. Christchurch is known as the Garden City and is on the bouquet list of petal-heads the world over. The Avon punts wind their way through Christchurch Botanic Gardens (New Zealand's finest), and in spring the city's famous cherry blossoms burst forth at Hagley Park and Kurashiki Garden. Restored and rebuilt after the devastating 2011 earthquake, Christchurch now rocks metaphorically. The city's flat, grid structure makes getting around easier than beating the Wallabies in a Bledisloe Cup match. While they haven't played a Bledisloe match here since the 'quake, Australia hasn't beaten the All Blacks in Christchurch here since 1913, as Dean is fond of reminding me. The Canterbury region pulsates for their almost unbeatable Crusaders, too. If you're a rugger bugger who likes your footy one-sided with a healthy dose of sleet (and who doesn't?) the current temporary stadium is the place for you. Christchurch is a university town of refined taste and high culture, of street murals and public spaces, of craft breweries and food trails, of endless gardens and rolling countryside. Of music recitals and memorable scones. A typical day might include an artisanal cheese tasting, catching a heritage tram to a gallery opening, designer shopping at Ballantynes in Cashel Street, a stroll along the photogenic New Regent Street pedestrian mall, and a fine dining experience around the Chef's Table at Inati restaurant, where you can pair your duck trumpets and tamarillo jam with a Bell Hill pinot noir. Meanwhile, your day in Queenstown, which exudes an intermingled redolence of midlife crisis, bravado, legal waivers and Red Bull, involves queuing with sweaty mamils for a $15 coffee, sitting in traffic, listening to people scream as they bungy jump, jet boat and paraglide, and queuing again for a Fergburger which, Dean grudgingly admits, is worth the wait. By Amy Cooper Confession: I've had a few winter trips to Queenstown, but I've never hit the ski slopes there. This is snow joke - although I know it's hard to believe when Coronet Peak's exhilarating roller coaster terrain awaits just 20 minutes up the road, and seven thrilling parks at The Remarkables (the clue's in the name) beckon from just a little farther. These spectacular alpine playgrounds, along with Cardrona's 40 kilometres of slopes and the hair-raising 700-metre vertical at Treble Cone, the southern hemisphere's largest ski field, make Queenstown the south island's cream of the drop. I always go with every intention of getting on the piste. But there are just too many other kinds of fun to be had in New Zealand's adrenaline capital. Queenstown is teeny - more than 10 times smaller than Christchurch. But the little alpine town's gargantuan appetite for good times dwarfs even the towering alps surrounding its stunning perch on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. Activities span the entire spectrum of stimulation, from bungy plunging 43 metres above the Kawarau River to hurtling in a jetboat through vast canyons along the churning Shotover River to white water rafting, luge riding, mountain biking and a million other things that make you scream, whoop, weep and giggle. The action's unleashed the moment you disembark at Queenstown airport, discover you're in a place where Uber is for sissies and transfer into town on a KJet jetboat, spinning 360s up Lake Wakatipu like a crazy toy right to your hotel jetty. Having overdosed on endorphins before you've even unpacked, you'll find you're within walking distance of at least 100 bars. Queenstown, with the country's highest density of watering holes, has one for every 75 people. These establishments tend to start the evening as deceptively hygge nooks with hearths and congenial chat, then morph into all-out banging nightclub vortexes that spin you round and fling you out to munch a legendary Fergburger before pulling you back into a party that's raged unabated since the 1860s gold rush. At some point you'll emerge, only to remember you're within 20 minutes of 75 wineries, and that Central Otago makes some of the world's finest pinot noir - and off you go again. Maybe, after sipping sublime drops at cellar doors like Amisfield and Chard Farm, you might squeeze in a blissful dip in onsen baths with panoramic views. Or ride in the Skyline Gondola up to Bob's Peak after dark to gaze in wonder at the galaxy and toast the stars with mulled wine. And then you'll find, like me, that you're out of time again. Next visit, you swear, you'll ski. But really you know that Queenstown's relentless revelry will divert you for decades or more until finally you slow down, or your knees fail. And then you'll be ready for Christchurch. One's a flat-out party town, the other an English-style slice of gentility. So which of these New Zealand hubs is for you? By Mal Chenu This battle of the South Island cities boils down to class versus crass. I asked my mate Dean, who was born in Christchurch, to compare the pair. "What's the best thing about Christchurch?" I asked. "No bloody Queenstowners!" he replied, before launching into a rant about expensive coffee, fat golfers, backpackers and ski bums. While Christchurch is not bereft of Dean's targets, New Zealand's second biggest city is more like a little slice of genteel England, even to the point where you can punt on the Avon. This is not gambling on whether the cosmetics salesladies are making a comeback but rather a tranquil excursion on an old-time river punt, pole steered by a classically attired punter in a jacket, tie, suspenders and straw boater. And if you don't like a punt, you can take a guided tour in a hand-crafted Maori waka, or row, row, row your own boat, kayak or stand-up paddle board. Christchurch is known as the Garden City and is on the bouquet list of petal-heads the world over. The Avon punts wind their way through Christchurch Botanic Gardens (New Zealand's finest), and in spring the city's famous cherry blossoms burst forth at Hagley Park and Kurashiki Garden. Restored and rebuilt after the devastating 2011 earthquake, Christchurch now rocks metaphorically. The city's flat, grid structure makes getting around easier than beating the Wallabies in a Bledisloe Cup match. While they haven't played a Bledisloe match here since the 'quake, Australia hasn't beaten the All Blacks in Christchurch here since 1913, as Dean is fond of reminding me. The Canterbury region pulsates for their almost unbeatable Crusaders, too. If you're a rugger bugger who likes your footy one-sided with a healthy dose of sleet (and who doesn't?) the current temporary stadium is the place for you. Christchurch is a university town of refined taste and high culture, of street murals and public spaces, of craft breweries and food trails, of endless gardens and rolling countryside. Of music recitals and memorable scones. A typical day might include an artisanal cheese tasting, catching a heritage tram to a gallery opening, designer shopping at Ballantynes in Cashel Street, a stroll along the photogenic New Regent Street pedestrian mall, and a fine dining experience around the Chef's Table at Inati restaurant, where you can pair your duck trumpets and tamarillo jam with a Bell Hill pinot noir. Meanwhile, your day in Queenstown, which exudes an intermingled redolence of midlife crisis, bravado, legal waivers and Red Bull, involves queuing with sweaty mamils for a $15 coffee, sitting in traffic, listening to people scream as they bungy jump, jet boat and paraglide, and queuing again for a Fergburger which, Dean grudgingly admits, is worth the wait. By Amy Cooper Confession: I've had a few winter trips to Queenstown, but I've never hit the ski slopes there. This is snow joke - although I know it's hard to believe when Coronet Peak's exhilarating roller coaster terrain awaits just 20 minutes up the road, and seven thrilling parks at The Remarkables (the clue's in the name) beckon from just a little farther. These spectacular alpine playgrounds, along with Cardrona's 40 kilometres of slopes and the hair-raising 700-metre vertical at Treble Cone, the southern hemisphere's largest ski field, make Queenstown the south island's cream of the drop. I always go with every intention of getting on the piste. But there are just too many other kinds of fun to be had in New Zealand's adrenaline capital. Queenstown is teeny - more than 10 times smaller than Christchurch. But the little alpine town's gargantuan appetite for good times dwarfs even the towering alps surrounding its stunning perch on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. Activities span the entire spectrum of stimulation, from bungy plunging 43 metres above the Kawarau River to hurtling in a jetboat through vast canyons along the churning Shotover River to white water rafting, luge riding, mountain biking and a million other things that make you scream, whoop, weep and giggle. The action's unleashed the moment you disembark at Queenstown airport, discover you're in a place where Uber is for sissies and transfer into town on a KJet jetboat, spinning 360s up Lake Wakatipu like a crazy toy right to your hotel jetty. Having overdosed on endorphins before you've even unpacked, you'll find you're within walking distance of at least 100 bars. Queenstown, with the country's highest density of watering holes, has one for every 75 people. These establishments tend to start the evening as deceptively hygge nooks with hearths and congenial chat, then morph into all-out banging nightclub vortexes that spin you round and fling you out to munch a legendary Fergburger before pulling you back into a party that's raged unabated since the 1860s gold rush. At some point you'll emerge, only to remember you're within 20 minutes of 75 wineries, and that Central Otago makes some of the world's finest pinot noir - and off you go again. Maybe, after sipping sublime drops at cellar doors like Amisfield and Chard Farm, you might squeeze in a blissful dip in onsen baths with panoramic views. Or ride in the Skyline Gondola up to Bob's Peak after dark to gaze in wonder at the galaxy and toast the stars with mulled wine. And then you'll find, like me, that you're out of time again. Next visit, you swear, you'll ski. But really you know that Queenstown's relentless revelry will divert you for decades or more until finally you slow down, or your knees fail. And then you'll be ready for Christchurch. One's a flat-out party town, the other an English-style slice of gentility. So which of these New Zealand hubs is for you? By Mal Chenu This battle of the South Island cities boils down to class versus crass. I asked my mate Dean, who was born in Christchurch, to compare the pair. "What's the best thing about Christchurch?" I asked. "No bloody Queenstowners!" he replied, before launching into a rant about expensive coffee, fat golfers, backpackers and ski bums. While Christchurch is not bereft of Dean's targets, New Zealand's second biggest city is more like a little slice of genteel England, even to the point where you can punt on the Avon. This is not gambling on whether the cosmetics salesladies are making a comeback but rather a tranquil excursion on an old-time river punt, pole steered by a classically attired punter in a jacket, tie, suspenders and straw boater. And if you don't like a punt, you can take a guided tour in a hand-crafted Maori waka, or row, row, row your own boat, kayak or stand-up paddle board. Christchurch is known as the Garden City and is on the bouquet list of petal-heads the world over. The Avon punts wind their way through Christchurch Botanic Gardens (New Zealand's finest), and in spring the city's famous cherry blossoms burst forth at Hagley Park and Kurashiki Garden. Restored and rebuilt after the devastating 2011 earthquake, Christchurch now rocks metaphorically. The city's flat, grid structure makes getting around easier than beating the Wallabies in a Bledisloe Cup match. While they haven't played a Bledisloe match here since the 'quake, Australia hasn't beaten the All Blacks in Christchurch here since 1913, as Dean is fond of reminding me. The Canterbury region pulsates for their almost unbeatable Crusaders, too. If you're a rugger bugger who likes your footy one-sided with a healthy dose of sleet (and who doesn't?) the current temporary stadium is the place for you. Christchurch is a university town of refined taste and high culture, of street murals and public spaces, of craft breweries and food trails, of endless gardens and rolling countryside. Of music recitals and memorable scones. A typical day might include an artisanal cheese tasting, catching a heritage tram to a gallery opening, designer shopping at Ballantynes in Cashel Street, a stroll along the photogenic New Regent Street pedestrian mall, and a fine dining experience around the Chef's Table at Inati restaurant, where you can pair your duck trumpets and tamarillo jam with a Bell Hill pinot noir. Meanwhile, your day in Queenstown, which exudes an intermingled redolence of midlife crisis, bravado, legal waivers and Red Bull, involves queuing with sweaty mamils for a $15 coffee, sitting in traffic, listening to people scream as they bungy jump, jet boat and paraglide, and queuing again for a Fergburger which, Dean grudgingly admits, is worth the wait. By Amy Cooper Confession: I've had a few winter trips to Queenstown, but I've never hit the ski slopes there. This is snow joke - although I know it's hard to believe when Coronet Peak's exhilarating roller coaster terrain awaits just 20 minutes up the road, and seven thrilling parks at The Remarkables (the clue's in the name) beckon from just a little farther. These spectacular alpine playgrounds, along with Cardrona's 40 kilometres of slopes and the hair-raising 700-metre vertical at Treble Cone, the southern hemisphere's largest ski field, make Queenstown the south island's cream of the drop. I always go with every intention of getting on the piste. But there are just too many other kinds of fun to be had in New Zealand's adrenaline capital. Queenstown is teeny - more than 10 times smaller than Christchurch. But the little alpine town's gargantuan appetite for good times dwarfs even the towering alps surrounding its stunning perch on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. Activities span the entire spectrum of stimulation, from bungy plunging 43 metres above the Kawarau River to hurtling in a jetboat through vast canyons along the churning Shotover River to white water rafting, luge riding, mountain biking and a million other things that make you scream, whoop, weep and giggle. The action's unleashed the moment you disembark at Queenstown airport, discover you're in a place where Uber is for sissies and transfer into town on a KJet jetboat, spinning 360s up Lake Wakatipu like a crazy toy right to your hotel jetty. Having overdosed on endorphins before you've even unpacked, you'll find you're within walking distance of at least 100 bars. Queenstown, with the country's highest density of watering holes, has one for every 75 people. These establishments tend to start the evening as deceptively hygge nooks with hearths and congenial chat, then morph into all-out banging nightclub vortexes that spin you round and fling you out to munch a legendary Fergburger before pulling you back into a party that's raged unabated since the 1860s gold rush. At some point you'll emerge, only to remember you're within 20 minutes of 75 wineries, and that Central Otago makes some of the world's finest pinot noir - and off you go again. Maybe, after sipping sublime drops at cellar doors like Amisfield and Chard Farm, you might squeeze in a blissful dip in onsen baths with panoramic views. Or ride in the Skyline Gondola up to Bob's Peak after dark to gaze in wonder at the galaxy and toast the stars with mulled wine. And then you'll find, like me, that you're out of time again. Next visit, you swear, you'll ski. But really you know that Queenstown's relentless revelry will divert you for decades or more until finally you slow down, or your knees fail. And then you'll be ready for Christchurch. One's a flat-out party town, the other an English-style slice of gentility. So which of these New Zealand hubs is for you? By Mal Chenu This battle of the South Island cities boils down to class versus crass. I asked my mate Dean, who was born in Christchurch, to compare the pair. "What's the best thing about Christchurch?" I asked. "No bloody Queenstowners!" he replied, before launching into a rant about expensive coffee, fat golfers, backpackers and ski bums. While Christchurch is not bereft of Dean's targets, New Zealand's second biggest city is more like a little slice of genteel England, even to the point where you can punt on the Avon. This is not gambling on whether the cosmetics salesladies are making a comeback but rather a tranquil excursion on an old-time river punt, pole steered by a classically attired punter in a jacket, tie, suspenders and straw boater. And if you don't like a punt, you can take a guided tour in a hand-crafted Maori waka, or row, row, row your own boat, kayak or stand-up paddle board. Christchurch is known as the Garden City and is on the bouquet list of petal-heads the world over. The Avon punts wind their way through Christchurch Botanic Gardens (New Zealand's finest), and in spring the city's famous cherry blossoms burst forth at Hagley Park and Kurashiki Garden. Restored and rebuilt after the devastating 2011 earthquake, Christchurch now rocks metaphorically. The city's flat, grid structure makes getting around easier than beating the Wallabies in a Bledisloe Cup match. While they haven't played a Bledisloe match here since the 'quake, Australia hasn't beaten the All Blacks in Christchurch here since 1913, as Dean is fond of reminding me. The Canterbury region pulsates for their almost unbeatable Crusaders, too. If you're a rugger bugger who likes your footy one-sided with a healthy dose of sleet (and who doesn't?) the current temporary stadium is the place for you. Christchurch is a university town of refined taste and high culture, of street murals and public spaces, of craft breweries and food trails, of endless gardens and rolling countryside. Of music recitals and memorable scones. A typical day might include an artisanal cheese tasting, catching a heritage tram to a gallery opening, designer shopping at Ballantynes in Cashel Street, a stroll along the photogenic New Regent Street pedestrian mall, and a fine dining experience around the Chef's Table at Inati restaurant, where you can pair your duck trumpets and tamarillo jam with a Bell Hill pinot noir. Meanwhile, your day in Queenstown, which exudes an intermingled redolence of midlife crisis, bravado, legal waivers and Red Bull, involves queuing with sweaty mamils for a $15 coffee, sitting in traffic, listening to people scream as they bungy jump, jet boat and paraglide, and queuing again for a Fergburger which, Dean grudgingly admits, is worth the wait. By Amy Cooper Confession: I've had a few winter trips to Queenstown, but I've never hit the ski slopes there. This is snow joke - although I know it's hard to believe when Coronet Peak's exhilarating roller coaster terrain awaits just 20 minutes up the road, and seven thrilling parks at The Remarkables (the clue's in the name) beckon from just a little farther. These spectacular alpine playgrounds, along with Cardrona's 40 kilometres of slopes and the hair-raising 700-metre vertical at Treble Cone, the southern hemisphere's largest ski field, make Queenstown the south island's cream of the drop. I always go with every intention of getting on the piste. But there are just too many other kinds of fun to be had in New Zealand's adrenaline capital. Queenstown is teeny - more than 10 times smaller than Christchurch. But the little alpine town's gargantuan appetite for good times dwarfs even the towering alps surrounding its stunning perch on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. Activities span the entire spectrum of stimulation, from bungy plunging 43 metres above the Kawarau River to hurtling in a jetboat through vast canyons along the churning Shotover River to white water rafting, luge riding, mountain biking and a million other things that make you scream, whoop, weep and giggle. The action's unleashed the moment you disembark at Queenstown airport, discover you're in a place where Uber is for sissies and transfer into town on a KJet jetboat, spinning 360s up Lake Wakatipu like a crazy toy right to your hotel jetty. Having overdosed on endorphins before you've even unpacked, you'll find you're within walking distance of at least 100 bars. Queenstown, with the country's highest density of watering holes, has one for every 75 people. These establishments tend to start the evening as deceptively hygge nooks with hearths and congenial chat, then morph into all-out banging nightclub vortexes that spin you round and fling you out to munch a legendary Fergburger before pulling you back into a party that's raged unabated since the 1860s gold rush. At some point you'll emerge, only to remember you're within 20 minutes of 75 wineries, and that Central Otago makes some of the world's finest pinot noir - and off you go again. Maybe, after sipping sublime drops at cellar doors like Amisfield and Chard Farm, you might squeeze in a blissful dip in onsen baths with panoramic views. Or ride in the Skyline Gondola up to Bob's Peak after dark to gaze in wonder at the galaxy and toast the stars with mulled wine. And then you'll find, like me, that you're out of time again. Next visit, you swear, you'll ski. But really you know that Queenstown's relentless revelry will divert you for decades or more until finally you slow down, or your knees fail. And then you'll be ready for Christchurch.

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