Even in our southernmost city, there's family, writes Helen van Berkel.
Bluff. There's something onomatopoeic in that word. It's a no-nonsense word. It says what it has to say and stops. Just like New Zealand's southernmost town.
So when I was in New Zealand's southernmost city - that's Invercargill - I decided to take the quick drive to see the end of the country.
It was raining of course - Bluff has an annual rainfall of about 1000mm, although I'm told the town enjoyed just as brilliant a summer as the rest of us.
The drizzle gave Bluff a damp British seaside Famous Five feel. Brightly coloured wooden houses, some with romantic turrets and decorative verandas, bring exuberance to the beachfront, and I'm sure the rock cliffs and stony beaches hide caves full of smugglers and adventure. There is even a lighthouse.
The view from Bluff Hill was lost in a damp haze. It must be stunning on a sunny day - in fact, I've seen pictures that show it is.
But you don't go to Bluff for the weather. Some come for the oysters. Others, like me, revel in the weather and enjoy the wildness and natural beauty.
And the weather doesn't put off tourists: three busloads crowded into the carpark at Stirling Point, where State Highway One finally finishes its journey from Cape Reinga (it's not mainland New Zealand's southernmost point, though. Slopes Point is further south). A sculpture of an enormous chain extends into the sea, metaphorically attaching the South and Stewart Islands. As at Bluff, Stewart Island was hidden in the mist so the metaphor was kind of lost on me.
Bluff Oysters. Photo / Venture Southland
But Bluff wasn't on my itinerary and I didn't have time to explore its museum, rock formations on Bluff Hill, the old cemetery or knock at one of those beachfront homes to ask for lashings of ginger beer. Worried I might hit rush hour in Invercargill, I returned to my hotel. I timed my trip well, there were half a dozen cars in Invercargill's main street as I pulled up outside the Kelvin Hotel.
They say there is only one degree of separation in New Zealand, but I live in Auckland and have never been to Invercargill. But there, sauntering down the street, was my cousin Andy, in town for work. You really cannot go anywhere in New Zealand without running into someone you know. It shouldn't be allowed.
I took advantage of a balmy evening - yes, it was 23C - for a walking tour. Why has no one told me about the stunning architecture of stately Invercargill? I had my camera out at every second building and I clicked my way past the water tower, the civic theatre, St Mary's basilica, even quirky wooden and elegant brick houses.
The following morning, I tore myself away from Edwardian clean lines and Victorian froth for those other Southland lures: lakes, rivers, bush and coast.
Paul Roff (Roffy) owns and pilots the Humpridge Jet and he's a true Southern man, right down to his Stubbies, rolled Rs and easy grin. He smiled continuously. I'm sure I heard him laughing as he spun us around curves and rocks and through rapids to the mouth of the Wairaurahiri River.
Along the way we passed waterfalls and native orchids clinging to branches overhead. It's 27km of exhilaration and you will get wet. Roffy will make sure of it.
wildernessjet.co.nz kelvinhotel.co.nz
Helen van Berkel travelled to Southland courtesy of Tourism Southland.
