TOP OF PAGE: The view from Mt Cargill, showing the beautiful land formations and natural colour. ABOVE, FROM TOP: A final view from Tunnel Beach. A view from a lookout point on Mt Cargill—watch out for the spot, rather than rely on the signs, for it can be missed. The author’s transport, an Australian-made Ford Falcon four-litre. Baldwin Street, reputed to be the world’s steepest street according to The Guinness Book of Records—but its claim is under challenge.

The air here is cleaner and clearer, which is why the light seems more intense and, on a fogless day, you can see further than anywhere excepting Antarctica

   The Falcon ate up the miles rapidly and had an excellent range—something you need if you are to take in the surroundings.
   With fog covering part of the city and obscuring the view from Opoho Signal Hill, my local Dunedin friend—an Austrian who would be able to explain her city to me from a similar foreigner’s viewpoint—suggested we take in Tunnel Beach.
   Tunnel Beach is located at one of the most sensational scenes in the country. The shape of the coast there and the unfenced sheer sandstone cliff drops into the Pacific can be reached while driving from Dunedin toward Brighton Beach (another memorable location with its white sand and, as we saw there, a lone horse carriage).
   A small road links from a main highway and we came up to a crowded parking area. A sign warned that it would take 20 or 30 minutes to walk down and twice as much to walk up, while another in Japanese above an English warning about the theft of belongings from cars reminded me that someone might take Hertz’s Mazda 626 after all.
   The trail to the beach is private land and may be closed for lambing (August–October) but if not, the 20 minutes is more than worth it. Erosion has seen to the landscape, which includes natural rock arches. One such tunnel through solid rock leads to the actual Tunnel Beach, which proved less sensational than the surrounding area, but it did lead to dramatic views of waves breaking at the next set of cliffs. Being there on a windy day, I perched nervously above one of the cliffs, literally frightened because of its strength and what might happen if I didn’t resist the wind. My fear of heights was not overcome.
   Taiaroa Head is known for its albatross colony but on the way are some remarkable places. The famous Larnach Castle is there, but I was warned repeatedly that tourists had taken over and that it was as Dunedin as St Moritz is Swiss. More sightly was the secluded restaurant and gardens at Glenfalloch, which to a European has an unfortunate name when spoken. Unfortunately, we arrived there too late to sample the food and moved on after a brief stop and a glimpse at the gardens.
   Portobello, however, was less scenic, judging by initial appearances, and its café also closed when we arrived. It was, to me, a place of note because of its road to Highcliff, which led back in to the centre of Dunedin. But my expectations of an Italianate seaside village, judging from its name, were dashed. It was seaside, but more of the Kiwi Pub ilk than the Cinque Terre one.
   Taiaroa Head was also fogged in during my visit, which was a shame, for I saw one albatross, waddling amongst the seagulls. Colleagues who had visited these places were more fortunate, but I had one sightseeing must left up my sleeve that combined my love of a good route and amazing scenery.
   The air here is cleaner and clearer, which is why the light seems more intense and, on a fogless day, you can see further than anywhere excepting Antarctica. It’s no surprise that some directors prefer to shoot here.
   The very helpful staff at Cargill’s Hotel suggested Mt Cargill would offer views that could surpass that at Opoho Signal Hill. Providing me with a map, I was directed northward. I had some sense of Dunedin’s roads—by now I was learning them to the extent of a local, something I have managed to do in several cities so far—decided to go past what is claimed as the steepest street in the world.
   Prior to my arrival, a New Zealand network news item reporting on a finding by local author Antony Hamel indicated that Dunedin’s Baldwin Street was in fact not the steepest, beaten by San Francisco’s Filbert Street, but that did not deter keen holidaymakers to try the angle out for itself, nor did it stop tour bus operators from taking groups there. Having been on both, I would say that without the aid of measuring equipment, Filbert and Baldwin differed by mere tenths of a degree—and that I would be more scared to drive on Baldwin.
   Mt Cargill beckoned. Finding the route, which had an open speed limit (100 km/h—do not be fooled by the diagonal black bar on a white circle sign which means something different to what it does in Germany), I managed to test the Falcon’s flexibility and found the most scenic spot.
   Once again, Dunedin surprised me with its naturally eroded coastlines. Unlike the Tunnel Beach area, here were houses and an inlet into the harbour that was remarkable—the very image that non-New Zealanders expect when you tell them about an inhabited, cosmopolitan city in the South Pacific.

N MY LAST SUNDAY down south in Down Under, the Dunedin City Jazz Band performed its final concert for the summer in the Octagon. I relaxed with a friend at the Brioso Café. Then, the conductor announced that it would conclude with five Glenn Miller numbers and the season would be over, with the Band returning in November.
   No one danced. But when ‘In the Mood’ came on, I could no longer resist. I went up to two English tourists, Jo and Heidi, and asked, but they didn’t feel they could. No one else did—I even asked one woman in a wheelchair.
   Eventually, as ‘In the Mood’ finished, Jo approached me. ‘I've only had three lessons, but I feel sorry for you, so I'll dance with you.’ So one of my top memories of Dunedin was dancing with someone in her gap year who had travelled halfway around the world to ‘American Patrol’ in the Octagon while others watched and her friend photographed.
   No one really thought it odd. Probably not after the soap suds in the Octagon’s fountain earlier that week.
   And that, ultimately, is what makes Dunedin special.
   Dunedin does not have a higher percentage of people who feel free and can, if they wish, indulge in being themselves, even if it comes off as a little eccentric.
   It’s simply that the rest of New Zealand has a below-average percentage.
   Long may the “university town” live and long may its traditions be spread elsewhere. As far as I’m concerned, Dunedin’s glory days are far from over. •

Jack Yan is founding publisher of Lucire.