Sunday

Sunday

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Again – no hangover to speak of. John put on a reasonable breakfast, and then Jacq started up the automobile and we hit the road, bound for Greytown. If you have been to Berry or Leura in New South Wales, Greytown is very similar. There are lots of craft shops and coffee shops, and a large, stately-looking hotel with overpriced drinks, but fantastic original wooden interiors designed in sympathy with the elegant glamour of the exterior. Over a couple of mineral waters, we asked the waiter where we could go on a walk, and he sent out the commis chef, who suggested what sounded like ‘Mount Dick.’ Resisting the temptation to tell him that’s what we’d been trying to do all weekend, we noted down his advice and headed out of town to the Waiohine Gorge. The road was long, with many a winding turn, not to mention lots of gravel and occasional sheer drops, but we found our way to the swing bridge, the longest of its type in New Zealand, which stretched over a ravine. Okay, a heavily wooded valley with a river running through it. On the other side was a path which wound up into the mountains – and up, and up, and up… After about half an hour we got bored of the geography and turned and went down and down and down. We headed back to Greytown and had a fantastic dinner in Pipi café, a very funky place with a very chilled atmosphere. It may be a well-worn cliché, but it really did feel like we were eating in someone’s house.

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