An expatriate returns to Dunedin

Press, 11 September 1989, Page 14

An expatriate returns to Dunedin

Wilsons Week...

It was school holiday time again. The kids were contemplating Dad’s wallet and mulling on their choice of holiday destinations. Which would it be — the exotic fleshpots of Disneyland or Dunedin? “Disneyland!” they chorused. Two votes for Mickey Mouse. “Dunedin!” Mum and Dad replied, producing wallets to settle the stalemate. “0.K., who’s got the most money?” Dad opened his wallet. A $2 note lay lonely in the billfold. The boys produced their wallets and compared wealth. Dunedin won by a margin of 10 cents. There is only one way for an expatriate Dunedinite to return home, and that is to go in with reinforcements. It is a splendid city, architecturally the envy of all New Zealand. Its peninsula and harbour would inspire an art school of landscape painters.

. It is also the orily city where I. have seen snow on the spring daffodils. F;.: lived there for 24 years and on subsequent return visits have acted aS navigator through complex one-way street systems and up and down a maze of near-

vertical streets that in winter regularly witness buses with chains on their tyres sliding through the snow and ice. Given that Dunedin has not moved at the same pace of urban development as Auckland, dad could be forgiven for being a tad arrogant about his impeccable street navigational skills on this trip. Unfortunately my arrogance was short-lived as I discovered a dark and horrifying secret — somebody in Dunedin had changed and diverted a' whole lot of streets without the courtesy of first advising me. Thus our progress along one street suddenly saw us diverted on to a motorway heading in the wrong direction. My wife, at the. wheel, flicked a sideways glance at the map reader. ,

“Where are we?” she asked.

“In Dunedin,” I replied, hastily playing for time.

The road changed direction again — and again. In the past I have bragged about my 24 years expert knowledge of Dunedin’s street system. Leave it to David, give him a map and 45 pubs as landmarks and he’ll steer a true course. “Where exactly are we going?” asked my wife in tones that indicated an evaporation of patience. “How the hell would I know. I haven’t lived here since 1974!” I replied, seizing this newfound excuse, yet at the same time turning in my Boy Scout navigator’s badge. Our journey through the main, street of Dunedin was rather complicated by the discovery of an interesting fact. If Christchurch , has suicidal motorists, then Dunedin has cornered the market, in suicidal pedestrians. To them a pedestrian crossing is a thing to be at all costs. Far better sport, from their viewpoint, to merely step' out on the main street af any given point and play dodge-the-traffic. Dunedin

motorists know this and expect it. We from Christchurch merely marvelled at the vast number of people who came within a whisker of becoming bonnet mascots on the Hillman. A highlight of the visit for the children was a tour of the Otago Early Settlers’ Museum, with its superb displays of pioneer life and vintage vehicles. Two nieces joined our happy band for the tour, the girls intently studying the floor-to-ceiling portraits of sour-faced early settlers from the 1840 s. “Is your picture up here David?” they chirped. I let that remark pass, but rather reinforced their suspicions by confirming that Thad indeed once been a passenger on the old cablecar on which they were playing. While gazing at a replica of an 1840 s. cottage the girls peered iritently at a bedroom setup straight out of \an era when men were men and women had never heard of aerobics' . “Gee,” they said'. “I suppose you slept in a bed like that.”

That night I collared my brother. “Exactly how old do

your , kids think I am?” He just smiled. . The view from his balcony was breath-taking: a panoramic sweep of the best ,of Dunedin. Iri the distance below I fancied I heard a squeal of brakes.

• My son popped his head around the corner. “What was that?” “Oh probably some poor confused Christchurch motorist introducing himself to a Dunedin pedestrian.” — DAVE WILSON.