We are psyched, excited and super delighted to announce a new section on Mamamia. TRAVEL. With us. Come join us but first a word from MM’s Deputy Editor Rebecca Sparrow:
A million years ago I was the editor of TRIPS, one of Australia’s most successful travel magazines. Yep. I was a travel writer. Talk about a dream job! I sailed in a first class cabin on the QE II from New York to Southhampton; swanned around a luxury suite overlooking Central Park at the Four Seasons Hotel in New York; hung out with the orangutans in Borneo; went bowling in Kuwait; and err, stole countless hotel biros everywhere I went.
When we did our inaugural Mamamia Reader Survery earlier this year, we asked you what you’d love to see included on Mamamia. The number one response? Travel. You wanted us to give you some inspiration on where to go, when to go, how to get there. You wanted ideas for travelling with kids, ideas for romantic getaways, ideas for solo treks and ideas for holidays with friends. You wanted to see Australia. And the world.
So that’s what we’re doing. We’re kicking off the Mamamia Travel section. Have a look up there … on the top right … see the “travel” section in red? That’s where we’ll load our travel pieces. And if you’d like a story on a specific destination or type of holiday — just let us know and we’ll get on it!
But for now, we’re going to kick things off with the lovely Kate Hunter. When you think of a long weekend, you don’t often contemplate digging out your passport (actually, you don’t often contemplate getting off the couch) but Kate Hunter discovered that New Zealand isn’t just the Land of the Long White Cloud. It’s also the Land of the Long Weekend …
Kate writes:
Postcard stuff at every turn
The trip was billed as, ‘A romantic weekend for you and your partner in New Zealand, skiing Mt Hutt and enjoying après activities in and around the ski lodge.’
‘Excellent!’ I said, ‘We’re in.’
Of course, I’d have said yes to caravanning around Baghdad if there were no children and some sauvignon blanc involved. It’s been a while since we’ve travelled without our kids. We’ve each been overseas alone, and we’ve been on family holidays. I did accompany Jim to the Gold Coast when he ran the half-marathon last month. Not a lot of romance there, unless Voltaren gel does it for you.
We aren’t skiers. Jim hasn’t seen snow since a family trip to a military-run lodge in Victoria when he was eight. He remembers being cold and scared. I’ve done a bit of skiing, having lived and worked in Christchurch. That was 14 years and 3 babies ago.
A little research showed alpine fashions have changed since 1996. So after politely declining my sister’s skivvy with the cartoon moose motif, and my father’s puffy green all-in-one ski-suit, we raided the wardrobe of friends who’d been to the snow in the last decade, and we were off.
Hot chocolate as it should be, where it should be.
Generally, any flight without kids is a good flight. But our trip to Christchurch was great. Air New Zealand, as well as being comfortable and on time and all that, is a funny airline. Funny as in humorous, not weird. Their safety demonstration video featuring the All Blacks and a naked old lady is hilarious. Note to Qantas – this makes Captain John Travolta look a bit dicky.
After picking up our hire car, we checked into the Copthorne Commodore Hotel, a few minutes from the airport. It was late, so we decided to eat there. Our dinner was excellent, and not just excellent for an airport hotel restaurant. The wine and food were delicious. (NB: that’s not ‘cuisine for comment’ – we paid for our dinners on this jaunt).
We were half-expecting post-earthquake Christchurch to be a city in shutdown mode, but found the opposite. The restaurants we went to (some metres from quake damage) were buzzing, the staff were chatty and customers were enjoying themselves.
Next morning, off to Mt Hutt Ski Area. The hour’s drive to the base of Mt Hutt is magical. We cruised through the patchwork Canterbury plains, alongside turquoise rivers and over gentle green hills. It was followed by 20 white-knuckle minutes up a grit road that goats think twice about tackling. (Next time I think we’ll take one of the shuttles that runs regularly from the nearby town of Methven).
Arriving at 10am, I explained to Jim we probably wouldn’t do much skiing before lunch. We needed boots, skis and poles so there would be forms to fill out, queues to stand in, disclaimers to sign. Wrong. We were on the slopes in 30 minutes.
What’s a skiing lodge without a roaring fire?
Besides the passing of the moose motif skivvy, this was proof that skiing has come a long way. The fun-to-stuffing around ratio used to make the idea of skiing in New Zealand for a few days ridiculous. Now, it’s do-able. It’s the Mypass that makes the difference. Buy it online before you head for the hills and all your information is already on it. Boot size, ski preference, everything. No forms, minimal queues. Stick your Mypass in a pocket and it’s your lift pass – an alpine e-tag.
Then it was lesson time. I’d hoped for a Danish, or possibly Swiss, instructor called Kristof or similar, but we were allocated HB (like the pencil) from the Sunshine Coast. Mildly disappointing, but he clearly knew his stuff. (Practically) first-timer Jim was soon carving up the beginner slope and I felt confident enough to stare down some intermediate terrain.
We stayed that night at Beluga Lodge in Methven, about 40 minutes from the top of Mt Hutt. Set in an acre of gardens, Beluga caters mainly to couples, but an adjoining house sleeps 8 and is perfect for families. Another trip, maybe. This one, it was just us and our cottage was perfect. Big bed, beautiful linen, organic shampoo in the bathroom and seriously good chocolate on the pillows.
In the lodge itself, the fire was blazing. There’s an ‘honesty book,’ on the sideboard so guests can help themselves to drinks, which we did. Then we walked into Methven for dinner (in front of another fire) at The Last Post . Jim devoured a bowl of ribs as big as his head, because ‘skiing makes you hungry’. In fact, if skiing is an excuse to eat like a miner training for the shot-put, breakfast at Beluga put us in gold medal contention. Sure there was home-made yogurt, and museli, but there was also French toast with bacon and real maple syrup. The muesli never stood a chance.
Canterbury locals. Shaken but not stirred by recent earthquakes.
Day 2 at Mt Hutt was postcard stuff. We could see all the way to the Pacific Ocean and swapped scarves for sunscreen. Jim made it up the intermediate slopes and more importantly, he made it back down again, with me. In the afternoon, we sat in the sunshine on the deck of ‘Hubers Hut’ drinking hot chocolate, watching Norwegian Olympians training and four-year-old Kiwis learning.
They say Mt Hutt is like Byron Bay for skiers. Queenstown is Party Central (ie Gold Coast) and Wanaka is like Noosa (lovely, but a little, er … elite). There’s not a whole lot to do at Mt Hutt other than ski. Except snowboard. And eat. But skiing gives the place a purpose and a kind of peace. There’s no pressure to sign up for bungy-jumping, jet-boating or any of the other high-speed, hair-raising activities the Kiwis seem obsessed with inventing.
Mt Hutt offers a relaxing skiing getaway. Even in two days, the fun-to-stuffing around ratio ended up heavily in favour of fun.
