Top lakes

Two steps back... three steps forward. No wait, how many steps back and when was I meant to start running? Too late — I was airborne, my legs dangling, stomach somersaulting, paragliding in tandem over a verdant valley that stretched out below into lakeside Queenstown. Brendan, my ‘pilot’, performed dizzying turns as we caught thermals and skimmed pine forests, descending further towards Lake Wakatipu, with The Remarkables mountain range reflected in its sapphire blue water. Straight off a 24-hour flight from London, I hadn’t envisaged ‘flying’ so soon, but the adrenaline of hurling yourself off a precipice is as good a cure for jetlag as any.

I touched down with wobbly knees in a sports field in Queenstown, New Zealand’s adventure capital. It was also the location of the excellent BBC drama Top of the Lake. Spending just a few days there felt like being in a perpetual gap year; a lot of people I met had come for a quick thrill and never left. It’s not hard to see why. In winter The Remarkables becomes a playground for serious skiers and in the summer there is mountain biking, canyon swinging and jet boating to choose from. Alongside the colourful cafés and burger joints buzzing with adrenaline junkies, there are plenty of upmarket places where you can regain your dignity after the naked bungee jump that seemed so liberating at the time.

I was staying at the Queenstown Park Boutique Hotel, a stylish designer inn with monochrome décor and large gilt-framed mirrors propped up against the walls. One of the hotel’s best features was the evening apéritif of chilled local Chenin Blanc and canapés. It was a good way to meet fellow guests: I was travelling solo but was soon adopted by a friendly Kiwi couple. Our appetites gently teased, we moved on to diamond shell clams and wild Otago rabbit at Rata, a relaxed restaurant where well-heeled Queenstowners go to steal glimpses of celebrity chef Josh Emett, Gordon Ramsay’s antipodean doppelganger.

It was my last taste of civilisation before travelling into the wilderness to begin the Routeburn Track, one of New Zealand’s nine Great Walks. Maintained by the Department of Conservation (DOC), the Great Walks span the country’s North and South Islands and traverse native forests, snow-capped mountains and deep gorges. I did only a part of the 32km track, and was led by Toni, my DOC guide, who had done most of the walks and regularly runs the Routeburn.

We set off on the two-day mountain hike in driving rain. It wasn’t ideal ‘tramping’ weather but the squelching shoes and soaked pack were worth it for the dramatic waterfalls. The most impressive was 174m-high Earland Falls, which we heard crashing down long before we felt its spray. Once we had scrambled past, via an emergency path, the low cloud cleared to reveal moss-covered beech trees, their silver tentacle-like branches animated by the wind. It wasn’t hard to find a Lord of the Rings analogy in Treebeard and his fellow Ents.

The next day and several Tolkien-inspired vistas later, I was airborne once more, this time in the co-pilot’s chair of a scenic six-seater plane, soaring over Milford Sound, an incredible fiord that Rudyard Kipling described as ‘the eighth Wonder of the World’. My heartbeat competed with the drone of the engine as we circled over the Fiordland’s highest peaks and their glacial pools. By the time we landed back in Queenstown the pilot had morphed into Aragorn and the passengers behind me felt like a fellowship of my own; perfect preparation for my next stop, Wellington, ‘the middle of Middle-earth’.

If it’s the landscape surrounding Queenstown that best sets The Lord of the Rings scene, it’s the people of Wellington who can really elaborate. Everyone there has an orc anecdote or has at least witnessed an off-duty hobbit doing karaoke on Courtenay Place, the city’s party strip. When not dressed as elf extras, Wellingtonians have been stirring up an epicurean revolution, opening craft beer bars and brewing speciality coffee in abandoned car parks. I happily sampled Epic Armageddon — a pale ale poured through a container of chillies — at The Malthouse, and downed shots of coffee brewed by the current NZ barista champion at Flight Coffee Hangar.

This was a mere appetiser for the next day, when I caught the train out to Martinborough through the Hutt Valley. In the 1980s scientists discovered that the soil and climate here were similar to those of Burgundy in France and encouraged people to plant vines à la français. The more conservative Kiwis watched in bafflement but the gamble paid off; the area is now famous for its fruity Pinot Noir and oaky Chardonnay. To fully appreciate the region’s fertile pickings I had signed up, along with a small group, for a Zest food tour. The trip began in a boutique lemon orchard where we breakfasted on fresh bread and homemade lemon curd, and meandered through several vineyards via a cheese tasting where we sampled the local vicar’s Pinot Noir jelly with Ngawi French-style brie.

The way to a traveller’s heart is through their stomach, so leaving Wellington was sorrowful. Luckily there was solace to be found in my final stop before the long journey home. Waiheke Island is only a 35-minute ferry ride from Auckland, in the north of North Island, but couldn’t be more distant in feel to the high-rise capital. The island was once inhabited by artists and a hippie colony; it still has a relaxed atmosphere, which is now shared with millionaires weekending in their beachside mansions. I was a guest at The Boatshed, a small luxury hotel, immaculately decorated by owner Jonathan Scott — stepping into its open-plan communal area felt like wandering on to a page of The World of Interiors. Equal care goes into the meals, which are supplemented by fresh produce grown in the garden. Over a candlelit dinner that night, I felt that I could have returned home a relaxed, calmer person.

But that wouldn’t be the Kiwi way. My final adrenaline fix came from hurtling across Auckland’s bay on board an America’s Cup yacht. The catamaran’s top sailing speed was 16 knots; we managed 13 knots (15 mph) which involved all hands on deck keeping balanced while furiously trimming the sails. The sight of Auckland whizzing past as the wind and sea spray coloured my cheeks was a fitting parting memory of exhilarating New Zealand. ES