Fish, Chips, and Chill
The 'best' kind of travel tip. Plus, Coldplay and Dick Van Dyke, troll pencils and more!
I placed my takeaway dinner order—a battered blue cod burger served on a brioche bun with tomato, lettuce, and tartar sauce, and a “half pocket” of chips—paid, gave my name, and then looked around for a seat to wait.
An older man in a black baseball cap slid over on the worn-in pleather banquette and motioned for me to sit down.
“Not from around here?” he asked, taking notice of my non-Kiwi accent. “Where are you from?”
“New York,” I said; a response I’m still getting used to giving rather than the, “Well, I’m from New York, but live in Paris…” reply I felt intent on delivering for the past decade.
“Ah, I flew through once,” he said.
Someone’s always flown through or stopped by New York. And if not, they hope to desperately.
“Too busy,” he said. “Dunedin is calm. I love coming back here. It’s the best for me.”
—
It was my fifth and final night in the coastal city on the eastern edge of the South Island of New Zealand. I’d come to see about some cockles by which I mean witness and participate in the harvest and glimpse at how they’re sorted, processed, and packed before being shipped across the ocean to New York where my father’s trucks pick them up to sell and distribute to wholesalers. You could say I had a mission.
The past two days, though, were “off” days and I found myself without much of a plan. This is not something I am accustomed to having (or not having, as it were) while traveling. Usually, my days are so full of activity after activity, meal after meal, or interview after interview that the idea of reading a novel, let alone getting to catch up on the new season of Queer Eye is the stuff of hallucinogenic pipedreams. (Just learned the meaning of a pipedream, hence the added adjective. You’re welcome to those of you who were still clueless.)
But, mission aside, this was my second time in Aotearoa, the “Land of the Long White Cloud.” I never even thought I’d return. Not that I didn’t fall completely in love with the wonderland on my first trip as a college graduate 24 years ago. It’s just that I spent over a month backpacking through the country from north to south on a hop-on, hop-off bus tour where I got a real in-depth taste of its culture, landscapes, and people: I skydived, whitewater rafted, blackwater rafted, hiked, kayaked, sheep-sheared, Hāngī-ed, and even dug myself a natural hot water bath on a sandy beach.
Having already intimately befriended the country and felt satisfied by my discoveries, none of which I made grand plans of partaking in back then, to begin with, I didn’t make grand plans to revisit it. Then cockles came a calling.
—
So there I was, waiting for my filet-o-fish, chatting up a confident Kiwi who claims that this so-dubbed Best Café not only serves the “best” fish and chips but that his city is the best, too, mostly because what it lacks in activity it more than makes up for in chill.
The small university town, with post-colonization Scottish roots, is mostly known for its soaring albatrosses, “little blue penguins” (the world’s smallest), and, its harbors, bays, and estuaries filled with littleneck clams. Actually, I take that back. Most people don’t even know the clams are there. But that’s a wild story for another time. There’s also a charming farmer’s market on Saturday, a small (and free!) public art gallery, and a street that’s world-famous for its steepness. (Look it up. It’s called Baldwin Street.) Beyond that, though, it indeed is calm, which for a Virgo like myself who rises early and falls asleep late can be tough to reckon with—especially when visiting for almost a week during the summer solstice. Them days are loooong.
Not to mention that I now travel in a world where TikTok exists. Immediately after I touched down in the country the algorithm started serving me cafes I “can’t miss,” hikes I “must do,” and trails that “just reopened.” Since this was a work-related pursuit, my itinerary was pretty set and I wasn’t in the driver’s seat—literally and figuratively. My options for taking a detour were limited. As a result, each day I yielded an invisible sword to partake in an invisible duel with the annoyingly visible influencers creating this FoMo-inducing “best” content.
Now, as a well-traveled purveyor of taste myself, for decades I’ve gone my own way. (Thank you, Fleetwood Mac.) First with a Lonely Planet guidebook, then with some recommendations from friends, and, sure, some Instagram posts. But mostly with one key ingredient: curiosity. Who are these “theys” to tell me what’s “best”? And who was I to fall prey to their taunting? I knew better! Intrigued as I was—and how could I not be? Have you SEEN what New Zealand looks like?—I practiced being grateful for what I have seen and done. I never thought I’d return anyway! In which case, maybe I will again someday. Plus, best shmest. I’ll tell them. And by them I mean you. (Because, really, that Best Café fish burger really was…excellent. :)
I kid, of course. My fish burger may be your pork belly. My sunset hike may be your sunrise stroll. We are all on a unique quest to savor and share. Our needs and desires and bank accounts and PTO will be different, therefore skewing intentions and goals; hopes and unplanned pursuits. This is why, I guess, the marketing of any “best” content irks me more than the content itself. Share what you discover, sure. But do you need to declare it Oscar-worthy? What are your credentials anyway? And even still, it’s all subjective. As my fellow, fried-fish-loving Kiwi friend said, Dunedin was best for him.
The challenge on our part is to tune out and swipe past the noise while paying closer attention to the pretty damn good reality of one’s own nominated delights, discoveries, and preferences. And it is a challenge.
Despite wrestling with the downtime at first, and my inability to fill it with someone else’s folly, those two days of being my own company and catching up on everyday, mundane things were not only appreciated but very much needed. Sometimes you gotta just stop, drop, and scroll through your bank statement, read, and maybe watch TV while doing two loads of laundry, as opposed to, say, hiking the Tongariro Crossing, which is hours from where you are anyway. Plus, I’d hiked Godley Head just days prior and, despite not seeing any TikToks on it, found it spectacular.
For 48 hours, I felt like a local who, yes, signed up for an excellent last-minute tour to see those little blue penguins return to their nests at dusk, but also simply waited for a fried fish sandwich amongst some regulars who reminded me that sometimes the actual “best” travel tip is no tip at all. To chill and just be still.
Wishing you all the very best (!) as we bid 2024 adieu. xx — Sara
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Clickable
“Go where it’s warm,” says
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Sorority and solidarity for Gisele Pelicot. | New Lines
An interesting tactic for talking politics with family. | The Atlantic
Hate-Watchable
Blond hair and brown brows aside, which I quite like, Kim Kardashian’s so-called music video is too much. She’s trying too hard. There are too many elements. Too, too, too. Listening to her sing “Santa Baby” over and over for more than 4 minutes feels like torture. But, hey, like all car crashes…
Watchable
In funnier news, I love it when Michael Che and Colin Jost of SNL’s Weekend Update write jokes for each other that they don’t see or practice before going live. It’s real, raw, ridiculousness, which I am always here for, and this year’s edition is no exception.
I caught wind of this video when it was released on Dick Van Dyke’s 99th birthday two weeks ago, but only just had some time to watch it properly. Directed by Spike Jonze & Mary Wigmoret, it’s a sweet collaboration between Chris Martin of Coldplay and the legendary entertainer who, midday through, describes love as, “a feeling of caring about the welfare and life of the other person as much as you care for yourself.” Beyond the beautiful song and Van Dyke dancing barefoot throughout, it’s a celebration of life and love and a definite tearjerker.
Currently overthinking…
…where to eat out the day before New Year’s Eve (because I’m staying in on the 31st!)…
Souvenir: Troll Pencils
This week’s throwback comes to you courtesy of the series Shrinking where the pencils with trolls on the top made a recent appearance in two episodes. I had a few of these and very much enjoyed twisting and braiding the colored hair, along with tickling the bottom of my chin while procrastinating doing homework. You?
I’m so happy that Dick Van Dyck is still with us!
SO good! I have been working on a piece about exactly this idea, given the name of my newsletter 😉