I found nice places to eat in NZ, some that I’d made a note of beforehand from Frommer, like a nice Thai one in Auckland, and some that I just stumbled across, like the Malaysian “Long Bar Restaurant” in Wellington, named after the famous bar in the Raffles hotel in Singapore where the Singapore Sling was invented. But the two most memorable restaurant visits I had in NZ, where the atmosphere really added to the food, were two I stumbled across by serendipity (also known as “dumb luck”), and they were both in Christchurch. But, when you think about it: where else?

The two restaurants are very different, opposites, actually. One charmed by its sedate atmosphere and food. The other one was a fun place, and included dancing through the kitchen—literally.

The Curator's House   I’ve been inching up on this one, having referred to it several times. The reason for that is that’s the way it inched up on me. That first day in Christchurch, Saturday, I’d noticed it at the corner of the Botanic Garden by the Avon, but with little interest. The next day, Sunday, the punter said it had been taken over by a guy from Spain who grows his own garden—appropriate for being at the edge of the Botanic Garden, so after the punt ride, I walked over from the Boatsheds and investigated more closely.

The well-located Curator’s House was built in 1920 for the curator of the Botanic Garden. Presumably in recent times it was no longer needed as such, and was sold. It’s a charming little Tudor-style cottage with a front garden and terrace on the side, now used as an outdoor café. I went around to the back and far side, where, sure enough, right on the low bluff above the Avon there were herbs, fruits, and vegetables growing for use in the restaurant. As I left past the terrace through the picket fence leading into the Botanic Garden, I decided it would be worth a try later on.

The only time I could schedule it was Monday, coming back from the TranzAlpine trip to Greymouth. Unfortunately, I’d had enough to eat on the train, but planned to dine without a main course. On coming back with the sun already low in the sky, I used the second day of my day pass for a short tram ride over to the Park and Garden, then walked down to the Curator’s House.

The cozy interior was all you’d want it to be. There were two dining rooms decorated in deep colors, with Arts-and-Crafts-style lamps and other decorations. The room I was seated in reflected the owner’s Spanish heritage, as I was seated under a copy of Picasso’s “Guernica (Gernika)”, about the fascist bombing of the Basque town, and across was a copy of Goya’s “La maja desnuda (The Nude Maja)”, although not of its twin painting “La maja vestida (The Clothed Maja)”, the originals of both of which are in the Prado.

I ordered a fine glass of Rioja, a soup, and a chorizo appetizer, since I wasn’t any more hungry than that. Then, as I started, the chef-owner, described in the menu as Javier García, made the rounds of the tables in the room, chatting a bit (in good English) with the patrons. That is always a good sign. When he came by my table, I decided to chat him up in Spanish—Castillian Spanish, which I unfortunately don’t get enough chance to use. He seemed thirty-ish, and was from Madrid, so we talked about the “Guernica” above my head. I told how we’d seen it when it was still in exile in New York, and then again when it went back to Madrid. He noticed that I’d ordered the chorizo appetizer, and complained how difficult it was to buy good chorizo locally, so he had it made specially. We went on for a good ten minutes before he had to get back to the kitchen.

As I reveled in the food, after a while he came back, and I made a joke about “La maja desnuda” across the room. Well, that led to another longish conversation. I’m glad he had the time to spare, but then on the other hand, I suspect he doesn’t get too many speakers of Spanish in Christchurch, and Castillian Spanish at that.

After I left, and was walking out the front garden, he made it a point to pop out of the kitchen on the other side of the building to wave good-bye, a good indicator that he’d enjoyed the conversation, too. I left the Curator’s House fully charged—gastronomically, intellectually, socially, and emotionally.

Santorini Taverna   At the end of that first-day walk-about Saturday, I was coming down Oxford Terrace in town along the Avon and paused to look across the street to the parkland and river. Then I noticed behind me a largish building serving Greek food. People are too much in a hurry to call such a place a restaurant, which is a more formal affair. This was a typical Greek ταβερνα (probably more legible in capitals: ΤΑΒΕΡΝΑ). It transliterates as “taberna” but is more commonly “taverna”. It’s the origin of the English word “tavern”, but corresponds to a casual bistro-type place. It intrigued me, especially when I saw it said they do bouzouki music every night. I stepped in to the cavernous room. There was a dance floor near the tables (a good sign), and also loft seating upstairs. They were hurrying to get ready, and I asked the guy, who I later learned was Costa, in charge with his wife, Despina, at what time the music started, and he said eightish. I decided to try coming that evening. It was a good decision.

It was called the Σαντορινη (caps: ΣΑΝΤΟΡΙΝΗ), named after the Greek Island of Santorini. Their business card says “Authentic Food & Music in a Greek Island Atmosphere”. Was it ever. The only thing they did NOT do was break dishes.

But it was a Saturday night, and when I got there at 7:30, it looked pretty full. The woman who greeted me, who turned out to be Despina herself, was ready to work things out. She found a smallish table, a good size for one person, and set me up just a little close to a table with a family of four. That certainly turned out well. We had a nice chat, I learned that the two young boys learn a bit of Maori in school, plus other info on NZ life. The parents not only knew Tampa when I mentioned it, they said a few years ago they took Amtrak from Tampa via New York to Boston. On top of that, he was flying back to Boston in a few months for another convention. When I see an interrelatedness like this, I continue to think that I could have been in, say, San Francisco talking about Boston, just as well as I could have been in Christchurch. This is to me further evidence here of the manifest relationship between the four ANZCUS countries.

I ordered a Greek salad, moussaka, my favorite eggplant dish, and baklava for dessert. I always want to vary, but often choose the old favorites. When Despina asked what I wanted to drink, again I went for my usual, the old favorite ρετσινα (caps: ΡΕΤΣΙΝΑ) retsina, the resinated white wine. 2000 years ago, pine resin was used to seal wine vessels to keep out harmful oxygen, and the resin infused the wine with a distinctive aroma. Today resinated wine, retsina, is made that way not to preserve but because people like it. Since it looked like it was going to be a fun evening, I decided to order a whole bottle for myself.

Shortly after eight the music started. I was happy to see it was not only one bouzouki (played by Costa), but a duo of bouzoukis, one of his adult sons playing the other. This being a taverna, there should be no doubt in your mind what the very first thing was that they played, and the second selection should also be obvious.

They of course started with “Zorba’s Dance”, or the sirtaki, from the film version of “Zorba the Greek” (1964), and followed it with “Never on Sunday” from the film of the same name (1960), which won the Best Song Oscar for that year. Isn’t it interesting that those two seminal Greek songs came from films, and that those films were produced so close together in time.

After a while it became obvious why there was a dance floor, and it wasn’t for couples dancing, but for dancing the sirtaki to just about everything they played. I let a couple of dances go by, then I joined in. Over the evening I must have joined a dance about six times. One of the other adult sons led the line, and since it was a family restaurant, he had no problem with leading into the kitchen through one door and out the other side. Occasionally he would do the more macho version with a stomp, where a guy jumps up, raising his feet particularly high beneath him (for a louder stomp) and then coming crashing down. Several of the guys (ahem!) followed his lead, but the ladies more often than not defer from such display.

I talked to Despina about my mother’s side of the family having a tradition of doing Russian folk dances at big parties and wedding receptions, and she explained that she speaks Russian, and why. In the Nineteen-Teens when Turkey was attacking minorities within its borders, most notably the Armenians, but were also expelling Greeks along its western coast, her family fled to the Crimea, where she was born. She eventually managed to leave Russia via Siberia and come to New Zealand.

But it’s worth delving into the two best-known Greek songs above and the films they came from, since there’s a lot about them that was surprising to me and might be of interest to the reader.

Zorba the Greek   Basil (Alan Bates) is half-English, half-Greek, and goes to Greece to learn more about his Greek heritage, where Zorba (Anthony Quinn) serves as his role model. The most famous sequence in the film, made in Crete, is the closing, which takes place on a beach in Stavros, where Zorba teaches Basil to dance.

The dance they do is the συρτακι (caps: ΣΥΡΤΑΚΙ) / sirtaki (also spelled syrtaki). For obvious reasons, it’s also referred to as “Zorba’s Dance”. Now there are plenty of traditional Greek dances, but surprisingly, the sirtaki is not one of them. It was created specifically for the Zorba film, and was one that was easy enough for Quinn and Bates to learn easily. It is indeed based on traditional Greek dances, but one feature is that the sirtaki speeds up toward the end, making it even more fun. The sirtaki has become incredibly popular, and is played in every Greek taverna around the world, so that most people are convinced that it is old and traditional. Perhaps because of its popularity, it is now essentially is indeed “traditional”.

Zorba is everyone’s essential Greek, yet Anthony Quinn was Mexican-American. Today, near the beach at Stavros, there is an Anthony Quinn Bay. You of course have to watch this YouTube clip from the film, but do not ask me how music suddenly appears on a remote beach: The Sirtaki (Zorba’s Dance) from the Film

Beyond the film, dancers who know what they’re doing, often demonstrate it. Watch these dancers: The Sirtaki Today

Notice the leaps, twirls, and dips when the sirtaki is done, shall we say, semi-professionally. If you doubt that the sirtaki is well-entrenched in the international consciousness, look at this video filmed in the beach resort of Ayia Napa, Cyprus, where 268 dancers tried to get into the Guinness Book of Records for the longest sirtaki line: Guinness Sirtaki

But most of us don’t do it that well. When the sirtaki is done at a party, it’s a very simplified version that everyone can learn on the spot, and is still just as much fun. Aside from the sirtaki we did in New Zealand, I came across a “Sirtaki Matrimoniale”, or Wedding Sirtaki, done at a wedding in Italy, where the bride scooped up her skirts and joined in. To demonstrate, here is a sirtaki done at a party in Switzerland: Party Sirtaki in Switzerland

In the everyday version, all leaps, twirls, and dips are left out, and the step pattern is simple:

It’s as simple as that. Most cross left in front, but it looks cool to regularly or occasionally cross left behind. Watch them do it again in the video. The woman in red is leading the line. When the line gets long enough, it becomes a spiral. The stomp variation is: stomp both feet, kick left; stomp both feet, kick right; cross left, step right. Any variation of the sirtaki is fun.

Never on Sunday   The interaction takes place between Ilya, a “working girl” in Piraeus, the port of Athens, and Homer, an American classical scholar who feels Ilya is degrading her Classical Greek heritage. Jules Dassin not only wrote and directed the film, but also starred as Homer. As Ilya he cast his wife Μελινα Μερκουρη (caps: ΜΕΛΙΝΑ ΜΕΡΚΟΥΡΗ) / Melina Mercouri, who, after the international stardom she achieved, later became a member of the Greek Parliament, and after that, Minister of Culture for Greece.

The film is called “Never on Sunday” in all languages, based on the day Ilya takes as a day of rest: German - Sonntags nie!; French - Jamais le dimanche; Italian - Mai di domenica; Swedish - Aldrig på en söndag; Greek - Ποτε Την Κυριακη / Poté Tin Kiriakí.

But it’s the song that’s the big curiosity here. The situation is similar to our discussion (2007/17) of the original French version of “Les feuilles mortes”, which has deep themes of very serious loss, and the frivolous English-language version “Autumn Leaves” where any loss referred to is counterbalanced by the pretty view out the window.

The English version of the song in the Greek film is the only one that stands so starkly apart from the others. As a matter of fact, the English version disregards the original text of the song entirely. It is the only version actually called “Never on Sunday”, usurping the name and sexual theme of the film. It presents a sanitized raunchiness, where the singer says you can “kiss” her on a Monday, and on all the other days, but never on Sunday, her day of rest. But then I suppose most people who know the song and not the film think the song in English is really talking about kissing.

The song Melina Mercouri sings in the film has nothing to do with Sunday or the theme of the film. It’s called Τα Παιδια του Πειραια / Ta Paidiá tou Peiraiá, or The Children of Piraeus. This is also true, for instance, of the French version, Les Enfants du Pirée, and the Spanish version, Los Niños del Pireo. She does think about men, but sings of her hopes and dreams of wanting four sons who will end up being the pride of Piraeus. Listen to the 1960 Oscar Best Song in the original (read the subtitles) and see what it’s all about: Melina Mercouri

The German version of the song, “Ein Schiff wird kommen”, also has nothing to do with the “Sunday” theme. It doesn’t mention Piraeus specifically, as the others do, but does tell what she’s longing for:

This version has become quite popular, and the title, “Ein Schiff wird kommen”, is often cited in other contexts, such as newspaper headlines, as a phrase to indicate hope.

But back to the music. On YouTube I’ve found not one, but two bouzoukis playing the song in question to an audience, just as we danced the sirtaki to in the taverna: Two Bouzoukis

Finally, there’s something you’ve got to see. Superficially, its presented to illustrate the English-language text, but there’s nothing wrong with a little satire of Greek culture at the same time, even down to the breaking of crockery: The Muppets

You’ll have to look at it again, because you can’t catch it all the first time. The guys doing the sirtaki are to die for. Various words associated with a Greek stereotype are shouted out nonsensically to give a Greek flavor:

Both the Curator’s House and Santorini Taverna were highlights of Christchurch.

RETURNING NORTH Leaving Christchurch the next morning, I was back on the TranzCoastal, northbound, and connected again at Picton with the Interislander. But this time, I decided on an improvement, although at the very last minute. I had already shown my ticket when I saw a sign saying you can upgrade to the first class lounge for only NZ$40. When I read what the equivalent of US$20 got you, I upgraded immediately on board. Access to the lounge, which looks like a comfortable living room with lots of easy chairs, includes hors d’oeuvres, sandwiches, salads, and other snacks, beer, NZ wines, and splits of sparkling wine. Most interestingly it includes free broadband satellite internet access, which I used to catch up. On entering, you get a plastic bracelet attached around your wrist, so you can come and go. It all made for a very comfortable and satisfying crossing.

The free shuttle bus in Wellington brought us back to the station, where I walked back down to the hotel for one night that I’d stayed at earlier. Early the next morning, I walked back to the monumental station to take the Overlander northbound for another 12-hour trip. But this time I’d arranged for the only seat on the train with access to a power point (outlet), and I plugged in the laptop and wrote all the way to Auckland, but still enjoying the scenery.

I had said in the description of the southbound Overlander that I had a good YouTube video, but it showed the northbound trip, so I’ll present it now. I try to avoid videos with narration in any language, but the best one I found not only has narration, but it’s in German. If that distracts you, turn off the sound: The Overlander

It was evening in Auckland when we arrived, just as the video shows, and the illuminated Sky Tower could be seen from the train just before we arrived back at the showcase Britomart Station. Across the street I used the return half of my airport shuttle ticket for the bus; at the airport I called the courtesy van for the same airport hotel I’d used to go to Fiji, so I’d spend one last night in the Auckland region; the next day the van brought me back to the airport to fly to Tahiti that afternoon. In other words, everything in a well-planned schedule coming up from Christchurch had fallen nicely into place.