Sitting in Woodhaugh Gardens on a lovely summer day, I got to thinking — being a Dunedin local is a funny thing. I mean, it has to be, right? You spend at least five years perfectly aware of the drunken shenanigans, Boganmobiles, and broken glass everywhere. If you were unfortunate enough to attend Logan Park High School, you’d walk past it every day. And at the end of it all, I thought, "Yeah, I'll have some more of that." I enrolled in the University of Otago.
Besides that madness that afflicts almost every local student, there is something else unique to us. We see what most students don't — summer in Ōtepoti. The glory of George Street sans spit and abandoned bottles, vape shops hauntingly empty. No, no – stop shaking your head in violent disbelief. I swear, Dunedin is warm! Occasionally. You just don't believe me because you miss it. So, as the year and my undergraduate study both came to a close, I thought to share with you a sweatin' stroll down George Street.
But does Dunners miss you? With a 99% decrease in broken glass and firework firefights, probably not. I certainly don't miss those boys across the road, always waking me up at five in the morning with that newfangled music and shouting. Grumble grumble. In sharing a little piece of my summery Dunedin with you all I thought I would take inspiration from ex-Critic Editor, Joel MacManus, and write a bit of a love letter to the most iconic street in Aotearoa, block-by-block.
George Street Gardens (Bank St – Dundas Stairs)
Starting early on a sweltering January morning, I made my way through an eerily-silent Leith Street, past sixty carparks and only six cars. This brought me to the intersection between the North Road Op Shops, Botans, New World Gardens, and Bank Street (really the start of George Street to us locals).
Verdict: North D is dead. Reflection over.
In full seriousness, it would be easier if it were just dead. Then it would be straightforwardly miserable. But the grass is shooting up, and the sun is well and truly out. From tourist to bee, man and beast are both very much alive and busy. It's windy, a lovely, hot, fragrant sort of windy.
But it's funny, the things you notice are missing when you actually start looking. Most of the year, this spot was a meeting between the diverse and disparate worlds of students and pensioners. But there I was, slowly noticing how the young to old person ratio did not fall in my favour. It’s like you've stepped into the pool, found it was far more shallow than you remember, but just as wide as it was before. Everyone can see you, being there is conspicuous, and you're thinking, "Hey, where's everyone gone?" The world has less depth, less vibrance, and not just in terms of vibes. Five North Dunners shops are closed for another week, the rest halfheartedly open with barely a customer inside.
Still, it was nice. Positively dreamy for us sensible people who see a nice bit of sunny peace and quiet, without a bit of rain in sight, and sit under a tree with a book. But after a few weeks of intense lighting and hail, it's like the world is out of balance. It certainly felt that way when I reached the bridge mural. On one side, Dunedin with its bikes and Baldwin Street, painted all colourful; on the other, Uni clock tower, rendered in black-and-white. The only evidence proving that the University wasn't just ancient history were the signs adorning the jaded fences of student flats – for rent, for rent, for rent.
Hotel Land (Dundas Stairs – Albany St Intersection)
There is no joke. This block is dry. Hearing this, other locals are doubtless saying, "Well, yeah, what's new? There are barely any shops, how different could it possibly be?" That's just because they never walk the street. But this part of the street must be a favourite for tourists. The houses were like pretty shells for them to pick up and marvel at. You'd be forgiven for forgetting that something ought to be living in them.
So despite the lovely weather and views, the total lack of human life made the walk mind-numbingly boring. Only the modest archaeological discoveries light up my eyes. A table and chair are left on Inverleith Street, ruined by rain, and there's a burnt couch in someone's property. "So the nomads did live here!", exclaimed the delighted archaeologist.
It's here that I realise that it’s missing. Whatever you want to call ‘it’: the blemishes, the chaos, the students – it's missing. Because on a walk free of all the bad shit students supposedly bring here, the only memorable bits were student-related. I watch a stray student push around a wheely chair, and observe a table left on the road that is so water-damaged that it appears to have contracted the Bubonic Plague.
Those amusements soon became bittersweet. Because in every bit of furniture on the road that you think about nicking, someone else's Dunedin chapter has closed. Who were they? What did they study? Everything is just missing. The episode's over, and there'll be no repeats. And like some subliminal message, all the hotels (even during tourist season!) are showing vacancy, vacancy, vacancy.
Retail Street (Albany St Intersection – Octagon)
For the first time in human history, life starts back up again at the LJ Hooker Property Management office. There, at the intersection with Rob Roy, you find a more diverse bunch. Families are out, enjoying the coffee, shopping and ice-cream in the sun. And for once, there isn't any congestion at the intersection near the Bog!
Not much is different here, really. There's no massive absence of Uni-age people. But it's the little things, the sun beaming down, young professionals trading t-shirts for button ups, and that slight slip in congestion that brings it all together. And, having lived here since 2017, I can't overstate how much better George Street is after the upgrade. There's actual breathing space. But I've also lived here so long to know there didn't used to be so many closed-up businesses – fourteen by a finger count between the Bog and the Public Library. For lease, for lease, for lease.
Sitting there, overlooking it all in the overpriced, bougie Coffee Club, is all rather strange. Students, the heart of a University town, are gone. And the people going to and fro, shop to shop, don't seem to have noticed anything has changed. I mean, why bother selling Glassons supersoft or Rodd & Gun right now?
Well, the people of Dunedin might not miss you, but Dunners does. Sure, it grumbles at you from time to time, but you, the student, complete them. And it'll never tell you, but it doesn't have to. While the Dunedin living above the green belt sees itself through that mural, perceiving the city as vibrant Baldwin Street and the dignified Clocktower, trying to forget everything else – I've found something different.
The student makes Dunedin dynamic. And I'm not even talking about Castle Street. You, from the studio flats past the Octagon to high-as-fuck (heh) London Street, bring change. Into the perfectly boring room, you throw open the windows. Every November, twenty thousand lives blow to the wind. Every February, twenty thousand lives recreate themselves in some amazing and totally new way. And, in that, bougie locals and stodgy students make one whole body. He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata.
You make pleasant Dunedin into good ol' Dunners. And it looks different every time.