Oamaru's harbour is where all of its highlights are and despite a pallid sky overhead a small, local market was in full flow. The delicious smells of barbecued sausage were already filling the air, whilst two talented ladies strummed toe-tapping rhythms on their acoustic guitars and sang sailor style songs (which are always filthy and full of life).

Sampling locally produced Manuka honey and nosing at all the local delicacies had distracted us from the harbour coming to life; the sun was now beating down on our heads and a brigade of people had materialised from their homes.

With the sound waves still nudging our ears from the market we explored the crooked roads leading away from the harbour. The buildings still held their initial outer-shell design and created an olden style dynamic to the whole place. The shops and little bakeries here ached with history and sold a myriad of things from a bygone age interjected with newer pursuits. One particular shop sold purely leather blacksmith aprons while another sold vintage and second hand clothes with that usual smell of dust that comes complimentary of the store.

Perhaps the jewel in the crown of the street was an old penny farthing bike that you could have a jiggle on! I taught all about Victorian bicycles and their evolution to my school children back home and can't wait to bring the experience up if I ever teach it again! The bike had a minute step at the back which (after you'd gained a purchase with a big toe) enabled you to swing your leg up and over the saddle like a liquorice whip. When you were up there you realised that you were a considerable way up and a fall would almost certainly result in a severe bruising - it saddened me when I noticed this, I'm getting old and noticing the danger in things.

With my body unbruised and a sausageless stomach rumbling we decided to make our way up the East coast to Timaru; Oamaru is enchanting but small.

Timaru was from an extremely similar cut. It was small and quaint though offered a little more in terms of cliched tourism: Caroline Bay offered a sandy(er) beach, botanic gardens hugged the sea front and an ice cream stall that refused to close.

The Piazza offers a great view of the beach and Caroline Bay's garish Ferris wheel but hidden from view is the most memorable segment of Timaru for me: the harbour wall. We heard whispers that seven mated pairs of blue penguins were nesting in the harbour's rocky wall. So with a flask of tea and several layers we wandered down into the sunset, as apparently the penguins returned from hunting all day around this time.

The little sods had us waiting for an hour and a half before they showed up. However, procrastination aside, it was undeniably worth it. A blue penguin is the world's smallest species of penguin (they measure in at a titivating 30cm) and are unique in that they have a blue body with a white chest and no other markings or colourings to their heads.

Quite sporadically they would emerge out of the sandy swash, right beneath us as if they were spawning from the sand itself. They kept extremely close to their mate while coming ashore and took quite some time before deciding that we weren't a threat to them. Out of the water they were brilliant. They moved in a stooped-over manner, like little old men with an aptitude for complaining, with their flippers held out awkwardly from their sides. When scaling the harbours rocky outcrops they carefully weighed up the gaps they had to jump and leapt with ungainly precision.

With a little drizzle finally starting to soak through our layers we bayed farewell to the miniature penguins and left them to hunt out their chicks in peace. It was a great snippet of an experience where the shadowy water and lengthy wait all mingled to make a very memorable evening.