Sunday, 4 May 2008
Eggy Breath
3.5.08
Man I’m tired. Dunno quite what it is, but I’ve had a distracting headache for most of the day - possibly from staying up late reading the excellent ‘Pushing Ice’ by Alastair Reynolds. It’s a real page turner and I’m unable to put it down, which was fine by me today: happy to spend most of the afternoon reading and nursing a coffee in a cafe on the tourist strip/central high street of the seaside town of Mt Muanganui (translates to ‘Large Mountain’ - sometimes referred to just as ‘the Mount’ - which describes an striking, steep, preserved hill that protrudes from the end of an otherwise flat, populated peninsula, across an inlet from the city of Tauranga, which is where I’m actually staying/typing from tonight). Especially happy to chill this afternoon, being so tired today I made some very elementary mistakes whilst driving: the usual mixing up which side of the steering wheel the indicator stick is on (left here, rather than right), instead turning on the windscreen wipers, but also, embarassingly, failing to stop at some roadworks - where traffic was directed into one lane. It didn’t help that the sign told me to stop when requested, but the workman was sat on his arse and not holding any signs (normally they do hold up a sign, and what a crap job that must be too!). In hindsight - such a wonderful thing (!) - I think this particular sign only had ‘GO’ printed on it. Not holding it up naturally meant I had to stop. Much waving of hands and irate gestures forced me to reverse and just in time too, oncoming traffic appearing seconds after I did so. Soon forgot about this when I arrived at the sunny marinas of Tauranga, leaving behind the bone-numbing cold of Rotorua (yes, it’s getting that cold again) for sparkling sunshine.
The city of Tauranga that I’m staying in boasts a large harbour, whilst the township of Mt Tauranga, stretching across the bay on the cape opposite, is lined with beaches, set back from which are rows of expensive condos and spectacularly tall pine trees (a touch of the Australian influence there: very ‘Manly Bay’-esque). Both urban areas, part of one of the country’s sunniest regions, known as the ‘Bay of Plenty’ (a popular hotspot for New Zealand holiday makers, named so by the Maoris thanks to the fertility of the land, now used mainly to grow kiwi fruit), are tourist heavy and commercialised, centred around their own stylish tourist strips, lined with the usual trendy cafes, restaurants and shops. Am getting used to this feature of the north island, though I can’t help feeling a bit short changed at times: swapping the remote and spectacular of the south for the busy and touristic of the north. I guess I have to get used to it - I doubt California will be any better! ;)
Fortunately, there’s still occasions that slaps me in the face, bringing me back to reality by reminding me I haven’t left the New Zealand I love yet. Today’s was the walk up to the top of Mt Muanganui. After lazing most of the day away in a cafe, in the early evening I set out on a pretty heavy going walk up a steep, muddy path that encircled the forested hill, surprisingly busy with joggers, sight-seers and, heading out to sit on rocks in the sea, fishermen (a very big past-time in NZ). The view from the top made the climb worth it - I hadn’t even realised before heading up there, but I made it out above the tree line and onto a grassy plateau (with landmark to prove I’d made it to the top) just in time to witness a breathtaking sunset: a golden torch melting into the sea, spreading a warm glow over the blue carpet, the fabulous, hill crested, partially urbanised coastline (with small mountain range in the distance) and tree layered archipelago that stretched out to the horizon. Ahh, this is more like it.
Am about to head out and catch some grub now, having not eaten anything since this morning’s adventure to the amusing ‘Fat Dog Cafe’: a cartoon dog themed eatery - very popular with kids, for obvious reasons - where I was served an unfairly large slice of bacon and egg pie (I mean, how can they expect a normal human to eat that much - filled layer upon layer upon layer of alternating bacon and egg), plus a much easier to digest strawberry smoothie. It wasn’t a bad breaky, but nothing to write home about after yesterday’s culinary lunch time delights. Will get on to describing that and my day in smelly Rotorua later.
4.5.08
Yummy grub last night at the ‘De Bier Haus’ - little that was German about the fancy bar, other than the appearance of Bratwurst. On recommendation of a saucy Canadian member of the bar staff, I had a delicious chicken, salad and sweet chilli sandwich (made even tastier by the sumptuous guacamole) and the lovable beer-battered chips (or ‘frites’ as they called them here: large, extra breadcrumb encrusted, salty chips), washed down a ‘handle’ of my now favourite Kiwi beer, Speight’s ‘Sassy Red’. I was actually recommended this place by a girl working at my hostel (a small, busy but fairly impersonal YHA, about ten minute’s walk from the waterfront), on account of their divine CHEESE CAKE! Ummm. So obviously that was a no brainer for desert, and like the girl at the hostel, the eyes belonging to those working in the bar (a couple of girls and even one bloke!) whom I mentioned the pudding too soon glazed over. Good cheese cake seems to have this effect on people! (Especially the sort that is butterscotch flavoured, with lumps of chocolate and marshmallow scattered throughout.)
I gleaned some information off one bartender about why the place was so empty. Apparently most people hit the bars starting at about 11PM, thanks to New Zealand’s long standing late drinking laws (3AM being the standard for most establishments). I was there between eight and ten, meaning I was joining the ‘eating crowd’. Also, I questioned him on speed cameras, or the lack thereof, and was informed that the stationary ones had been taken out of commission, leaving only the occasional mobile one. Scarily, they don’t require any warning, but as usual, drivers that know about them will warn oncoming traffic with a quick flash of the headlights (have seen this many times whilst driving: warming, small community behaviour that’s long disappeared from England).
So, what happened between Taupo and Tauranga? I was typing my blog for so long in my hostel in Taupo - cheekily long after officially checking out (handing in my key) - that it was lunch time by the time I had finished. I decided to pop back to Rotorua’s voted best cafe, the ‘Bodyfuel Cafe’, to give it a second chance at proving itself. Once again, the coffee proved average, but this time the food was just inspired! I had an incredible venison pie - the meat was amazing: stringy, lean (absolutely no fat), dark, tender and juicy, it and the delectable, large pastry ‘pot’ it sat in were divine, melting right off the tongue. Venison is now a firm favourite of mine, definitely. Somehow, this was if not topped at least equalled by the desert, a slice of ‘caramel crunch’: take the caramel from a normal ‘caramel slice’, make it super rich and sumptuous, then add toasted oats and a biscuit base. Ummmm :)
Good food has definitely been on the menu these last two days. After chilling out in that wonderful cafe, reading my excellent book and letting my food go down, I struck out north to Rotorua. About an hour’s drive away, I drove through densely forested, green parkland, with trees so tall that they interrupted radio signals. The weather was playing silly buggers, trading heavy grey clouds for blinding sunshine, then just as quickly swapping that for a fast flowing rainstorm. Am definitely beginning to feel an affinity for New Zealand - the climate, the countryside, its friendly people and their wicked humour feel alien, but at the same time pleasantly familiar. Am going to miss this place.
Arrived at the hostel in the lakeside ‘city’ of Rotorua (again, I have difficulty acknowledging this ‘town’ as a city: they work it out by numbers here, not cathedrals), greeted by the amusingly sarcastic jibes of the owner (quite a character, instantly likable!). The place I stayed was really a large, converted house, very busy and homely with backpackers who seemed to know one another, intermixing with the owner and his family. I dropped off my stuff and set out to investigate the city. To be honest, the place felt fairly boring and uninspired, especially whilst I was busy getting drenched by heavy rain showers, following Lonely Planet’s recommended walk by the black swan studded lakeside. However, this soon changed when I discovered Rotorua’s novelty feature: white, sulphur-rich, clouds of gas creeping up out of drains, from warm, bubbling rain puddles (!!) and fissures - any small gaps in the ground, basically. These smelly (think rotten eggs), dense billows of smoke shoot up from the ground all over the place, giving the impression that the town is perpetually on fire (like, say, Gotham City). Rotorua sits on New Zealand’s most dynamic thermal area, cluttered with small but active volcanoes, as well as geysers, boiling mud pools and thermal baths. These makes it a major tourist attraction, plus adding to the fun is a whole host of Maori buildings: I took in an intricately carved meeting house, as well as an Anglican church, which combines Christian and Maori art under one roof. They, as well as some of the surrounding lakeside buildings, employ a mock tudor style, painted a mix of cream white and red. Bit of an eyesore if you ask me.
The highlight was without a doubt Kuirau Park, a fenced off, free to roam cumulation of volcanic behaviour, all under one leafy roof. I wondered pathways that led through blindingly thick layers of dense, white steam, past several boiling, bubbling pools of mud, lots swamp-like fauna and sick looking trees, and a number of hot, crater lakes (with warnings not to go near: according to LP there’d been an eruption here as recently as 2003, splattering much of the park in mud). It was eerily exciting: like taking a stroll through a horror movie set or perhaps a scary Brother’s Grimm faery tale. It also goes without saying that it was the smelliest part of Rotorua too. The novelty of which I’m sure you soon get used too - the bored kids in the park would attest to that.
Ok, I’ve been kicked out of my hostel, as they’re now cleaning the kitchen/living area and, having already checked out, I’ve got nowhere else to go. Am finishing typing this up sat in my car, the steady rain dripping noisily on its roof. Worryingly, I’ve got to head to Auckland today - was going to stop by en route for a paid visit to the official set of ‘Hobbiton’, but little point in this weather - and haven’t got a copy of the street map and directions Scott Pederson sent me (he’s an old work colleague of Dad’s whose kindly offered to put me up for the night). Got to find me an internet cafe, pronto.
Didn’t do a huge lot else in Rotorua. Could have gone to a Maori concert (the most famous is ‘haka’ - think of the unique ‘dance’ that New Zealand’s rugby union team ‘the All Blacks’ perform, to intimidate their opponents) or a Maori meal (‘hangi’, where food is cooked in the ground over hot river stones), but both sounded very heavily commercialised and therefore off putting. It was getting pretty late when I left the park, so I headed to the ‘Pig and Whistle’, a popular tavern that used to be a police station - hence the name - with its own microbrewery (didn’t find their homemade ‘Swine Ale’ very palatable, unfortunately). One unusual feature was the large, bulbous, leafy tree growing on the street just outside of it: it was humming with noisy birds - there must have been hundreds of them, all singing, making a tremendous racket. Whilst I sat in the bar reading my book and snacking on some nachos, the lights must have dimmed three times on me, making it harder each time to make out the words on the pages. Kiwis really like their bars to be dark (very atmospheric!).
The walk to the pub took me up a steep hill on which sat a hospital, providing me with some great views of the lake. On the way back down I felt almost as if I was back home: the weather was cool, wet and fresh, the yellow leaves of autumn coating the ground, hospital staff and visitors were beginning to leave for home. It was only the Maori-inspired names of surrounding buildings and the occasional Maori, wooden carving that offset this fantasy. It’s great to see such a natural fusion of two cultures, working alongside one another (seemingly) harmoniously. I imagine it must be a source of envy for their Australian (and even, if they bothered to look, American) cousins: a sign of what could have been. I guess it’s thanks to the cultural and technology divide not being so wide that the two races managed to combine, not to mention how originally both they and the colonialists depended on one another for resources. The Te Papa museum described how things didn’t always go so smoothly - many wars broke out - but, perhaps unsurprisingly, the Maoris were able to put up a fierce resistance and survive (I mean, have you seen the size of these guys??).
Finished the day with a trip to the cinema, where I watched a new superhero movie called ‘Iron Man’. A silly but fun action-romp, like a cross between Transformers and Robocop. Bit scary half way into the film when it was interrupted by a member of the audience who appeared to have a fit. After much general confusion, some running about and a call for an ambulance, unassisted he was able to get right up from his seat and walk away. So not sure what happened there.
Right, time to make the 200km trip to the great city of Auckland. I’ve got the feeling it’s a bit on the large side, what with the maps of it spread over several pages in my guidebook. I may get a bit lost.
Man I’m tired. Dunno quite what it is, but I’ve had a distracting headache for most of the day - possibly from staying up late reading the excellent ‘Pushing Ice’ by Alastair Reynolds. It’s a real page turner and I’m unable to put it down, which was fine by me today: happy to spend most of the afternoon reading and nursing a coffee in a cafe on the tourist strip/central high street of the seaside town of Mt Muanganui (translates to ‘Large Mountain’ - sometimes referred to just as ‘the Mount’ - which describes an striking, steep, preserved hill that protrudes from the end of an otherwise flat, populated peninsula, across an inlet from the city of Tauranga, which is where I’m actually staying/typing from tonight). Especially happy to chill this afternoon, being so tired today I made some very elementary mistakes whilst driving: the usual mixing up which side of the steering wheel the indicator stick is on (left here, rather than right), instead turning on the windscreen wipers, but also, embarassingly, failing to stop at some roadworks - where traffic was directed into one lane. It didn’t help that the sign told me to stop when requested, but the workman was sat on his arse and not holding any signs (normally they do hold up a sign, and what a crap job that must be too!). In hindsight - such a wonderful thing (!) - I think this particular sign only had ‘GO’ printed on it. Not holding it up naturally meant I had to stop. Much waving of hands and irate gestures forced me to reverse and just in time too, oncoming traffic appearing seconds after I did so. Soon forgot about this when I arrived at the sunny marinas of Tauranga, leaving behind the bone-numbing cold of Rotorua (yes, it’s getting that cold again) for sparkling sunshine.
The city of Tauranga that I’m staying in boasts a large harbour, whilst the township of Mt Tauranga, stretching across the bay on the cape opposite, is lined with beaches, set back from which are rows of expensive condos and spectacularly tall pine trees (a touch of the Australian influence there: very ‘Manly Bay’-esque). Both urban areas, part of one of the country’s sunniest regions, known as the ‘Bay of Plenty’ (a popular hotspot for New Zealand holiday makers, named so by the Maoris thanks to the fertility of the land, now used mainly to grow kiwi fruit), are tourist heavy and commercialised, centred around their own stylish tourist strips, lined with the usual trendy cafes, restaurants and shops. Am getting used to this feature of the north island, though I can’t help feeling a bit short changed at times: swapping the remote and spectacular of the south for the busy and touristic of the north. I guess I have to get used to it - I doubt California will be any better! ;)
Fortunately, there’s still occasions that slaps me in the face, bringing me back to reality by reminding me I haven’t left the New Zealand I love yet. Today’s was the walk up to the top of Mt Muanganui. After lazing most of the day away in a cafe, in the early evening I set out on a pretty heavy going walk up a steep, muddy path that encircled the forested hill, surprisingly busy with joggers, sight-seers and, heading out to sit on rocks in the sea, fishermen (a very big past-time in NZ). The view from the top made the climb worth it - I hadn’t even realised before heading up there, but I made it out above the tree line and onto a grassy plateau (with landmark to prove I’d made it to the top) just in time to witness a breathtaking sunset: a golden torch melting into the sea, spreading a warm glow over the blue carpet, the fabulous, hill crested, partially urbanised coastline (with small mountain range in the distance) and tree layered archipelago that stretched out to the horizon. Ahh, this is more like it.
Am about to head out and catch some grub now, having not eaten anything since this morning’s adventure to the amusing ‘Fat Dog Cafe’: a cartoon dog themed eatery - very popular with kids, for obvious reasons - where I was served an unfairly large slice of bacon and egg pie (I mean, how can they expect a normal human to eat that much - filled layer upon layer upon layer of alternating bacon and egg), plus a much easier to digest strawberry smoothie. It wasn’t a bad breaky, but nothing to write home about after yesterday’s culinary lunch time delights. Will get on to describing that and my day in smelly Rotorua later.
4.5.08
Yummy grub last night at the ‘De Bier Haus’ - little that was German about the fancy bar, other than the appearance of Bratwurst. On recommendation of a saucy Canadian member of the bar staff, I had a delicious chicken, salad and sweet chilli sandwich (made even tastier by the sumptuous guacamole) and the lovable beer-battered chips (or ‘frites’ as they called them here: large, extra breadcrumb encrusted, salty chips), washed down a ‘handle’ of my now favourite Kiwi beer, Speight’s ‘Sassy Red’. I was actually recommended this place by a girl working at my hostel (a small, busy but fairly impersonal YHA, about ten minute’s walk from the waterfront), on account of their divine CHEESE CAKE! Ummm. So obviously that was a no brainer for desert, and like the girl at the hostel, the eyes belonging to those working in the bar (a couple of girls and even one bloke!) whom I mentioned the pudding too soon glazed over. Good cheese cake seems to have this effect on people! (Especially the sort that is butterscotch flavoured, with lumps of chocolate and marshmallow scattered throughout.)
I gleaned some information off one bartender about why the place was so empty. Apparently most people hit the bars starting at about 11PM, thanks to New Zealand’s long standing late drinking laws (3AM being the standard for most establishments). I was there between eight and ten, meaning I was joining the ‘eating crowd’. Also, I questioned him on speed cameras, or the lack thereof, and was informed that the stationary ones had been taken out of commission, leaving only the occasional mobile one. Scarily, they don’t require any warning, but as usual, drivers that know about them will warn oncoming traffic with a quick flash of the headlights (have seen this many times whilst driving: warming, small community behaviour that’s long disappeared from England).
So, what happened between Taupo and Tauranga? I was typing my blog for so long in my hostel in Taupo - cheekily long after officially checking out (handing in my key) - that it was lunch time by the time I had finished. I decided to pop back to Rotorua’s voted best cafe, the ‘Bodyfuel Cafe’, to give it a second chance at proving itself. Once again, the coffee proved average, but this time the food was just inspired! I had an incredible venison pie - the meat was amazing: stringy, lean (absolutely no fat), dark, tender and juicy, it and the delectable, large pastry ‘pot’ it sat in were divine, melting right off the tongue. Venison is now a firm favourite of mine, definitely. Somehow, this was if not topped at least equalled by the desert, a slice of ‘caramel crunch’: take the caramel from a normal ‘caramel slice’, make it super rich and sumptuous, then add toasted oats and a biscuit base. Ummmm :)
Good food has definitely been on the menu these last two days. After chilling out in that wonderful cafe, reading my excellent book and letting my food go down, I struck out north to Rotorua. About an hour’s drive away, I drove through densely forested, green parkland, with trees so tall that they interrupted radio signals. The weather was playing silly buggers, trading heavy grey clouds for blinding sunshine, then just as quickly swapping that for a fast flowing rainstorm. Am definitely beginning to feel an affinity for New Zealand - the climate, the countryside, its friendly people and their wicked humour feel alien, but at the same time pleasantly familiar. Am going to miss this place.
Arrived at the hostel in the lakeside ‘city’ of Rotorua (again, I have difficulty acknowledging this ‘town’ as a city: they work it out by numbers here, not cathedrals), greeted by the amusingly sarcastic jibes of the owner (quite a character, instantly likable!). The place I stayed was really a large, converted house, very busy and homely with backpackers who seemed to know one another, intermixing with the owner and his family. I dropped off my stuff and set out to investigate the city. To be honest, the place felt fairly boring and uninspired, especially whilst I was busy getting drenched by heavy rain showers, following Lonely Planet’s recommended walk by the black swan studded lakeside. However, this soon changed when I discovered Rotorua’s novelty feature: white, sulphur-rich, clouds of gas creeping up out of drains, from warm, bubbling rain puddles (!!) and fissures - any small gaps in the ground, basically. These smelly (think rotten eggs), dense billows of smoke shoot up from the ground all over the place, giving the impression that the town is perpetually on fire (like, say, Gotham City). Rotorua sits on New Zealand’s most dynamic thermal area, cluttered with small but active volcanoes, as well as geysers, boiling mud pools and thermal baths. These makes it a major tourist attraction, plus adding to the fun is a whole host of Maori buildings: I took in an intricately carved meeting house, as well as an Anglican church, which combines Christian and Maori art under one roof. They, as well as some of the surrounding lakeside buildings, employ a mock tudor style, painted a mix of cream white and red. Bit of an eyesore if you ask me.
The highlight was without a doubt Kuirau Park, a fenced off, free to roam cumulation of volcanic behaviour, all under one leafy roof. I wondered pathways that led through blindingly thick layers of dense, white steam, past several boiling, bubbling pools of mud, lots swamp-like fauna and sick looking trees, and a number of hot, crater lakes (with warnings not to go near: according to LP there’d been an eruption here as recently as 2003, splattering much of the park in mud). It was eerily exciting: like taking a stroll through a horror movie set or perhaps a scary Brother’s Grimm faery tale. It also goes without saying that it was the smelliest part of Rotorua too. The novelty of which I’m sure you soon get used too - the bored kids in the park would attest to that.
Ok, I’ve been kicked out of my hostel, as they’re now cleaning the kitchen/living area and, having already checked out, I’ve got nowhere else to go. Am finishing typing this up sat in my car, the steady rain dripping noisily on its roof. Worryingly, I’ve got to head to Auckland today - was going to stop by en route for a paid visit to the official set of ‘Hobbiton’, but little point in this weather - and haven’t got a copy of the street map and directions Scott Pederson sent me (he’s an old work colleague of Dad’s whose kindly offered to put me up for the night). Got to find me an internet cafe, pronto.
Didn’t do a huge lot else in Rotorua. Could have gone to a Maori concert (the most famous is ‘haka’ - think of the unique ‘dance’ that New Zealand’s rugby union team ‘the All Blacks’ perform, to intimidate their opponents) or a Maori meal (‘hangi’, where food is cooked in the ground over hot river stones), but both sounded very heavily commercialised and therefore off putting. It was getting pretty late when I left the park, so I headed to the ‘Pig and Whistle’, a popular tavern that used to be a police station - hence the name - with its own microbrewery (didn’t find their homemade ‘Swine Ale’ very palatable, unfortunately). One unusual feature was the large, bulbous, leafy tree growing on the street just outside of it: it was humming with noisy birds - there must have been hundreds of them, all singing, making a tremendous racket. Whilst I sat in the bar reading my book and snacking on some nachos, the lights must have dimmed three times on me, making it harder each time to make out the words on the pages. Kiwis really like their bars to be dark (very atmospheric!).
The walk to the pub took me up a steep hill on which sat a hospital, providing me with some great views of the lake. On the way back down I felt almost as if I was back home: the weather was cool, wet and fresh, the yellow leaves of autumn coating the ground, hospital staff and visitors were beginning to leave for home. It was only the Maori-inspired names of surrounding buildings and the occasional Maori, wooden carving that offset this fantasy. It’s great to see such a natural fusion of two cultures, working alongside one another (seemingly) harmoniously. I imagine it must be a source of envy for their Australian (and even, if they bothered to look, American) cousins: a sign of what could have been. I guess it’s thanks to the cultural and technology divide not being so wide that the two races managed to combine, not to mention how originally both they and the colonialists depended on one another for resources. The Te Papa museum described how things didn’t always go so smoothly - many wars broke out - but, perhaps unsurprisingly, the Maoris were able to put up a fierce resistance and survive (I mean, have you seen the size of these guys??).
Finished the day with a trip to the cinema, where I watched a new superhero movie called ‘Iron Man’. A silly but fun action-romp, like a cross between Transformers and Robocop. Bit scary half way into the film when it was interrupted by a member of the audience who appeared to have a fit. After much general confusion, some running about and a call for an ambulance, unassisted he was able to get right up from his seat and walk away. So not sure what happened there.
Right, time to make the 200km trip to the great city of Auckland. I’ve got the feeling it’s a bit on the large side, what with the maps of it spread over several pages in my guidebook. I may get a bit lost.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Middle Earth
1.5.08
First day of May and the signs of winter are here! I reached the pretty boring ‘village’ of ‘National Park’ not long before six last night (the uninspired name should have been a warning, but I’m sure this place had been recommended to me), going against the recommendation of my guidebook to stay in the highest rated BBH establishment in the area (BBH = [NZ] Budget Backpacker Hostels: picked up membership on my first day in this fine country, entitles me to $2-3 discounts in all participating hostels). Needless to say, I should have trusted my guidebook: this place is more like a motel - clean but impersonal - my roommates are moody Germans, the other, Chinese occupants appear stuck-up (more fool them, I ‘borrowed’ some of their milk this morning - that’ll teach ‘em!) and the owner but an immediate downer on things when he told me the ‘Tongariro Crossing’ was closed, thanks to snow (!) reaching as low as a thousand metres. I haven’t seen any yet though - just miles of rolling parkland around here. The ‘Tongariro Crossing’ is New Zealand’s most popular one-day trek - it crosses a volcano - and also my only real reason for coming here, so hearing this on my arrival was a bit of a ‘bummer’. I went out in search of a place to snack, found a nice cafe cum restaurant and befriended the smiling staff - people in the service industry are SO much friendlier and happy here, but you could say that applies to just about everybody, as a general rule of thumb. A very congenial, helpful Maori guy sat at the bar suggested I go take a look around in the morning anyway - near a ski lodge there’s an area that was used when filming Lord of the Rings, plus the nearby ‘Mount Ngauruhoe’ IS Mount Doom (only less digitally enhanced in a sort of non-erupting kind of way) - but informed me that preparation for the upcoming ski season was underway: this was to be the first round of snow, followed shortly after by the second and then, once that was set, the third, etc. It’s as regular as clockwork each year. Wish I’d done my research! Everybody around here is really excited by the upcoming snow, and presumably the business that comes with it (ski-ing etc.). Can’t say I share their enthusiasm for the cold!
I left ‘Windy Wellington’ a couple of days ago, to head up north along the west coast. (It is so called because it’s constantly buffeted by winds - and rain, in my opinion - as I found out when, on stepping out into the rain on leaving a book shop on my first night, the owner came floundering forward, telling me not to bother with my umbrella. “No-one uses them around here,” she said, and she was right too. It wasn’t too windy on my arrival, but the next day kicked up a real gale: the annoying kind of unpredictable wind that changes direction on a whim. I only saw one other umbrella in my whole time there. Obviously an outsider!) I was a bit disillusioned with the north island so far: lots more people - including lots more Maoris (there’s a considerable presence, many place names are Maori, plus Maori translations appear all over the shop, such as in the Maori-titled ‘Te Papa’ museum) - which translated to lots more cars on the road, lots more houses running alongside it and, on the good side, more radio stations, less white noise. Most of Tuesday was grey and overcast, sporadic showers turning into a serious downpour when I reached Wanganui in the afternoon. The journey to there took me at first along the coastline, where I went through Scottish Highland country: heavily populated, furry green hills, dipping their toes into salt water lochs on one side, the sea on the other. I could make out an island, struck several miles off the coast, as little more than a black blob in the steady rain.
Then the road - State Highway 3 - struck more inland, across English dales, occasionally providing quick glimpses of the blue ocean. Was like this all the way to the city of Wanganui: more a town than a city, it had a really long central, leafy, shop-lined strip, running westwards, perpendicular to the ‘Whanganui River’ (notice the additional ‘h’: a recent modification to indicate that ‘wan’ is breathy and aspirated, inserted by the Maoris, whilst the ‘Pakeha’-dominated town - that’s outsiders or English to you and me - kept the old spelling), New Zealand’s longest, navigable river. The tree-lined river turned out to be fairly pretty when the sun peeked out for a couple of hours: smoke-gushing paddle boat meandered its way at impressive speed along it, a path cut through grassy park running alongside the water’s eastern edge, behind which a road granting access to residential neighbourhoods ran parallel for several miles, part of which included my amazing, show-stopping ‘hostel’ (if you could call it that). The ‘Anndion Lodge’ was a large house, fitted out with comfy, clean leaving room, kitchen (with not only the usual free coffee/tea, but free milk and biscuits too!), lounge with free pool table, a rear garden with swimming pool, spa and sauna, very tidy, hotel-like rooms (chocolates on pillows) and completely free wifi! At $35 it cost a fair bit more than I was used to paying, but throw in the free internet and you’ve got a bargain :) The owners were a super-friendly Kiwi and Maori couple, treating me more like a house guest than a paying customer, offering up maps and advice on my next destination. To top it all off, there was barely anyone staying in the hostel - nobody in my room, which meant I had all that comfort to myself! The locals say that not many people stop in this city, and it shows.
The only slight downer was the distance from town: a good 3km, but not a problem with my car. I spent the whole afternoon researching Fiji and Hawaii on the web and downloading my favourite podcasts and updates for my comp (so happy to get free, unlimited internet, I entirely forgot about the world outside!). Am very happy to say Fiji is completely sorted now - thankfully, stress levels were starting to peak - but Hawaii still needs doing, as I’m stuck between sticking to the fairly featureless but does boast Peral Harbour Oahu (which is where I land at Honolulu), or catching an internal flight to Maui (heavily recommended by everyone I speak to: sun, sea, sand, small volcanoes) or the Big Island (volcanos, some beaches). The latter two will probably have to include car hire too, so it could get fairly complicated, especially trying to fit it all into a week. Must decide today - have to sort this before I land in Fiji next Tuesday, as I’m almost 100% confident there’ll be no internet there.
I did make time for a gourmet pizza at Stellar in Wanganui - a bar whose name I think I may have seen before, but despite being a chain had talkative staff and served an excellent gourmet, mexican pizza (with my favourite sour cream topping, plus plenty of tasty jalapenos: happy to see my tongue can still take the spice!). Yesterday started off beautiful, the sun had his hat on and the blue skies were out. A perfect day to hit the aptly titled ‘Forgotten World Highway’ (SH43), something I had been saving up since finding out about it from an old English couple on the cruise in Milford Sound (my gratitude goes out to them!). It’s a road that has restored my faith in New Zealand’s north island and then some: taking me away from the busy streets, it twists and winds its way 150km through central, north island countryside, occasionally brushing past tiny villages, reducing to unsealed gravel for 12km, even dropping mobile coverage for the most part. It’s a perfect journey to take you outside of the grips of civilisation, you could say like going back to the south island.
It was the sun that made my mind up to do it: the end of my journey was National Park, only 80km or so north of Wanganui up SH4. I think that and the fact I was knackered - stayed up late exploiting my free internet the night before: surfing the web last night, finalising my Fiji details (sorted: yes!), speaking to Gran & Granddad over Skype then getting up early to do the same with my sister and Mum. The detour ahead of me stretched over three hundred kilometres, heading west, north, east, then back south again, in a completely round about way. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I fueled up at a petrol station, took some advice on a cafe from the workers there (yet more friendly Kiwis in the service industry) where I headed to grab an ultra-strong, ‘long, flat white’ (a ‘flat white’ is Oz/Kiwi speak for a standard coffee, you can work out the ‘long’ bit) and hit the road.
When I hit the start of the infamous highway I felt fully awake at least, but I was gutted to find dark clouds had gathered threateningly, and upon reaching the welcoming sign I was indeed ‘welcomed’ by a heavy, stormy downpour. The first part of the journey was filled with intermittent rain showers, some occasionally stopping me from stepping out the car to take photos of the fabulous views on offer, but not always. It certainly didn’t stop me from gaping at the awe-inspiring vistas: the perfect curves of bulbous hills, creating a rippling blanket of green countryside, impossibly green (truthfully, the grass here is so divinely green, it looks luminous at times, almost radioactive - it screams GREEN at you, as if some godly figure has played havoc with the turf’s colours: do not adjust your television set, it IS meant to look this way). Put this in contrast with the just as vibrantly coIourful trees (reds and yellows and golden-orange blends of in between) and you’ve got yourself a sight for sore eyes. I had a great time whizzing along listening to the sublime ‘Rock FM’, playing classics from the likes of Dylan, the Stones, Metallica, Guns ‘n Roses, for as long as the signal lasted (the first few hours). Rocking along, I passed through several aptly named ‘Saddles’, where deep valleys were met on either side by the tall slopes of hills. Heavy rain saturated the ground in parts - gentle streams in valleys turned to gushing torrents - whilst rounding a very sharp, U-shaped bend (as there were many: once again, perfect biking country) could lead to dazzling sunshine and blue skies, where the fields looked untouched. Continuing on the ‘Lord of the Rings’ country theme, this could easily have been the setting for ‘The Shire’ in ‘The Fellowship...’.
Half way along the highway, I met the hamlet of ‘Whangamomona’. This was another secret I was keeping until now, and in truth my real reason for heading out this way. In the late eighties, the local councils threatened the township with transferral from one region to another, a change which brushed its forty odd residents up the wrong way (it’s hinted that the last straw was telling them they’d have to play rugby for a rival district). In defiance, the citizens threatened to separate from both councils entirely - something which went from being I imagine an off the cuff remark to a reality when they declared themselves an independent republic. Now the small village - only fifteen people actually live in it - has its own ‘republic day’, which is celebrated on every second January (my guidebook tells me 8,000 people descend on the single pub in the village, it’s owners told me it was more like 15,000 people last year; in fact, just in the hour or so whilst I was there, they received two calls inquiring after it). Anyway, it all sounded absolutely fantastic and completely barmy, so I just had to drop in and see it.
The village was preceded by the Whangomomona Saddle: an incredible transformation in landscape that lead from quasi-English countryside to sub-tropical jungle. Mud and rock walls stood inches from the roadside, looking threateningly fragile, leading to both sheer drops and climbs on either side, the effect somewhat softened by a thick coating of dripping wet, lush forest: a diverse mix of palm trees, shrubs, tall grass and more familiar bush, compacted so tightly together the barely allowed for any light to filter in. A foggy mist sat in the gaps as well as hovering above the road, helping to enhance the mysterious, solitary feel. ‘Lost World’ indeed! I’ve been thinking more about that name, and it really does apply to the north island, where most roads and places are populated by cars, buildings and people. During my time in the north, I haven’t managed to find an landscape devoid of civilisation - a far cry from the south. However, this journey was THE exception: I only came across three vehicles going in the same direction as me for the whole 150KM/4-5 hour journey (that should give some indication of how tight the corners were). Going the other way was a tiny bit busier, the majority of which consisted of camouflaged, khaki-coloured trucks and motorbikes. I guessed this must have been the army - perhaps they were there to check that there wasn’t any trouble brewing on the borders of its neighbouring republic? :)
Whangomomona proudly sported a big, red sign welcoming travellers into it (on the reverse it informed passersby they were now re-entering New Zealand). The village sat in the lieu of some hills, five or six buildings strong, the biggest being the president’s house - a small, fairly rundown, white (hey, at least it was white!), wooden bungalow (sadly he wasn’t around to be seen, busy doing his other, day job) - and the other the infamous ‘Whangamomona Hotel’, the only pub for over a hundred kilometres. (There’s also supposed to be a border guard, in the form of an outside toilet or ‘dunny’, but I didn’t spot this unfortunately.) The pub was fantastic: I ordered myself the a pint of the ‘national ale’ (‘Republic Ale’: fabulous, it was the first beer - a dark bitter - I’d had in two months that dared not to have any fizz in it!) and topped it off with a ‘Whanga Burger’, an extremely greasy egg, bacon, beef burger and coleslaw concoction (though the owner insisted it was meant to contain lettuce instead, it was just that her husband was on a day-long expedition to restock on groceries). Perfect food for bikers, many of whom I was informed past through here (including something known as the ‘Tiger Rally’).
The owner and barmaid were so welcoming, they invited me to sit with them for lunch, while I fired away with my questions - something they are used to, no doubt. I even got chatting with the one other couple who popped into the place - also to investigate the novelty - other than that the pub, and village, were empty. It seems it’s not always that way though: their twenty three rooms in the hotel are normally always full, the village reaching incredible heights of popularity after their 1989 ‘separation’. It’s really a bit of a gimmick: their president used to be a goat, until it passed away at the grand old age of fourteen. For their ‘republic day’, live bands come and play, they skin possums and race sheep, amongst other hilarious activities, I’m assured. You need to purchase a ‘passport’ in order to attend the event; of course I had to have it - at $3 it was a no brainer, guaranteeing me entry for a bargain-tastic ten years! I did, however, pass on the t-shirt. It turns out the reason they don’t celebrate their independence every year is simply a matter of logistics. It takes a whole year to plan the thing! Surprisingly, there isn’t much competition to the pub; the president used to run a cafe outside of his house, but alas no longer.
Anyway, will have to finish this account later as I need to shoot. It’s raining this morning and chilly - the cold weather (end of an ‘Indian Summer’: turns out the balmier feel to the north island wasn’t just my imagine, my stay in Wanganui topping twenty three degrees, when it wasn’t raining) the radio has been forecasting has finally arrived, bringing with it wind and more wet. I really am glad to get out of this place - the owner is a grizzly, old, moaning bugger with a stupid ponytail: he just gave me a lecture about leaving lights on, but I didn’t even put them on in the first place (deep at work on my laptop, I don’t notice these things). Time to split. Am heading to Lake Taupo today, a place where I was considering doing a skydive, until I found out it costs $500. Of course, you can do it for half that, but then you don’t get any photographs (they chuck in a *ahem* ‘free’ DVD of your experience with the photos - how kind of them!). So now not sure about that. Still, any place is better than here :)
2.5.08
Don’t know why I’m so afraid of updating this damn blog: had a few days off to de-stress - it may just be the pressure of deciding upon and sorting out accommodation for not one but TWO countries in the next couple of weeks, I don’t know - and now the amount of things to report on has increased two to three fold. Doh.
Am in Taupo, having got away from the grumpy hippy and the dead village of National Park. The hostel is wonderful: a (Maori) family run place - the clues in the name: ‘Tiki Lodge’ - where they actually share the facilities with the guests (always a good sign), with big rooms and kitchen, and an enormous balcony overlooking the horizon spanning Lake Taupo (New Zealand’s largest lake, at 606 square kilometres, sitting in a still active, large volcanic crater - or ‘caldera’ - formed by one of the world’s largest eruptions, over twenty thousand years ago). Had some nice pleasant chats with the owners (including one frantic one this morning, where I couldn’t find my car keys - turns out they were in my shoe all along). Taupo is a large town - or city, if you go by Wanganui’s principles - that sits lakeside. Unfortunately it’s bustling with people - many if not more Kiwi tourists than foreigners - and is also a shining example of how much more commercial the north island is than the south: McDonald’s sits next to Burger King, which is next to KFC, which is beside Subway, all littering the waterfront. I guess that’s what comes with more people: more buying power. I’m still noticing how easy and comradely Kiwis are - at first I thought perhaps they were more so than those living in the south, but it’s dawned on me I’m noticing it more there’s more of them. Up here, New Zealanders outnumber the foreigners.
Taupo is also the sky-diving capital of the world, being one of the cheapest places to do it. Unfortunately, I’ve decided that, as good as sixty seconds of free fall offered by a drop of 15,000 feet sounds (you could say), $500 for it is still too much. It’s also completely overcast today so I wouldn’t see much doing it: a shame, as yesterday, after a grey start, the blue skies came through bringing with it some warm goodness, facilitating some great views of the lake and surrounding, bumpy, house and tree lined landscape. Sounds like I’m making nervous excuses doesn’t it? Maybe I am ;)
The latter part of my ‘Forgotten World’ journey was just as beautiful, if not more so, as the first. It certainly helped that the rain had stopped. The hills and valleys took on a completely new shape and look: instead of rolling slopes, the land became much more prominently staggered and ‘boxy’. So very different to anything I’m used to seeing, so hard to explain, but incredible in its alien-ness. The best way I can describe it is to imagine taking a slightly scuffed, aging snooker table cloth (felt like in texture, but thicken it up for the purpose of this example), blowing it up to landscape conquering proportions, then laying it over to entirely cover an enormous rubbish tip site. Envisage the sorts of weird shapes that would be formed by throwing such a large ‘carpet’ over a great assortment of random junk and that gets you half way to conceiving the amazing scenery that I drove through. Litter it with autumnal trees, wooden fences and the occasional wood house, and you’ve got it. Probably best you just look at the pictures :)
On the way to National Park, I passed a cafe, the ‘only cafe for one and a half hours’ as it merrily informed me. Also, I came across a river, alongside which a fence ran, upon which somebody had laid out to dry the tanning hides of what, judging by their sizes, must have belonged to cows. Creepy. I crossed through a narrow tunnel cut through a mountainside, so thin I futilely held my breath as I drove through, as well as yet more, even thicker, jungle, this time encompassing sheer rock walls, glistening in the wet, as well as a muddy, winding river. As I neared my journey’s end, I had to swap lanes to swerve out of the way where dodgy cliff walls had predictably crumbled and fallen into the road, as well as stop on one occasion where the road was swamped with sheep (I seemed to do a better job herding them out the way with my car than the farmer with his sheepdog did). I also passed some spookily crooked and leafless, grey trees, worthy of a Tim Burton film.
The end of the ‘Forgotten World Highway’ was signified by my arrival at ‘Taumarunui’: a town made pretty by the slender bowl of a picturesque, ripe green valley it sat in. Wish I’d stayed there rather than National Park! At least I got to NP late, meaning I didn’t have to suffer it much. It was raining by the time I arrived there and still raining when I got up in the morning. Heard on the radio that Wellington had suffered some flooding, especially the centre (where I’d stayed)! The weatherman was also predicting snowy showers for the south island too. I can’t get to Fiji soon enough :) Speaking of snow, I took a meandering road through the ‘Tongariro National Park’ to head to Lake Taupo - the park forms a significant part (the south-west) of what is known as the ‘Central Plateau’ of the north island - and headed just off it, along ‘Top of the Bruce Road’ (who is Bruce?) to the ski-village of Iwikau, at the foot of the 2800m, snow-capped ‘Mount Ruapehu’. The national park consisted of miles of grassy, undisturbed plains, punctuated by great forests, the occasional lake and some cloud scraping mountains (including - did I mention - Mount Doom!!!). As I drove up the steadily rising, newly surfaced road to Iwikau, I passed through lots of dry looking brown/yellow shrub and grass. I gathered the landscape must remain this way throughout the summer, its plant life never really prospering, thanks to heavy, lasting snowfall over the winter. The large number of neighbouring ski lodges and related buildings give clues to this (as they did whilst I passed through parts of Arthur’s Pass).
Nearing the top of the road, the distant landscape became quite clouded, but as I drew closer the view of the impending, tall Mt Ruapehu loomed ahead of me, glistening white on top (and quite a few hundred metres below too). It’s the highest and most active VOLCANO in the park: the area surrounding Iwikau was completely devoid of any plants or grass, thanks to hot mud and volcanic eruptions occurring over the last few decades (the last spectacular one was as recent as 1995!). What’s left is kilometres of nothing but volcanic rock: thousands of black and grey, sharp rocks and boulders litter a brown and yellow, ragged landscape (thanks to moss and dirt). It looks like being on the surface of Mars or perhaps the moon. It also looked eerily familiar: somehow, on reaching the village, I bumped into the Maori guy from the cafe the night before, who pointed out an optimum viewpoint - a five minute scramble up a mountain of rocks, just past a ski-lift, closed under testing - where I could really appreciate the area where they filmed Frodo and Sam’s walk up to Mount Doom!!! So that explained where I’d seen this area before, also where they filmed some of the fighting scenes in ‘Return of the King’. A nearby DoC store (Department of Conservation) provided me with a leaflet that had a small section on the area’s starring role. Plus, and really annoyingly, they told me that, despite the tour agencies calling it off today, I WOULD have been able to do the Tongariro Crossing that day - especially as it was now brightening up - but that now it was a bit late to contemplate doing it. Damn that miserable old fart at the hostel! I asked after whether I’d be able to get to the ‘Emerald Lakes’ - brilliantly coloured (aqua green) volcanic lakes they are the highlight of the trek - but was told that that was a six to seven hour return trip alone. So that was a no then :(
Still, one good thing was that the clouds were beginning to dissipate, so I was able to have a good gawp at Mount Doom on my drive back to the highway. The volcano was still fairly clouded at its table top summit, but it was still recognisable (and definitely the most volcano looking of the park’s selection). I stopped beside the Chateau Tongariro’s (as pretentious as it sounds) golf course to grab some decent photos. Then I was off to Lake Taupo, a drive that took me through the parkland, past one sign-posted Maori historic site - a stick encircled, grass clearing that led to a lake with some geese and couple of (fishing?) boats bobbing on it - then onto a viewpoint of Lake Taupo and its surrounding valley (one prominent bulge of a hill, countless green and brown pastures, clumps of trees, the first settlements for miles around and that enormous lake, world famous for its trout fishing, spanned the horizon: it was so clear I could see for miles. Driving along the lake’s edge - which may as well have been the sea, it being so vast - I headed to Taupo, leaving behind the magnificent mountainous, volcanic part of the central plateau for less remarkable wooded dales and plains.
Taupo sits at the mouth of the Waikato, New Zealand’s longest river. Having checked in my stuff at the hostel, I took a short driving excursion out to Huka Falls, where the wide and fairly shallow Waikato is slammed into a constricted, narrow, deep chasm, increasing the force of the river into a fast surging torrent of white-water as it crosses the ten metre falls. What’s special about this stretch of water is that it feeds a hydro electric dam that provides 65% of the power for the north island of New Zealand. Great to see how far ahead they are at using renewable energy. After seeing this, grabbed me a muffin and coffee from Taupo’s best cafe - the ‘Bodyfuel Cafe’ (was reminded of home when I sat next to an old, moaning couple: the guy seemed incapable of not cussing after every sentence, but he and his wife turned amusingly polite whenever a member of staff brought something over) - and headed back to the hostel, where I spent yet another afternoon browsing the web, this time sorting out the details of my Hawaiian trip (this needed doing too, as I’m under the impression I’ll be without my precious internet in Fiji, and perhaps even power to boot!). So pleased to have this off my chest, I headed into town to have a, what turned out to be fairly naff, pint of ‘Whaikato Bitter’ at a rowdy sports bar (for the first time the barmaid appeared disinterested in banter, which came as a shock!). Having had barely nothing to eat all day, I rewarded myself with a fairly tasty pizza from the amusedly named ‘Hell Pizza’, then hit the sack.
It’s rained a bit this morning and feels pretty cold - doesn’t help I’ve chosen to wear shorts! Sat in the living room in my hostel, checked out over a couple of hours ago (been writing this for over three!) and so really need to get a move on. Heading to Rotarua today - a Maori hotspot (think someone mentioned they considered it their capital), which is also home to some impressive geysers and smelly boiling mud pools (the stench of sulphur is all pervading, so Marie and family informed me back in Oz). Sounds like it’s going to be a blast. Time to go: I’ve done ENOUGH writing already! :) Photos will come later.
P.S. Have had to put up with some crappy drivers whilst staying in Taupo: on the way to the falls, I had to take a left off of a busy road followed by a quick right, and got pipped at for the pleasure of doing so by some obviously blind bint of a woman. Had a few drivers turn off in front of me not bothering to indicate too. More observations:-
‘Ratana’ is a national Maori religion - fused with Christianity, they both share Sunday as the Sabbath - and the Maori lady owner at the Taupo hostel informs me that Wanganui hosts their main church (if only I’d known!).
The flies here are REALLY annoying (think I’ve mentioned that one before). How is it they know to get indoors when the cold weather starts? Apparently they all gang up inside for the duration of winter, just starting to die off when it gets seriously cold, before hitting the outdoors again as spring picks up. Seems to me they have disconcertingly clever insects in this country.
New Zealand has some world famous wood, sourced from trees known as ‘kauri’. Having vast, incredibly firm, straight trunks and reaching sky-rocketing heights, these were much sought after during the early colonial days (both for export and for settlement). Most of the older houses in New Zealand are built from it. Now these trees are protected, being few and far between. Speaking of trees, I passed my first stretch of harvested timber coming into Taupo yesterday: several square miles of deforested land, piles of wood laid out crudely, looking like a large, wood landfill site. I think I could make out the trees surrounding the manmade clearing quivering.
First day of May and the signs of winter are here! I reached the pretty boring ‘village’ of ‘National Park’ not long before six last night (the uninspired name should have been a warning, but I’m sure this place had been recommended to me), going against the recommendation of my guidebook to stay in the highest rated BBH establishment in the area (BBH = [NZ] Budget Backpacker Hostels: picked up membership on my first day in this fine country, entitles me to $2-3 discounts in all participating hostels). Needless to say, I should have trusted my guidebook: this place is more like a motel - clean but impersonal - my roommates are moody Germans, the other, Chinese occupants appear stuck-up (more fool them, I ‘borrowed’ some of their milk this morning - that’ll teach ‘em!) and the owner but an immediate downer on things when he told me the ‘Tongariro Crossing’ was closed, thanks to snow (!) reaching as low as a thousand metres. I haven’t seen any yet though - just miles of rolling parkland around here. The ‘Tongariro Crossing’ is New Zealand’s most popular one-day trek - it crosses a volcano - and also my only real reason for coming here, so hearing this on my arrival was a bit of a ‘bummer’. I went out in search of a place to snack, found a nice cafe cum restaurant and befriended the smiling staff - people in the service industry are SO much friendlier and happy here, but you could say that applies to just about everybody, as a general rule of thumb. A very congenial, helpful Maori guy sat at the bar suggested I go take a look around in the morning anyway - near a ski lodge there’s an area that was used when filming Lord of the Rings, plus the nearby ‘Mount Ngauruhoe’ IS Mount Doom (only less digitally enhanced in a sort of non-erupting kind of way) - but informed me that preparation for the upcoming ski season was underway: this was to be the first round of snow, followed shortly after by the second and then, once that was set, the third, etc. It’s as regular as clockwork each year. Wish I’d done my research! Everybody around here is really excited by the upcoming snow, and presumably the business that comes with it (ski-ing etc.). Can’t say I share their enthusiasm for the cold!
I left ‘Windy Wellington’ a couple of days ago, to head up north along the west coast. (It is so called because it’s constantly buffeted by winds - and rain, in my opinion - as I found out when, on stepping out into the rain on leaving a book shop on my first night, the owner came floundering forward, telling me not to bother with my umbrella. “No-one uses them around here,” she said, and she was right too. It wasn’t too windy on my arrival, but the next day kicked up a real gale: the annoying kind of unpredictable wind that changes direction on a whim. I only saw one other umbrella in my whole time there. Obviously an outsider!) I was a bit disillusioned with the north island so far: lots more people - including lots more Maoris (there’s a considerable presence, many place names are Maori, plus Maori translations appear all over the shop, such as in the Maori-titled ‘Te Papa’ museum) - which translated to lots more cars on the road, lots more houses running alongside it and, on the good side, more radio stations, less white noise. Most of Tuesday was grey and overcast, sporadic showers turning into a serious downpour when I reached Wanganui in the afternoon. The journey to there took me at first along the coastline, where I went through Scottish Highland country: heavily populated, furry green hills, dipping their toes into salt water lochs on one side, the sea on the other. I could make out an island, struck several miles off the coast, as little more than a black blob in the steady rain.
Then the road - State Highway 3 - struck more inland, across English dales, occasionally providing quick glimpses of the blue ocean. Was like this all the way to the city of Wanganui: more a town than a city, it had a really long central, leafy, shop-lined strip, running westwards, perpendicular to the ‘Whanganui River’ (notice the additional ‘h’: a recent modification to indicate that ‘wan’ is breathy and aspirated, inserted by the Maoris, whilst the ‘Pakeha’-dominated town - that’s outsiders or English to you and me - kept the old spelling), New Zealand’s longest, navigable river. The tree-lined river turned out to be fairly pretty when the sun peeked out for a couple of hours: smoke-gushing paddle boat meandered its way at impressive speed along it, a path cut through grassy park running alongside the water’s eastern edge, behind which a road granting access to residential neighbourhoods ran parallel for several miles, part of which included my amazing, show-stopping ‘hostel’ (if you could call it that). The ‘Anndion Lodge’ was a large house, fitted out with comfy, clean leaving room, kitchen (with not only the usual free coffee/tea, but free milk and biscuits too!), lounge with free pool table, a rear garden with swimming pool, spa and sauna, very tidy, hotel-like rooms (chocolates on pillows) and completely free wifi! At $35 it cost a fair bit more than I was used to paying, but throw in the free internet and you’ve got a bargain :) The owners were a super-friendly Kiwi and Maori couple, treating me more like a house guest than a paying customer, offering up maps and advice on my next destination. To top it all off, there was barely anyone staying in the hostel - nobody in my room, which meant I had all that comfort to myself! The locals say that not many people stop in this city, and it shows.
The only slight downer was the distance from town: a good 3km, but not a problem with my car. I spent the whole afternoon researching Fiji and Hawaii on the web and downloading my favourite podcasts and updates for my comp (so happy to get free, unlimited internet, I entirely forgot about the world outside!). Am very happy to say Fiji is completely sorted now - thankfully, stress levels were starting to peak - but Hawaii still needs doing, as I’m stuck between sticking to the fairly featureless but does boast Peral Harbour Oahu (which is where I land at Honolulu), or catching an internal flight to Maui (heavily recommended by everyone I speak to: sun, sea, sand, small volcanoes) or the Big Island (volcanos, some beaches). The latter two will probably have to include car hire too, so it could get fairly complicated, especially trying to fit it all into a week. Must decide today - have to sort this before I land in Fiji next Tuesday, as I’m almost 100% confident there’ll be no internet there.
I did make time for a gourmet pizza at Stellar in Wanganui - a bar whose name I think I may have seen before, but despite being a chain had talkative staff and served an excellent gourmet, mexican pizza (with my favourite sour cream topping, plus plenty of tasty jalapenos: happy to see my tongue can still take the spice!). Yesterday started off beautiful, the sun had his hat on and the blue skies were out. A perfect day to hit the aptly titled ‘Forgotten World Highway’ (SH43), something I had been saving up since finding out about it from an old English couple on the cruise in Milford Sound (my gratitude goes out to them!). It’s a road that has restored my faith in New Zealand’s north island and then some: taking me away from the busy streets, it twists and winds its way 150km through central, north island countryside, occasionally brushing past tiny villages, reducing to unsealed gravel for 12km, even dropping mobile coverage for the most part. It’s a perfect journey to take you outside of the grips of civilisation, you could say like going back to the south island.
It was the sun that made my mind up to do it: the end of my journey was National Park, only 80km or so north of Wanganui up SH4. I think that and the fact I was knackered - stayed up late exploiting my free internet the night before: surfing the web last night, finalising my Fiji details (sorted: yes!), speaking to Gran & Granddad over Skype then getting up early to do the same with my sister and Mum. The detour ahead of me stretched over three hundred kilometres, heading west, north, east, then back south again, in a completely round about way. Throwing on some shorts and a t-shirt, I fueled up at a petrol station, took some advice on a cafe from the workers there (yet more friendly Kiwis in the service industry) where I headed to grab an ultra-strong, ‘long, flat white’ (a ‘flat white’ is Oz/Kiwi speak for a standard coffee, you can work out the ‘long’ bit) and hit the road.
When I hit the start of the infamous highway I felt fully awake at least, but I was gutted to find dark clouds had gathered threateningly, and upon reaching the welcoming sign I was indeed ‘welcomed’ by a heavy, stormy downpour. The first part of the journey was filled with intermittent rain showers, some occasionally stopping me from stepping out the car to take photos of the fabulous views on offer, but not always. It certainly didn’t stop me from gaping at the awe-inspiring vistas: the perfect curves of bulbous hills, creating a rippling blanket of green countryside, impossibly green (truthfully, the grass here is so divinely green, it looks luminous at times, almost radioactive - it screams GREEN at you, as if some godly figure has played havoc with the turf’s colours: do not adjust your television set, it IS meant to look this way). Put this in contrast with the just as vibrantly coIourful trees (reds and yellows and golden-orange blends of in between) and you’ve got yourself a sight for sore eyes. I had a great time whizzing along listening to the sublime ‘Rock FM’, playing classics from the likes of Dylan, the Stones, Metallica, Guns ‘n Roses, for as long as the signal lasted (the first few hours). Rocking along, I passed through several aptly named ‘Saddles’, where deep valleys were met on either side by the tall slopes of hills. Heavy rain saturated the ground in parts - gentle streams in valleys turned to gushing torrents - whilst rounding a very sharp, U-shaped bend (as there were many: once again, perfect biking country) could lead to dazzling sunshine and blue skies, where the fields looked untouched. Continuing on the ‘Lord of the Rings’ country theme, this could easily have been the setting for ‘The Shire’ in ‘The Fellowship...’.
Half way along the highway, I met the hamlet of ‘Whangamomona’. This was another secret I was keeping until now, and in truth my real reason for heading out this way. In the late eighties, the local councils threatened the township with transferral from one region to another, a change which brushed its forty odd residents up the wrong way (it’s hinted that the last straw was telling them they’d have to play rugby for a rival district). In defiance, the citizens threatened to separate from both councils entirely - something which went from being I imagine an off the cuff remark to a reality when they declared themselves an independent republic. Now the small village - only fifteen people actually live in it - has its own ‘republic day’, which is celebrated on every second January (my guidebook tells me 8,000 people descend on the single pub in the village, it’s owners told me it was more like 15,000 people last year; in fact, just in the hour or so whilst I was there, they received two calls inquiring after it). Anyway, it all sounded absolutely fantastic and completely barmy, so I just had to drop in and see it.
The village was preceded by the Whangomomona Saddle: an incredible transformation in landscape that lead from quasi-English countryside to sub-tropical jungle. Mud and rock walls stood inches from the roadside, looking threateningly fragile, leading to both sheer drops and climbs on either side, the effect somewhat softened by a thick coating of dripping wet, lush forest: a diverse mix of palm trees, shrubs, tall grass and more familiar bush, compacted so tightly together the barely allowed for any light to filter in. A foggy mist sat in the gaps as well as hovering above the road, helping to enhance the mysterious, solitary feel. ‘Lost World’ indeed! I’ve been thinking more about that name, and it really does apply to the north island, where most roads and places are populated by cars, buildings and people. During my time in the north, I haven’t managed to find an landscape devoid of civilisation - a far cry from the south. However, this journey was THE exception: I only came across three vehicles going in the same direction as me for the whole 150KM/4-5 hour journey (that should give some indication of how tight the corners were). Going the other way was a tiny bit busier, the majority of which consisted of camouflaged, khaki-coloured trucks and motorbikes. I guessed this must have been the army - perhaps they were there to check that there wasn’t any trouble brewing on the borders of its neighbouring republic? :)
Whangomomona proudly sported a big, red sign welcoming travellers into it (on the reverse it informed passersby they were now re-entering New Zealand). The village sat in the lieu of some hills, five or six buildings strong, the biggest being the president’s house - a small, fairly rundown, white (hey, at least it was white!), wooden bungalow (sadly he wasn’t around to be seen, busy doing his other, day job) - and the other the infamous ‘Whangamomona Hotel’, the only pub for over a hundred kilometres. (There’s also supposed to be a border guard, in the form of an outside toilet or ‘dunny’, but I didn’t spot this unfortunately.) The pub was fantastic: I ordered myself the a pint of the ‘national ale’ (‘Republic Ale’: fabulous, it was the first beer - a dark bitter - I’d had in two months that dared not to have any fizz in it!) and topped it off with a ‘Whanga Burger’, an extremely greasy egg, bacon, beef burger and coleslaw concoction (though the owner insisted it was meant to contain lettuce instead, it was just that her husband was on a day-long expedition to restock on groceries). Perfect food for bikers, many of whom I was informed past through here (including something known as the ‘Tiger Rally’).
The owner and barmaid were so welcoming, they invited me to sit with them for lunch, while I fired away with my questions - something they are used to, no doubt. I even got chatting with the one other couple who popped into the place - also to investigate the novelty - other than that the pub, and village, were empty. It seems it’s not always that way though: their twenty three rooms in the hotel are normally always full, the village reaching incredible heights of popularity after their 1989 ‘separation’. It’s really a bit of a gimmick: their president used to be a goat, until it passed away at the grand old age of fourteen. For their ‘republic day’, live bands come and play, they skin possums and race sheep, amongst other hilarious activities, I’m assured. You need to purchase a ‘passport’ in order to attend the event; of course I had to have it - at $3 it was a no brainer, guaranteeing me entry for a bargain-tastic ten years! I did, however, pass on the t-shirt. It turns out the reason they don’t celebrate their independence every year is simply a matter of logistics. It takes a whole year to plan the thing! Surprisingly, there isn’t much competition to the pub; the president used to run a cafe outside of his house, but alas no longer.
Anyway, will have to finish this account later as I need to shoot. It’s raining this morning and chilly - the cold weather (end of an ‘Indian Summer’: turns out the balmier feel to the north island wasn’t just my imagine, my stay in Wanganui topping twenty three degrees, when it wasn’t raining) the radio has been forecasting has finally arrived, bringing with it wind and more wet. I really am glad to get out of this place - the owner is a grizzly, old, moaning bugger with a stupid ponytail: he just gave me a lecture about leaving lights on, but I didn’t even put them on in the first place (deep at work on my laptop, I don’t notice these things). Time to split. Am heading to Lake Taupo today, a place where I was considering doing a skydive, until I found out it costs $500. Of course, you can do it for half that, but then you don’t get any photographs (they chuck in a *ahem* ‘free’ DVD of your experience with the photos - how kind of them!). So now not sure about that. Still, any place is better than here :)
2.5.08
Don’t know why I’m so afraid of updating this damn blog: had a few days off to de-stress - it may just be the pressure of deciding upon and sorting out accommodation for not one but TWO countries in the next couple of weeks, I don’t know - and now the amount of things to report on has increased two to three fold. Doh.
Am in Taupo, having got away from the grumpy hippy and the dead village of National Park. The hostel is wonderful: a (Maori) family run place - the clues in the name: ‘Tiki Lodge’ - where they actually share the facilities with the guests (always a good sign), with big rooms and kitchen, and an enormous balcony overlooking the horizon spanning Lake Taupo (New Zealand’s largest lake, at 606 square kilometres, sitting in a still active, large volcanic crater - or ‘caldera’ - formed by one of the world’s largest eruptions, over twenty thousand years ago). Had some nice pleasant chats with the owners (including one frantic one this morning, where I couldn’t find my car keys - turns out they were in my shoe all along). Taupo is a large town - or city, if you go by Wanganui’s principles - that sits lakeside. Unfortunately it’s bustling with people - many if not more Kiwi tourists than foreigners - and is also a shining example of how much more commercial the north island is than the south: McDonald’s sits next to Burger King, which is next to KFC, which is beside Subway, all littering the waterfront. I guess that’s what comes with more people: more buying power. I’m still noticing how easy and comradely Kiwis are - at first I thought perhaps they were more so than those living in the south, but it’s dawned on me I’m noticing it more there’s more of them. Up here, New Zealanders outnumber the foreigners.
Taupo is also the sky-diving capital of the world, being one of the cheapest places to do it. Unfortunately, I’ve decided that, as good as sixty seconds of free fall offered by a drop of 15,000 feet sounds (you could say), $500 for it is still too much. It’s also completely overcast today so I wouldn’t see much doing it: a shame, as yesterday, after a grey start, the blue skies came through bringing with it some warm goodness, facilitating some great views of the lake and surrounding, bumpy, house and tree lined landscape. Sounds like I’m making nervous excuses doesn’t it? Maybe I am ;)
The latter part of my ‘Forgotten World’ journey was just as beautiful, if not more so, as the first. It certainly helped that the rain had stopped. The hills and valleys took on a completely new shape and look: instead of rolling slopes, the land became much more prominently staggered and ‘boxy’. So very different to anything I’m used to seeing, so hard to explain, but incredible in its alien-ness. The best way I can describe it is to imagine taking a slightly scuffed, aging snooker table cloth (felt like in texture, but thicken it up for the purpose of this example), blowing it up to landscape conquering proportions, then laying it over to entirely cover an enormous rubbish tip site. Envisage the sorts of weird shapes that would be formed by throwing such a large ‘carpet’ over a great assortment of random junk and that gets you half way to conceiving the amazing scenery that I drove through. Litter it with autumnal trees, wooden fences and the occasional wood house, and you’ve got it. Probably best you just look at the pictures :)
On the way to National Park, I passed a cafe, the ‘only cafe for one and a half hours’ as it merrily informed me. Also, I came across a river, alongside which a fence ran, upon which somebody had laid out to dry the tanning hides of what, judging by their sizes, must have belonged to cows. Creepy. I crossed through a narrow tunnel cut through a mountainside, so thin I futilely held my breath as I drove through, as well as yet more, even thicker, jungle, this time encompassing sheer rock walls, glistening in the wet, as well as a muddy, winding river. As I neared my journey’s end, I had to swap lanes to swerve out of the way where dodgy cliff walls had predictably crumbled and fallen into the road, as well as stop on one occasion where the road was swamped with sheep (I seemed to do a better job herding them out the way with my car than the farmer with his sheepdog did). I also passed some spookily crooked and leafless, grey trees, worthy of a Tim Burton film.
The end of the ‘Forgotten World Highway’ was signified by my arrival at ‘Taumarunui’: a town made pretty by the slender bowl of a picturesque, ripe green valley it sat in. Wish I’d stayed there rather than National Park! At least I got to NP late, meaning I didn’t have to suffer it much. It was raining by the time I arrived there and still raining when I got up in the morning. Heard on the radio that Wellington had suffered some flooding, especially the centre (where I’d stayed)! The weatherman was also predicting snowy showers for the south island too. I can’t get to Fiji soon enough :) Speaking of snow, I took a meandering road through the ‘Tongariro National Park’ to head to Lake Taupo - the park forms a significant part (the south-west) of what is known as the ‘Central Plateau’ of the north island - and headed just off it, along ‘Top of the Bruce Road’ (who is Bruce?) to the ski-village of Iwikau, at the foot of the 2800m, snow-capped ‘Mount Ruapehu’. The national park consisted of miles of grassy, undisturbed plains, punctuated by great forests, the occasional lake and some cloud scraping mountains (including - did I mention - Mount Doom!!!). As I drove up the steadily rising, newly surfaced road to Iwikau, I passed through lots of dry looking brown/yellow shrub and grass. I gathered the landscape must remain this way throughout the summer, its plant life never really prospering, thanks to heavy, lasting snowfall over the winter. The large number of neighbouring ski lodges and related buildings give clues to this (as they did whilst I passed through parts of Arthur’s Pass).
Nearing the top of the road, the distant landscape became quite clouded, but as I drew closer the view of the impending, tall Mt Ruapehu loomed ahead of me, glistening white on top (and quite a few hundred metres below too). It’s the highest and most active VOLCANO in the park: the area surrounding Iwikau was completely devoid of any plants or grass, thanks to hot mud and volcanic eruptions occurring over the last few decades (the last spectacular one was as recent as 1995!). What’s left is kilometres of nothing but volcanic rock: thousands of black and grey, sharp rocks and boulders litter a brown and yellow, ragged landscape (thanks to moss and dirt). It looks like being on the surface of Mars or perhaps the moon. It also looked eerily familiar: somehow, on reaching the village, I bumped into the Maori guy from the cafe the night before, who pointed out an optimum viewpoint - a five minute scramble up a mountain of rocks, just past a ski-lift, closed under testing - where I could really appreciate the area where they filmed Frodo and Sam’s walk up to Mount Doom!!! So that explained where I’d seen this area before, also where they filmed some of the fighting scenes in ‘Return of the King’. A nearby DoC store (Department of Conservation) provided me with a leaflet that had a small section on the area’s starring role. Plus, and really annoyingly, they told me that, despite the tour agencies calling it off today, I WOULD have been able to do the Tongariro Crossing that day - especially as it was now brightening up - but that now it was a bit late to contemplate doing it. Damn that miserable old fart at the hostel! I asked after whether I’d be able to get to the ‘Emerald Lakes’ - brilliantly coloured (aqua green) volcanic lakes they are the highlight of the trek - but was told that that was a six to seven hour return trip alone. So that was a no then :(
Still, one good thing was that the clouds were beginning to dissipate, so I was able to have a good gawp at Mount Doom on my drive back to the highway. The volcano was still fairly clouded at its table top summit, but it was still recognisable (and definitely the most volcano looking of the park’s selection). I stopped beside the Chateau Tongariro’s (as pretentious as it sounds) golf course to grab some decent photos. Then I was off to Lake Taupo, a drive that took me through the parkland, past one sign-posted Maori historic site - a stick encircled, grass clearing that led to a lake with some geese and couple of (fishing?) boats bobbing on it - then onto a viewpoint of Lake Taupo and its surrounding valley (one prominent bulge of a hill, countless green and brown pastures, clumps of trees, the first settlements for miles around and that enormous lake, world famous for its trout fishing, spanned the horizon: it was so clear I could see for miles. Driving along the lake’s edge - which may as well have been the sea, it being so vast - I headed to Taupo, leaving behind the magnificent mountainous, volcanic part of the central plateau for less remarkable wooded dales and plains.
Taupo sits at the mouth of the Waikato, New Zealand’s longest river. Having checked in my stuff at the hostel, I took a short driving excursion out to Huka Falls, where the wide and fairly shallow Waikato is slammed into a constricted, narrow, deep chasm, increasing the force of the river into a fast surging torrent of white-water as it crosses the ten metre falls. What’s special about this stretch of water is that it feeds a hydro electric dam that provides 65% of the power for the north island of New Zealand. Great to see how far ahead they are at using renewable energy. After seeing this, grabbed me a muffin and coffee from Taupo’s best cafe - the ‘Bodyfuel Cafe’ (was reminded of home when I sat next to an old, moaning couple: the guy seemed incapable of not cussing after every sentence, but he and his wife turned amusingly polite whenever a member of staff brought something over) - and headed back to the hostel, where I spent yet another afternoon browsing the web, this time sorting out the details of my Hawaiian trip (this needed doing too, as I’m under the impression I’ll be without my precious internet in Fiji, and perhaps even power to boot!). So pleased to have this off my chest, I headed into town to have a, what turned out to be fairly naff, pint of ‘Whaikato Bitter’ at a rowdy sports bar (for the first time the barmaid appeared disinterested in banter, which came as a shock!). Having had barely nothing to eat all day, I rewarded myself with a fairly tasty pizza from the amusedly named ‘Hell Pizza’, then hit the sack.
It’s rained a bit this morning and feels pretty cold - doesn’t help I’ve chosen to wear shorts! Sat in the living room in my hostel, checked out over a couple of hours ago (been writing this for over three!) and so really need to get a move on. Heading to Rotarua today - a Maori hotspot (think someone mentioned they considered it their capital), which is also home to some impressive geysers and smelly boiling mud pools (the stench of sulphur is all pervading, so Marie and family informed me back in Oz). Sounds like it’s going to be a blast. Time to go: I’ve done ENOUGH writing already! :) Photos will come later.
P.S. Have had to put up with some crappy drivers whilst staying in Taupo: on the way to the falls, I had to take a left off of a busy road followed by a quick right, and got pipped at for the pleasure of doing so by some obviously blind bint of a woman. Had a few drivers turn off in front of me not bothering to indicate too. More observations:-
‘Ratana’ is a national Maori religion - fused with Christianity, they both share Sunday as the Sabbath - and the Maori lady owner at the Taupo hostel informs me that Wanganui hosts their main church (if only I’d known!).
The flies here are REALLY annoying (think I’ve mentioned that one before). How is it they know to get indoors when the cold weather starts? Apparently they all gang up inside for the duration of winter, just starting to die off when it gets seriously cold, before hitting the outdoors again as spring picks up. Seems to me they have disconcertingly clever insects in this country.
New Zealand has some world famous wood, sourced from trees known as ‘kauri’. Having vast, incredibly firm, straight trunks and reaching sky-rocketing heights, these were much sought after during the early colonial days (both for export and for settlement). Most of the older houses in New Zealand are built from it. Now these trees are protected, being few and far between. Speaking of trees, I passed my first stretch of harvested timber coming into Taupo yesterday: several square miles of deforested land, piles of wood laid out crudely, looking like a large, wood landfill site. I think I could make out the trees surrounding the manmade clearing quivering.
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