Hakuna Matata

Hightailing it out of Piha (checking Alan wasn’t behind us on his bike) we made our way down South, back through Auckland, and all the way to geothermal Rotorua.

You could hardly fail to notice arriving in Rotorua, what with the heavy stench of sulphur taking you back to your high school chemistry days and the steaming cracks in the ground. The place is bizarre!

After our extravagant overnight stay in the Piha Holiday Park it was time to get back to basics, tighten the purse strings and find a Department of Conservation camp-site to rest for the night before exploring the boiling pools, exploding geysers and bubbling mud baths the next day. 

…………………easier said than done…………………

We were given a map by a deceivingly nice lady in the Tourist Information Centre who crossed the map to show us the whereabouts of each DOC site and sent us on our merry way. Little did we know this woman actually harboured a secret hatred for the English and sent us on a wild goose chase to our untimely demise. Either that, or she had a very sick sense of humour. Her map sucked!

We set off from the information office at 4pm and expected to arrive at our destination around 30 minutes later. We followed the map absolutely, no wrong turns, no mistakes, just like it said State Highway 5 to Highway 30, third left, then carry on straight until you hit the lake and inevitably reach the site. Easy. No problem. Only this road seemed longer than we thought. Much, much longer.

We weren’t surprised when we hit a gravel track, in fact we saw this as a good sign. Most DOC camp-sites seem accessible by similar trails. We were nearly there… surely.

“Jeez this road is longer than I thought”

Chad studies map and replies “I’m pretty sure there’s only supposed to be a forest on one side of us”

“but we took all the right turns… right?”

“yeah, yeah we’ll probably arrive soon”

Only we didn’t. Not that hour. It was now after 5, there was no one around, not a building in sight, we were still on the same gravel track and we were now running low on fuel. Excellent.

“Should we go back? We should make it back – the fuel light has only just come on”

“But there was no fuel station back there”

“But there were people at least”

According to Chad’s watch/compass/everything but a time machine, we were travelling North and according to the coordinates it gave us and our map if we continued North we’d hit civilisation soon and all would be well. Except the watch/compass/definitely not the delorean was wrong and it wasn’t.

We kept going and going, slowly tumbling along the single lane dusty track for mile after mile after f’in mile.

Another hour passed, the landscape hadn’t changed, the petrol light was flashing, we’d seen no one.

Me: “Do we have water?”

Chad: “A Bit”

Me: “At least we have our bed and food, we can try and find a place to pull in and make a help sign out of our cereal box like the Germans”

Chad: “Hmm logging trucks will pass tomorrow at least”

Me: “What day is it?”

Chad: “Shit. Tomorrow’s Saturday”

Me: “Maybe loggers work Saturdays?”

Another hour passed without a change of scene. We were quiet and tense and kinda pissed off by now.

Chad: “If we have to sleep down here I’ll run for help in the morning” but even the prospect of physical torture wasn’t cheering him up.

6.30pm and Peggie started to chug and we were becoming delirious.

“We could hunt possums to stay alive.”

“And burn all our clothes to keep warm.”

“Really?! We’re surrounded by wood.”

“Yes but we don’t have an axe.”

“Ah. Good point.”

7pm. “Is that a mirage or is that a car?! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLP!!!!”

They drove on.

7.05pm and there were more cars (Alan – We believe you!)

7.10pm and we hit a tarmac road (Hallelujah!)

7.15pm and we reached a fuel station and were (ahem) out of the woods (I’m here all night people!)

So now there was just the small matter of finding out where we actually were.

Fuel attendant: “Where are you? Well you’re in Awakeri…” “…How far from Rotorua? Oh I dunno, I’d say about 80kms North of Rotorua guys”

We’d started about 35kms South of Rotorua…

So instead of our lakeside destination close to the places we wanted to see the next day, we ended up by the sea, cleverly parked between a Tsunami warning sign and a train track, on what turned into a wild and stormy, wave crashing, thunder breaking, pretty scary night in a small town called Matata. 

Despite the hazardous sleeping situation, we lived to tell the tale and Rotorua was well worth it...

Alan

A few days later and we’d looped the Northland and were close to Auckland again camping by a rugged, iron-sand beach in a small town called Piha. The beach here is so wild and dangerous it apparently has its own TV show (Piha Rescue if you’re interested).

Piha

The night was cold and hold onto your hats windy. It was hard to cook outside, especially in the torrential rain that plagued us that night, and besides, by this point we were both in need of a shower (it’d been a while) and so we decided to check into a holiday park for a bit of luxury.

We set to work in the communal kitchen making our packet pasta and sauce (a step up from super noodles at least) and were shortly joined by Alan. 

Remember I mentioned in my first post that we have a tendency to attract and befriend crazy characters? Well, keep that in mind for a moment…

I’d guessed Alan was around 60 years old, he was also from England, Cambridge to be exact, where he’d lived with his wife and kids. They’d moved to New Zealand together around 25 years ago. His wife was nowhere to be seen now however. He was living alone on the campsite in his 4x4 and tent and had been for the past three months. He was dishevelled and unkempt, with erratic grey hair, holes in his clothes and gaps in his teeth. Still, he seemed nice enough and chatted to us helpfully recommending places to go and things to see and do around the country. He told us he travelled for his weekly shop by bicycle, 70 kilometres he’d go, and carry his bags back with him. He’d recently been on a three day tramp (kiwi word for hike) wearing only sandals and had struggled alone along cliff edges and precarious winding tracks. He’d a new lease of life in his old age and he’d never felt fitter he said. 

He told us he dreamed of a self-sufficient lifestyle growing his own crops and keeping animals for dairy and meat. He’d seen a wood burning water heater for sale and was saving up for one as we spoke. He wanted solar panels and a wind turbine for electric. 

The thing was, Alan no longer had work and he needed one last surge of cash to get him started. He’d been paid out some redundancy money a couple of years earlier which he’d hoped would last three years until he could start to claim his pension, but now he was only two years in and he was starting to struggle and he barely had any expenses. There was no mortgage on the house he owned jointly with his wife but there was no hope of him moving home, his wife didn’t want him back. 

Perhaps what happened next was my own fault for being so damn nosy but I couldn’t resist asking why they’d separated. The reply was unexpected and left Chad and I almost choking on our pasta and fumbling for a response. Fortunately (or not, depending on how you look at things) I’d unleashed a kind of torrent from poor old Alan and we couldn’t have got a word in edgeways had we managed to find an appropriate response. 

It went a little something like this: 

“She couldn’t handle my visions. I’ve had experiences that frightened her. Things have happened to me which can only be explained by divine intervention. God kept me alive and I had no choice but to follow his direction and plan for my life. My purpose on God’s Earth is to preach. I started in Cambridge with a sandwich board and my wife said after that first time spreading God’s word on the street, she knew I would never stop. And how could I? I think our move to New Zealand was due to her embarrassment around her friends and family. She was ashamed of me, but what could I do? Ignore God’s will? The God who saved my life? The God who let me live? God has been good to me and I owe him a huge debt. Preaching is my life now. I’m resigned to God’s plan for me”. 

Uh-oh, he’d dropped the weird bomb, but I’m all for religion and individuality and believing whatever the hell you choose. I’m always interested, respectful and curious when it comes to folks’ beliefs and this time I wanted to ask more questions. What were his visions? How did he nearly die? What did it say on his sandwich board? I was intrigued but I could see Chad shifting uncomfortably, inching slightly away and bringing the conversation to a close, probably for our own safety.

“Alright then Alan,” he said “we better wash up – night!”

The Etiquette of Hitch Hiking

On days four and five we continued along on our way further North, still along the East Coast. We saw some amazing places, the scenery so diverse. New Zealand really has it all – stunning beaches, picture perfect countryside and now we were seeing tropical native rainforest.

Peggie in the forest

We stayed the night in the Puketi Forest, amidst the huge bulk of Kauri trees, before setting off to Cape Reinga, the very tip of the North Island where the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean collide and according to Maori beliefs, where souls leap from cliffs as they depart on their journey to their spiritual homeland. 

We weren’t even an hour into the journey before we spotted three angelic, blond haired, blue eyed children (when I say children, I mean teenagers) by the road trying to hitch a ride our way. Their eyes were wide with hope, their thumbs up in a row, their scratty sign made on the inside of a ripped cereal box. They were so young, innocent and vulnerable looking we could hardly pass by and leave them to their inevitable abduction and possibly (more likely) death. So we stopped. I’m not sure what we were planning to do. I think I was probably going to say “Sorry guys, there’s only a bed in the back – no room or seatbelts, but for God’s sake be careful!” but they yelped in joy like little puppies and apparently didn’t mind laying on our bed for a few hours and so we let them in.  What else were we supposed to do? It was either no seatbelts or a deranged murderer for these kids. 

Now I’m no expert when it comes to hitch-hiking custom, having only ever done it once (sorry dad) but I presume you should at least introduce yourself and attempt some small talk, have a bit of a chat, you know? These guys had nothing. I managed to establish there were two girls and one boy but that was more to do with my own power of observation than their communication skills. However, after a while, we managed to draw blood from the stones and discovered they were German students, travelling for a while before going back to college and… well, that was about that. 

Needless to say the journey was a long one. Three hours of awkward silence (Peggie has no stereo by the way – another of her “quirks”) and inner turmoil as I imagined just how much the parents of these children would hate me if there were to be an accident and they were informed I’d let their pride and joy into our van without providing them with a seatbelt. I was very aware of the fact their young lives were in my hands. But wait, said my over-active imagination, what if you have this wrong? What if, in fact, your lives are in their hands? Were these kids so quiet and socially inept because actually they were mentally disturbed? Was the plan for one of them to sneak up behind me and hold a blade to my throat in order to hijack the vehicle, steal our things and leave us for dead? You know how they always use pretty teenagers in horror movies – I’ve seen Scream!

Three.Whole.Hours of this mental torture passed by painfully and slowly. The road was endless. 

It was a relief when we eventually arrived at Cape Reinga and slid open Peggie’s doors to release the little lambs. Off they went, without a backward glance, trotting off toward the sea all giggles and arm-linking. 

A thanks would have been nice and maybe an offer of a bit of cash toward petrol – but what do I know about the etiquette of hitch hiking?

 Recovered from the trauma in Cape Reinga

 

Vegetarianism

We left Puhoi in a van that worked for a change and continued alone the East coast, heading North. Our first campsite was found in Mahurangi Regional Park and man, was it surreal. We drove through miles and miles of the most lucious countryside dotted with ramshackle, old farm buildings, passed those countless, rolling green hills I mentioned earlier and navigated Peggie down steep, winding gravel tracks until we eventually arrived at…the beach. The most secluded, calm and peaceful beach I’d seen, right about the time the sun was starting to set. It was at that moment I realised this country is just awesome and with alarm, realised I would probably start to worry about having to leave already.

Said beach

We parked on a lonely patch of grass by the sand and were promptly surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of ducks and their never ending supply of babies. They literally would not leave us alone. When we woke up the next morning, they were still there, surrounding Peggie in silent vigil. I swear these ducks were like dogs and as soon as they sensed we were awake they practically wagged their tails and as soon as we left the safety of our van, sniffed at our crotches. The babies ran circles around our feet and climbed up on our shoes as though they could not get close enough or were trying to hitch a ride. It was then Chad said words that would change our lives forever (or so we thought – and it’s the thought that counts, right?) “I’ll never eat duck again”. 

Said ducks

This simple statement led promptly to serious moral discussions regarding vegetarianism. I couldn’t be sure why I deemed the life of a cow or a lamb of less importance than a bear or a dolphin. I would never eat a bear or a dolphin!

Chad’s decision not to eat meat was less of a moral one and more a question of good health. He’d been reading advice from serious ultra runners who’d all given up meat.

We each agreed that humans had evolved enough to feed ourselves meat alternatives, agreed to give it a go, fed the ducks one last time and went away enlightened. 

Unfortunately, we still had some sausages left over, festering in the van. Ah, I hear you say, quandary. Well yes it was, but we decided not to let the poor pig’s life go to waste and cooked up one final farewell meaty butty before stocking up with tin upon tin of vegetable soup and beans (we are very imaginative people). 

The last supper

That day we congratulated ourselves on our new moral high ground. Everything seemed to be telling us we had made a great decision. As we drove along country roads sheep and their lambs turned their heads to watch us pass. We won’t be eating you guys! A trailer filled with cows clearly destined for the abattoir blocked our way along the road. Nothing to do with us! No more animal related guilt over here!

This lasted for about three days. Never underestimate the power of meat cravings – vegetarians I salute you!

First, I started to imagine life back at home in the UK as a veggie. What would I choose off the menu at the Thornton Lodge? I love their gammon! What do you do as a vegetarian at the carvery? Just eat veg? That’s balmy! What would I choose for a chippy tea? Could I resist my beloved puddings? Ultimately, ashamedly, the answer was no.

But we plodded on, not so merrily eating beans and bland soup, probably because neither of us wanted to admit to the other we were giving in. 

A few days passed before we discovered the sneaky stray pack of beef supernoodles hidden in the depths of our food box at a time we were both hungry. I suppose we could have cooked them without the no doubt nutritious flavoured powder just to be safe, but the prospect and the deliberation made us weak and/or honest and the fact we like meat, and as humans are meant to eat meat, and all of the other reasoning we’d resisted and argued against only a few days earlier came crashing down around us and spewing out of our mouths. We couldn’t get our words out fast enough.

In the end, we ate the noodles and that was the end of that – BACON BARMS ALL ROUND! YEY! 

I know, I know. Vegetarians – I deserve your abuse.