Thumb twiddling and google mapping

A quiet one this week, so this is mostly random ramblings.
After jamming in a few road trips, I've had a long week of chilling out, nipping into Wellington for no real reason, hitting a few coffee shops, and trying a few local eateries.
One evening after a couple of beers in Wellington I convinced Marc that a New Zealand kebab needed to be tried. On Courtney Place he introduced me to a small Turkish restaurant, where I had a different interpretation of a kebab than I'm used to.
In the UK, a kebab (doner) is long strips of mystery meat, slapped inside of pitta bread and generously covered with salad, green chillies and a large squirt of chili sauce.
The purpose of all the salad, if you've been drinking, is to give you something to complain about as you rummage for the enclosed meat.
I can't say whether this was how all Kiwi kebabs are prepared, but I'm pretty sure I was given a doner burrito. The meat was as unrecognisable as it should be, although shredded, there was salad and chili sauce. What threw me was that it was all wrapped and rolled in a flour tortilla.
It was like a parallel universe kebab. Spooky!
Although that could describe many things I've found over here, the bit about a parallel universe, not the kebab part. There is so much that is familiar, and so many little things that are different enough to throw you a curve ball. Then there are the things that have knocked me right out of the playing field such as the sudden scenery changes, landscapes that have loomed in the distance only to suddenly envelope you, and the occasional earth tremor 'wobble' as I'm sat.
All in all, I like this place, it's still exciting!

So, relaxing, mooching about the area, cooking slap up meals at the house with Marc, and generally being a man of leisure has been a good change this week. It's also given me time to sit and start planning(ish) the south island trip.
It needs some sort of planning, or even a tiny bit of thinking about, as it'll probably take a good two or three weeks to see it properly, and I don't see any need to rush it.
As my mate Marc has finished his current contract, he's keen to hit the south with me. At the moment we're looking into balancing the costs of taking the Kiri, and shelling out for hotels, motels and/or campsites, against the cost of renting a big ol' RV (camper van).
It'll all come down to how the funds are best spent, so parachute jumps and bungee is probably going to take a back seat. If I want to be scared I'll go back and have another of those kebabs.
Although we're leaning towards the RV, as it should be more of a laugh, and give us the freedom to pretty much park up and stay wherever we feel like. We'll have to see how it all pans out.
As I was working out a south island route that would take in all that I wanted to see, and all the Marc wants to see, I played around and tapped in the routes travelled around the north island so far on Google Maps. I'm surprised that I've covered over 2,500kms since getting down to Welly. A few have been travelled more than once, and a couple of places, although passed, have not been properly visited.... Yet.

(Routes so far....'ish')

Surprised that It's only 2,500kms? Just because it feels like we've covered more than that, but then we've stopped off at a lot of places, and experienced some wondrous things, taken our time, and also some of the roads have been far removed from being describable as 'fast flowing'. As I've mentioned before, outside of Auckland you're on the UK equivalent of A roads, at best.
There's still a lot to see up in the north too. We didn't make Cape Reinga at the northern tip of NZ last time, as we got distracted by a whim, there's hot water beach to see, the bay of islands, the list is long. Changes to plan will keep happening, and the bits I've missed will happen in good time. As so much more will.
All in all, so far, so groovy.
Happy? Yes.
Relaxed? Yes.
Still a few worries hanging over from the 'real world'? Of course, but they're fading.
I'm sure there will be a few small jaunts before we head south, but no rush, no worries.

Stay happy all, and love your adventurous hearts, even if they do take a week off!

Glow-worms and we're on a road to somewhere...

11/09/12

I was ready to hit the road early, partly from an eagerness to press on, but mostly due to not getting much sleep in the car. No matter how much I adjusted the seat up, down, back or forwards I couldn’t find a position that was comfortable. Oh well, these things happen, and next time it’s either earplugs AND ear defenders, or knock out drugs from a pharmacy.

I quietly went back into the shed where Marc was sleeping, and trying not to wake him I rattled the key in the door, violently rattled the door handle and coughed loudly as I walked in. Oops, I seemed to have woken him!

We loaded up on coffee, loaded the car with our crap and hit the road again as the first light was seeping into the sky.

From Waihi Beach we headed towards Paeroa, we had planned (Ha!) to head up to the Coromandel Peninsula today, and then on to, and past Auckland. As usual we changed our minds. I decided that a trip to the Waitomo Caves was in order, and this would mean heading southwest instead of north. Not a problem, as there’s time to head north another day, and it leaves a good chunk of the country to see after the soon to happen south island trip. At least as I've found so far, whatever we were going we were sure of great scenery on the way.

(Through the hills...)

(...and across the plains. Fa La La La Laaaa!)

Skirting past Hamilton we stopped for a coffee at Churchills, a terrific little café in a converted chapel just outside of Te Awamutu and had a good chat with the staff over where we had come from, where we were heading and how I was finding NZ. One of the ladies suggested that after the caves at Waitomo, if we had time we should carry on west to see the Natural Bridge and Marokopa Falls. She enthusiastically told us that they were worth seeing, and not so many people visited them as they were on a road to the middle of nowhere.

Back in the Kiri, driving through yet more wonderful scenery and the occasional cloudburst we started chatting and laughing about the road trips we took when we were younger. Jumping in the car on a whim to head to Scotland, to France, to wherever took our fancy, just because. It was a wonderful feeling to think that nearly twenty years later, here we were again. No big plans or schedules, just a few ideas of things to see and places to go, and the carefree knowledge that we could make it up as we went along. While so much has changed over the intervening years, it’s warming to think that some things will always stay the same.

(Then... circa '92 ish)

(and Now)

Waitomo Caves is quite the tourist destination, and a small village has built up around the caves, catering for backpackers, adventure seekers, coach parties of kids and day visitors. The Cave Centre itself is a striking wooden structure of crossed beams supporting a transparent roof over the visitor centre, café and obligatory gift shop.

But the caves themselves were the star of the show. Unfortunately photography was not allowed inside the caves. I’m not entirely convinced that this wasn’t to boost the trade of the postcards in the gift shop or the staff photographers that got you to pose in front of green screens so you could buy pictures of yourself in the caves, but some of the sights are seared into my memory, and I doubt whether any photos that I took would have done justice.

Tight walkways you had to bend double to tuck under led to large open chambers where stalactites and stalagmites grew and clung around you. The largest of the chambers is known as the Cathedral and has hosted concerts from Dame Kiri Te Kanawa to the local schools Christmas concerts, due to its impressive size and perfect acoustics.

Our tour guide explained the history of the caves and the geology of the area, but saved the best for last. A boat trip on the underground river in pitch-blackness.

Pitch black apart from the incredible ethereal glow of thousands of glow worms nesting in amongst the rocks and stalactites of the rivers ceiling.

A wonderfully serene sight as the black over our heads was covered with constellations of glowing stars. It was like looking at the clearest night sky you’ve ever seen, all tinged with a gentle blue/green glow. Hard to picture in the dark that this was from thousands of bugs, using their light to lure prey (or each other) into their grasp to feed on. Bugs that exist simply to grow, feed, reproduce and then die within the space of a few months, to have their offspring repeat the process on and on.

Still, oblivious to us observing, they do put on one hell of a show.
I've adapted a 'stock photo' for illustration purposes, using my amazing photoshop skills:

(What? Seriously, it's 6pm here and I've got food, whisky and a cigar waiting for me. Like I'm gonna waste any time! Use your imagination dammit!)

From the glow-worm cave we made the short drive to Aranui Cave, where photography is allowed, although judging by some of my results…

We were two thirds of the group waiting to see the caves when our guide arrived, and the three of us followed him into the cave mouth,

where Marc spent most of the tour discussing and arguing conspiracy theories with the tour guide. I’ve no idea how much Marc was making up as he went along just to have fun with the guide, but he managed to get him excited by strange new ideas and propositions that he put forward.

Needless to say I stopped listening to them, fortunately for me there was one other person on our tour, a cheery German girl, Mona, who was on a road trip of her own between Au Pair jobs.

We talked and exchanged raised eyebrows with each other each time Marc and the guide went off on another tangent and had fun exploring the caves.

The guide did actually give us a good guide of the caves and local fauna, and with Marc distracting him with another theory every few minutes, I had time to mooch around unhindered. For me, the caves themselves were more spectacular than the main ones at Waitomo, as they were less set out for the mass of tourists expected there, and you felt more like you were exploring rather than just viewing. They were dry caves, and had no river, so alas no glow worms, but they felt less sanitised, if that’s possible for a millennia old natural structure?

We left the caves, gave Mona a lift back to her car at the main caves, exchanged emails as she will be working in Porirua where I’m based at Marc’s at the moment, and headed back onto the road.

Deciding to go with the lady at the coffee shops advice we carried on west deeper into the countryside to find the natural bridge.

After a few kilometres we came upon a small lay-by with a sign for the bridge pointing into the woods. There were no other cars there; in fat we had passed only one car since leaving the caves. I can’t say what this route is like in summer, but out of season it felt like the road less travelled.

Walking through the woods we started to follow the wooden path fixed to the wall of an overgrown gorge over a large stream. As we crossed a wood and rope bridge to the other side of the gorge it felt like I was in an Indiana Jones set. Not the Crystal Skull, as this was tactile and not a load of CGI’d rubbish, but the first movies. The movies of gorges, bridges, vines and creepers. It was beautiful, and I kept wishing I had a bullwhip and fedora.

The beauty of the gorge changed to awe as we rounded a corner to see the bridge itself. On the walk down, I’d joked to Marc that it was probably just a tree fallen across the gorge and overgrown, which was why nobody else was here.

Wrong, very wrong.

The Natural Bridge is actually two magnificent limestone arches that span the gorge. Where the once underground stream has slowly over thousands of years eroded the rock to create the gorge, it had left these wonderful bridges, bursting with foliage they looked like something from a lost world. Apart from the well constructed walkway and steps that is.

(Wishing I was wearing a Fedora and a satchel 'Not a man bag!!')

From the Natural Bridge it was only a short drive to Marokopa Falls, where again we were the only signs of life. On the walk down to the falls through more woods we discussed how they would have to try pretty hard to beat the Natural Bridge for a spectacle, and how they must be close as we could hear the water crashing down. We kept walking and the volume of the water kept gradually increasing yet it still took ten minutes to get to the last part of the walk, and the sound was a roar. As we stepped down through the last of the woods we were struck full on with the majesty and power of the falls.

Although they can’t compete with places like Niagara Falls for sheer scale, the fact these falls were tucked away in a largely unspoilt and remote gorge, surrounded by forest, palms and Punga moved me more than when I’d first seen Niagara.

(LookLookLookLook!)

A fair amount of time was spent just watching the falls in awe struck silence.

The Natural Bridge and the Falls may be a little off the tourist trail, but if you’re ever at the Waitomo caves, I would urge you to see them. As wondrous as the caves are, and well worth a visit, these two gems blow them away.

After this whatever the country could throw at us for the rest of the day was going to be an anticlimax, or so I thought.

We decided to keep on going westerly, although the road on the map seemed to possibly become an unsealed surface at some points, the route via Moeatoa and Waikawau looked interesting, and was headed in the right direction.

Anticlimax? Ha! The road wound through a myriad of stunning landscapes from the flat of the valley floors, the twisting climbs on thin roads, along kilometre after kilometre of unsealed gravel roads following streams thorough farming land wedged between towering craggy hills. The drive was fantastic. In places the road had subsided on one edge where a stream had washed away the under soil, in others a slide or small rock fall had blocked half of the road, and in some places we were held up by cows, turkeys and quite regularly, goats wandering in the road.

For kilometre after kilometre the road and we crawled through the most amazing scenery. On the switchback mountain sections tarmac had been laid, once upon a time, and on the flat on the unsealed sections we listened to the stones pinging and clanking off the underside of the car, and tried to remember if we had a spare tyre or not. I said to Marc that there was nothing to worry about, as if we got a couple of flats we would just flag down a passing vehicle and all would be good. Marc pointed out to me that in the last hour and a half of driving from the Falls we’d passed precisely no vehicles. In the last forty minutes of driving on these unsealed roads we’d passed a further NO vehicles. Oh well, we figured we were over half way by then, and it would be silly to turn back.

(There are no pictures of the wilder parts of the drive, as Marc was 'wow-ing' all the time, and I was either 'wow-ing' along or trying not to drive off the edge of a gorge)

After two hours, and increasing our total of vehicles we’d passed to a mammoth none at all, we had completed the mere sixty odd kilometres of the road from Kiritehere to the main road in nearly two hours, but what a road. Would we drive it again? Hell yes we would! I want to get a motorbike and a tent and explore more of that area.

Once back on the main road (smooth tarmac, wide lanes, no cows or goats!) we aimed for New Plymouth to see Mt Egmont/Taranaki before nightfall. Alas this was not to be, as we got closer I got more tired, not surprising after a lack of sleep the night before, and concentrating on the roads for the day, and handed the helm over to Marc, just as the heavens opened.

The drive to New Plymouth was slow going, with trucks covering the road in a thick spray and oncoming drivers inability to drop their full beams when passing other traffic, mixed with the driving rain and darkness falling rapidly. It should have been horrible, but the wind was spectacularly whipping up the sea to our right and in one brief instance the setting sun broke through the clouds just as it was sinking behind the horizon. Mother nature had found another beautiful way to sign off the end to the daylight, on what had been an incredible unforgettable day.

We hit New Plymouth in the dark, and stopped at a burger bar for a bite. I know I go on about the great locally produced food in New Zealand, and so far it has been superb (bar the welcome but iffy chicken and chips on the desert road). Normally i've managed to avoid the burger chains, but this is one time that a McBurger and fries tasted absolutely spot on. I guess we were hungrier than we had thought, but then apart from a half sandwich each at Waitomo we’d not eaten at all today. Must make a note of that, no matter how much fun the roads are, or how addictive the scenery…. Eat! Otherwise I’ll end up enjoying another McMeat in a bun!!

Christ it was good though!

Rather than hunt for or spend money on a motel, hotel or guesthouse we decided that as we were at New Plymouth we may as well head on back to Porirua. After all, it was too dark to see anything epic

(Mt Egmont/Taranaki at night.... probably!)

and Mt Egmont/Taranaki isn’t going anywhere, and I want to come back up to do the Forgotten World Highway soon anyway, and Stratford by Mt Egmont is its starting point.

It should only take four or so hours to get home, and we’d easily be back by one in the morning at the latest (earliest?).

So, fuelled by energy drinks, empty roads, ridiculous conversations and Faith No More cranked up loud we pulled into Marc’s driveway just before midnight, and I slept in my own room, in my own bed, with no need for earplugs. Bliss!

Waking around the crack of lunch the following day, to lazily start sorting the pictures and words of this little jaunt, and for us to start thinking about where we want to go next.

Mud glorious mud!

10/09/12

Rotorua to Waihi Beach

In the morning we breakfasted at Fat Dog.

The food had been so good the previous evening it was a no brainer. Breakfast didn’t disappoint either. Eggs Benedict with Bacon, and a portion big enough to feed a family.

Stomachs full and coffee quaffed it was back on the road.

The feeling of complete relaxation from the Spa the night before hadn’t worn off yet, and we decided to take a very leisurely drive, and stop off at a couple of places on route. The first of which was to be Hells Gate.

Hells Gate is an area of high volcanic thermal activity. Bubbling mud pools, boiling lakes, and as with most of the Rotorua area, a constant strong smell of sulphur in the air.

This was no more evident than when we arrived and crossed the small bridge over a steaming stream, to be hit in the face with choking cloud of eggy sulphurness.

Paying our admission, and a little extra for a mud bath & hot pool session, we were given a map of the park and headed off into the smelly clouds.

Walking from the visitor centre into the park is like walking into another world, a world that set designers from early Star Trek episodes would have wet their pants over.

As the path wound around the park we were confronted with bubbling, plopping mud pools and boiling, spitting pools of water. Some of the lakes further on the path were reported to be between 130 and 140 degrees C, the cooler pools were a much more comfortable 90 to 110 degrees. There were signs warning you not to leave the pathway, although even this in places was pretty hot to the touch, and had been marked to show which bits of the path to step over. Yes, I did touch one of these spots, and yes it did burn. Learn? Me? No.

(Very poor Captain Kirk pose)

Any of these pools could have boiled an egg in a matter of seconds, in fact one of the pools used to be used for that purpose. Just not eggs, well maybe eggs, but primarily for boiling whole pigs. A complete adult pig could be cooked within a couple of hours, and often was. Apparently the sulphur doesn’t taint the meat, but with the whole area smelling so strongly, I’m not sure you’d notice either way. You definitely wouldn’t with eggs.

The park is bordered by deep green woods, which end abruptly where they come into contact with the superheated soil and rock. There were small patches of scrub on some points, but even these were surrounded with burnt wood that had been cooked on the surface.

(What. Planet. Is. This?)

Between the two main areas of the park is a walk through these woods, alongside a hot waterfall that connects the upper and lower park. It winds through trees that have been dusted orange with the sulphur carried by the breeze, giving them a look of rust on the windward side of the trunks.

Near the back of the park, a cold water stream ran from the surrounding woods, through the scorched earth to one of the hot lakes. Where the water had cooled the ground on its way through allowing a blast of colour to tear through the grey yellow scene.

After walking the park we were given the chance to try our hand at wood carving, instructed by a craftsman who had the demeanor of man who had trained and studied for many years to perfect the nuances of shaping intricacies into his chosen medium, only to have to spend much of the day complementing tourists on their ‘good efforts’. Mine was no exception, and as he probably does every day he said he’d tidy up a couple of bits for me. Consequently re doing most of what I’d butchered. The finished article did resemble a Kiwi, rather than the tennis racquet with one leg that I’d created. We thanked him for his time, and he in turn thanked us. I think this was more thanks that he could get back to the delicate mask he was working on between tourists messing with his mojo.

We had a quick cuppa and headed in for our mud baths. We were told that unfortunately they were doing some work on the main mud baths, but that they would put us in the private pools at no extra cost. This was very generous of them, and I’m sure had nothing to do with keeping us away from the other customers after Marc making one of the staff jump, and my amazing dinosaur impressions.

This was probably for the best, as once the attendant had explained not to get the mud in our eyes, avoid getting it on our foreheads or in our hair, and left us in the pool, we were head to toe in mud and doing dinosaur impressions within seconds. Laughing like a couple of five year olds given a muddy puddle to play with.

(Mudzilla & Finchysaurus Wreck)

(Work that camera!)

Our attendant did seem to take all this in good humour, and even took a couple of pictures for us.

An ice cold shower cleaned the mud and took my ability to breath away, before we were allowed to relax in the hot pool. The water soaked away the remains of our immaturity, until we started dunking our drinking cups under the water to simulate fart bubbles rising. It’s pathetic to some, but to us, right then…. I don’t think I’ve laughed hard enough to nearly cry like that for a long time.

Juvenile? Yes.

Highly amusing to us? Hell yes!

From soaking in the hot pool under a canopy of stars the previous night, to this pool in the light rain, I could see why some people swear by the relaxing and therapeutic properties of them.

The only issue was that we were both so relaxed now, that we couldn’t be arsed with pressing on too far this afternoon.

Instead we headed coastward.

Following the highway north to Paengaroa and through Te Puke, where I made all the obvious jokes, to Tauranga and Mt Maunganui looming above it's namesake town.

Marc explained how the last time he was there, Mt Maunganui was a small town. Now it’s all beachfront properties, suburban homes and has become an extension of Tauranga itself. Building rapidly over the last eight to ten years.

The area around Mt Maunganui and the harbour below was full of elegant modern houses and apartments, stylish hotels and bars, giving an air of vibrancy and prosperity, but he beachfront and Mt Maunganui itself were still its crowning glories,

and with the stylishness of the town behind them, I could see why people would want to live here.

Driving through Tauranga and its dockyards and industrial areas we were soon back in the countryside

and heading for Waihi Beach, a small holiday town on a beautiful quiet long beach.

Stopping for a coffee and food at the Long Black, a cool little café near the beach, we were recommended a camping site about a mile up the road.

The Top Ten campsites are dotted all over New Zealand, and are reminiscent of the holiday camps of my youth, with pools, games rooms, chalets and camping grounds. We enquired about the cost of a pitch, and the cost of a chalet, and as there was only $15 difference, we opted for laziness and not having to mess around with a tent, and checked into a two-bed shed.

The beach itself was nigh on empty and we sat and talked, watched the sea gently ripple onto the shore, and drank from a hip flask brimming with Whisky.

As night fell we wandered back to our shed. As I was writing up some of my journal, I’d forgotten about the race to sleep, and lost.

This shouldn’t be a problem now, as while in Tauranga, I had popped into a pharmacy and purchased a couple of boxes of earplugs.

Excellent!

I finally found some rest, a few hours later, sleeping in the car.

I’m sure earplugs used to work better than that. Next on my list is a pair of ear defenders from a farm machinery supplier!