Boozy Blues and lost in the hills

Due to feeling battered by the annoying head colds that neither Marc nor I had been able to shake, we had decided have a quiet night, grab some spicy food in Wellington, and force the colds to sweat themselves out.

A fine plan until Marc was contacted by a friend of his, who suggested dropping in to a live Blues Jam at the Bristol Hotel in Cuba Street.

We agreed as this seemed like a calm diversion for the evening. Seemed, being the key word here.

We picked Jelena up and headed back into the city centre, forgoing Indian or Thai to get out pores sweating out the stuffiness from our heads, we wound up at Southern Cross. An eatery just around the corner from where the Blues Jam was to be, and finding a table in the garden out back, under a heater, we sipped gingerly on a few drinks, getting to know one another, and devouring a ‘share platter’ of epic proportions. Introductions made, and drinks quaffed, we made the short walk to the Bristol, to be met with a great rocking blues band, belting out covers and self-penned numbers.

Within seconds we appeared to have drinks, and shots, lined up on the bar in front of us. Oh yes, a quiet night ahead.

There’s not much detail to go into that wouldn’t be a revelation, it was a boozy night out, of laughs, piss taking, bad impressions ranging from Walken to Rickman, to the old Kinder Surprise adverts, which we decided were decidedly creepy, and trying to outdo one another with inappropriate comments.

The band changed line up as people took to the stage to show off their talents. Either Wellington has an incredible pool of talent, or the slightly more ‘amateur’ players had seen what they had to follow, and kept their lights well and truly under a bushel.

There was a harp (or harmonica player if you like) blowing the place down with wild and heartfelt solos, and this evening was the first time I had seen Blues Trombone. Jazz Trombone I have seen, but Blues. I wouldn’t have thought it would work, but I was happily surprised at just how well it did.

The evening continued on this theme, the band played, shots and conversation flowed, and a good time was had.

It didn’t shake any of the cold off, but at least it was forgotten for a while.

Waking up to the mid morning sunshine, and I oddly didn’t feel any unwelcome effects from the previous nights frivolity.

Guiding the Kiri out of Porirua, we headed out towards Petone, to an Italian family run Restaurant and Coffee shop that Marc said would be worth stopping in to for a cuppa, and also to pick up some supplies for lunch.

 La Bella Italia was tucked between units on a commercial estate within sight of the bay, and was a wonderful cavern of delights.

Apart from the already busy restaurant, a deli counter, running the length of one wall, bordered the room. On the other side shelving selling imported wines, oils, biscuits, pastas and all manner of Italian kitchen staples drew my attention.

I was in great danger of blowing an absolute fortune as I eyed all the products for sale, and the mouth-watering fare at the deli.

Fortunately for my wallet, I managed to control myself. Anyway, I know where this place is now, so a return trip or three won’t be too difficult.

Having bought bread, meats and cheese for eating later, Marc and I ordered coffees and settled into seats on the pavement outside in the sun to decide where to head to today.

Not having bought a map with us, I took Marc’s advice and we decided to head out past Wainuiomata on the coast road.

From leaving La Bella Italia and houses, commercial and industrial areas we swooped up a wide road over the first of the hills, giving me amazing views over across the bay to Wellington, looking small nestled in amongst the hills.

Barely a kilometre out of Wainuiomata, with me at the helm, we were back in the rolling gorse covered hills of the countryside, following a sparkling river coastward.

We passed a sign for the Rimutaka Forest Park; Marc noted that it wasn’t somewhere he’d been before, so spinning the car around we ventured in.

The park road ran into a picturesque valley, ending at an almost empty car parking area. After having a brief stroll around we fetched the food from the car, and spread everything out on a table under the hills, by a gurgling stream. It had been placed perfectly to show off the beauty of the spot. Not an easy job I’d imagine, table placement, in somewhere like this. The few spots where tables were located all seemed to take in as much of the view as the next, without overlooking each other. It really did feel like we were the only people there. The other reason for that being that we were. There were one or two other cars parked up, but I assume that the owners were off walking in the hills, or had found their own tables tucked even further out of view.

Lunch was a multinational effort, French cheese & bread, Italian salami & breasola, New Zealand water, Swiss army cutlery and all munched at by two Poms. While being watched over by possibly the best dressed pigeon I've ever seen.

Marc was annoyed at not having found this place before, but as he said, when you live in a country that has a similar landmass to the UK, but a total population of only around 4.5 million (Greater London has around 7 million alone!), there’s going to be a lot of beautiful unspoilt countryside to see. Occasionally little gems like this place will get overlooked.

Heading back we followed Highway 2 towards the Rimutakas again, but in search for a coffee stop we veered off at Timberlea and ended up following a small twisty road up into the hills.

We had no idea where we were, or where the road went to, but as it was switchback after hairpin after switchback we decided to stick with it. My desire for coffee forgotten by the fun of driving this road.

The views across the gorge were spectacular, the drop down from the crumbly edged road with no barriers was awesome, and occasionally, frequently unnerving. After a while, it became a battle of concentration, look at the view or look at the road and around hairpin after hairpin as the road thinned to a single lane. While still enjoying swinging the big old barge that is the Kiri around these roads, I couldn’t help but think the ideal transport for this route would’ve been something smaller and more nimble, maybe a supermoto or a mountain goat?

At the top, the road opened out to a generous lane and a half, at best, and we came out of the trees to a clearing and a stunning view across yet another beautiful valley.

I shan’t go into descriptions here, as it seems with all the valleys, all the gorges, open spaces, mountains and beaches I’m rapidly running out of descriptions that don’t sound like repetitions.

I may have to just start grading the views instead. Oooh nice! That one’s a 7.5, but not nearly as 9.0 as that 11.3 I saw yesterday… Or maybe I won’t eh?

We passed greetings with a lady cyclist who had stopped at the top to take a breather and a drink of water. I suggested that I let her head down first, as if the road was similar to what I’d just driven up, she’d be faster than us.

She was.

Finally coming into the basin of the valley, we eventually passed her as we arrived at Waikanae.

Then back onto the main road past Paraparaumu and back to Porirua.