Kia Ora New Zealand

The flight from Cairns to Auckland was mostly uneventful, apart from some spectacular jet-stream induced bumping (fasten your seat belts). However, things hotted up at the airport. 

We had admitted on our landing cards that we had walking boots, and that we had used them in forests in Australia. Now the New Zealand officials are very serious about keeping out flora and fauna that are not native to the islands, and this task is entrusted to the most august Department of Bio-Security. These guys form a second barrier of scrutiny after the Customs, and demanded to inspect and disinfect our walking boots, in spite of the fact that Peter had washed them carefully under the shower at Cairns before we left Australia. So we opened Michèle’s suitcase and duly handed over the offending footwear, whereupon a stowaway Australian grasshopper emerged sleepily from the depths of the case. The entire airport went into red alert. The hapless insect was eventually arrested and imprisoned in a specimen tube, and taken away for trial, followed presumably by summary execution. Needless to say, both our suitcases were then investigated with a fine-tooth comb, but they did eventually calm down and allow us to proceed on our way. OOOFF.

The evening’s entertainment was not yet over. When we arrived at the hotel we had booked months ago, they said that two floors had been flooded, including our room, and so they apologetically sent us off to another hotel at their expense. Our new room turned out to be a suite in a five-star hotel, providing more luxury than we have ever known.

Almost immediately we were confronted by the difficulties of English as she is spoken in foreign parts. We were asked “Light chicken?”. Peter, being unsure whether it was “light” as opposed to “dark”, or “light” as opposed to “heavy”, diplomatically said that any form of chicken would be quite acceptable. After some moments of confusion, it emerged that the question was actually “Late check-in?”. After this we gave up in despair and went to bed.

The following morning we picked up the campervan, which has not so far been a great success. It is smaller than we had expected, old, badly designed and airless inside. To make matters worse, on our first night it rained even harder than it had in Australia, which we had not thought possible. And the rain was accompanied by gale-force winds. So we could not open any windows in the van, and sweltered all night long. Michèle, who has never before experienced the joys of camping, is now suffering post traumatic stress disorder, and has asked for counselling.

After a sleepless night, Peter decided to take a photo of the campervan, to cheer Michèle up. This regrettably proved a little awkward. The good news is that Peter has not lost the camera again. The bad news is that he has lost the battery instead. The camera steadfastly refuses to work without its battery. We wasted much of the day fruitlessly trying to track down a replacement battery. In the end we were able to order one by telephone for delivery later, and bought a cheapo compact digital camera to tide us over. The quality of the photos has unfortunately suffered dismally as a result.

However, we have had a few very interesting days. First of all we went north from Auckland, up the west coast. We have started by getting acquainted with the giant Kauri trees that once covered most of this part of North Island. They are absolutely huge; bigger than anything we have ever seen. One cannot fail to be awestruck in their presence. And the timber they produce is staggeringly beautiful, with immensely long straight-grain planks completely free from knots. Peter keeps on boring poor Michèle by saying, “Just think how many tables I could make from that.”.

The trees live to be up to 2000 years old. In addition, they are frequently dug up from the swamps having been buried for up to 45,000 years, and are still workable as normal timber. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries timber and gum from the Kauri trees was the main industry in the region, and as a result the great forests have disappeared. Living trees are now protected, although there is still a thriving industry in the manufacture of furniture from swamp Kauris. Prices, however, are prohibitive.

So we visited the Kauri Museum in Matakohe, and then went to see the living trees themselves in the Waipoua Kauri forest. No photo can ever convey the staggering majesty of these giants.

We stayed the night at Kaitaia which is the starting point for tours along the 90-Mile Beach, which is actually more like 90 kilometres in length. Our bus tour took us north along the main road up the peninsula to Cape Reinga, a wild and beautiful headland where the Tasman Sea to the west meets the Pacific to the east. It is the point from which the departing souls of Maoris enter the underworld.

We then drove back south at top speed on the beach. We had a very jovial Maori bus driver called Robin cracking awful jokes every few minutes. (eg: That road goes down to the cemetery, it’s a dead end.)

Peter tried sand-dune tobogganing, which would be easier if they installed a dune-lift. Walking up the sand-dune is an exhausting process of one step back for every two steps up. Robin had warned us that we would get sand into bodily orifices that we did not even know we possessed. He was right. He also warned us to keep our mouths shut while tobogganing down the dune. Peter forgot this advice and spent the rest of the trip chewing sand.

Half-way back along the beach we stopped and Colin showed us how to collect clams, which are a local delicacy, and go by the Maori name of pipi, which, as most of you will know, means pee in French.

We stayed a second night in the same motel in Kataia. By this time Michèle had developed a genuine mental blockage against our campervan, and we phoned the owner of the rental company to find a solution. There is some doubt as to whether the problem lies with the campervan or with Michèle. More to follow…