Four weeks, but not a day that has a lot to report on, as most of it was spent in the car driving from Whitianga to Paihia – about 8 hours. The Craicor Boutique Apartment is terrific so far – but yet to be tested by a night!

  

D has written several times of the driving conditions on the North Island, but has not included them in the published blog because he didn’t want to appear whingy (is that a word?). But today was the last straw, with one maniac – the word is used advisedly – tailgating others then us at 100 kph for about 50 kms, with no opportunities for him to pass. In the end, he did, on a passing lane, but so impatient to get by that he was within centimetres (no exaggeration) of our rear bumper bar for about 50 metres. He was the worst of several such instances – and the traffic was heavy in both directions, so there was little to be gained from such moves. And what was worse, Fairies, was that he was driving an Outback!

So here’s what I wrote on Thursday 30 November:

‘Driving conditions on the North Island has been a startling change since the relaxed environment in the south. Firstly, there are vehicles rushing everywhere, but far fewer motorhomes, and there is very little quarter given. Secondly, tailgating seems to be an art form outperforming even Canberra: we had one vehicle, that could only have been closer if actually connected to our tow bar, following for a good 50 kms, at speeds up to 100 km/hour – and when easy opportunities to pass were available, just stayed there. Bizarre – and unsettling. And thirdly, road works speed restrictions, as reported before, are ignored. But for all the frenetic traffic activity, there has been no other ‘road rage’ of any sort – fingers, gestures, mouthed words, horns etc – at all’.

Which is partly why T doesn’t get the wheel (and she’s mostly happy with that). She takes in the views and now that there is radio coverage, has enjoyed some lovely concerts. The winding roads and sitting down low in a Mazda3 remind her too much of ‘the gliding experience’, so the road is not nearly as comfortable as the van time.

Tonight there’s a chicken dish in the oven and the yachts in the bay provide the extra peaceful finish to the day, albeit D is still cranky at Telstra and has added to his diary of failed connections.

 

 

Day 27. Saturday 2 December.

Yesterday it was Hobbit holes; today it was beach spa holes. We came to Whitianga (north Coromandel Peninsula) to visit Hot Water Beach. 2 hours either side of low tide sees hundreds of folk with shovels in hand, digging holes in the shoreline, creating personal spas, as the geothermal activity beneath delivers VERY, VERY HOT water. Today, low tide was at 1240, so we arrived at about midday, purchased the $8 parking ticket and the $5 shovel hire (donation to lifeguards) and set off across the sand. D was barefoot and spoke of burning feet. Of course T was shod and apart from having to take shoes on and off to cross a stream, was reasonably comfortable. The sight was bizarre. The hundreds of bathers had dug spas on modest and grand scales. Some were lolling with steam rising. Bathers had obviously vacated their spas to cool off in the surf, or to leave, so we didn’t have to dig at all. We just muscled in like cuckoos and found a vacant spa at a seriously hot temperature. D immersed himself, T was more hesitant, starting with feet and gradually sitting. The water was so hot! The tide crept toward us and when cool water threatened our bulwark, it was time to go and we were able to pass on our ‘nest’ to the next cuckoo group. We were entertained by a group of young Japanese women next to us: shrieks whenever they came into contact with cold water, that crept up from behind with the incoming tide as they lay on the sand facing the shore. And it happened again….and again….

T then suggested we check out the Cathedral Cove boat trip, so we found ourselves booked on an RIB one-hour tour of the marvelous marine reserve off Cathedral Cove. It was a calm, perfectly blue Saturday summer afternoon and along with 8 other passengers we skimmed across the aquamarine waters, taking in the coastal views of volcanic cliffs, coves, caves and fish. The lowlight for D was the captain feeding all those happy Snappers (the fish, not the passengers) apparently aware that they were protected. The highlight was cruising with a pod of 12 bottle-nose dolphins for a good 15 mins. The dolphins were alongside, underneath and in front of the boat…just magic as they dived and snorted.

  

 

The road back to Whitianga was no less winding than it had been yesterday and will be tomorrow as we head for Auckland and further north. Fish dinner at Squid’s rounded off a beautiful day and D has managed to chill with cricket and thr RL World Cup on the TV, distancing himself from the angst of non-availability issues with data and wi-fi and the ongoing and very frustrating non-service from Telstra. Guess who’s changing his service provider on return to Australia?

 

Day 26. Friday 1 December.

The day needed some magic after a TERRIBLE night at Cambridge; the bridge workers arrived back at the motel at 0221, with headlights pouring through the curtains and then the party started! T had invested in a new pack of earplugs and had them at hand. Even with this barrier, the sounds of doors slamming, voices etc came through. D shouted at the guys to please turn it down, that people were trying to sleep: ‘Yes, boss’, so the noise moved indoors to the room next door but grew in intensity as dawn arrived. We were still grumbling about this at breakfast and compared notes with the couple on our other side. Their report was identical to ours. To add insult to injury, the wifi and internet connections were lousy, so all in all, the motel was not to be recommended and T told the owner/manager how bad it had been.

D couldn’t wait to be clear of Cambridge, even though it was coffee o’clock, so we arrived at our next destination Hobbiton, with 2 hours to kill before our tour. T did an immediate re-think and approached the bookings counter and yes, we could get on a tour within 20 mins! Just time to grab the coffee.

So why were we at a movie set in NZ? We went to Hobbiton with no real expectations (and not having read the book nor seen the trilogies) apart from a few travellers commenting on their experience.

The bus starts at the gates to the Alexander family farm. And there could not have been a more bucolic scene! The hills roll, the sheep graze, there are scatterings of poplars and cypresses.

What an exercise in diversification! The sheep/beef farm family had seized an opportunity: after the filming of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the film set (mostly plastic) had been demolished but the remains became an odyssey for fanatics. Then when Peter Jackson came back to the setting to film The Hobbit, a business deal was struck with the Alexander family; the film set would be ‘real’ and live on as a tourist attraction.

With this background information we embarked on a 2- hour magical adventure wandering through Hobbiton, marveling at the detailed workmanship, the quaintness, the ingenuity involved in creating the illusion of the mega-adventure tale. The Hobbit holes, the gardens, the vegetable patch, the lake, bridge, the Green Dragon Inn were all for real.

However, there were a number of unreal items: a huge oak tree at the top of the hill above the town (200,000 plastic leaves threaded onto the most expensive movie prop ever made!),

Plus the giant pumpkin, veges in a barrow, drying fish and cheeses to remind us that this was not the real world.

   

The tour guide, Heather from Glasgow with an Irish accent, gave details re film scenes & cinematographic techniques, explaining how scale was created…Even though we are ignorant of the film, we delighted in the ‘real artifice’. And where else in the world does a real council building code apply to Hobbit Hole construction? Because the second Tolkein trilogy was negotiated on a very different business arrangement, i.e. the set becoming an ongoing living enterprise, a new set of construction regulations came into play.

And now that it’s almost 10 years since filming The Hobbit, the set needs a refurb; so we came across a couple re-doing the render on a Hobbit house. When we sympathized with them about the ‘awful job’ they had, they spoke of trying to make the holes look ‘lovingly old’ but not ‘dowdy’.

The tour concludes pretty much at the Green Dragon, where complimentary refreshments were available and the ginger beer was very passable.

  

And a selection of the many hundreds of pictures taken!

  

D has it right……

Hsard at work…

And all Patricia needs is a pony to pull her Pinot!

And as we left, this lovely scene in the next farm:

On to Whitianga, via Hahei, where cabin accommodation was available but not suitable, because the beds bounced (aah – for the good old days when that’s what you wanted!). We gave a short hitch hike ride to two German lasses at around 5 PM – they were embarking on a 5 hour trip south to their beds, but in the opposite direction to us. We saw them again 20 mins later – someone had delivered them to the main highway, providing better options for a ride.

By evening we were whacked, so went into town for pizza at Dino’s, which was very pleasant, followed by a relaxing red and non-bouncing beds.

Early morning, as the noisy Chinese on both sides slept on, T crept out for a walk around the lake, leaving D to dream on. T was rewarded with views across a silken lake, with steam rising at the shoreline. Duck families were bustling…parents calling wee ones to order, some wee ones ignoring advice, folks walking dogs, rowers and one crazy guy in swimming training! Again, the sky was a marvel and rising clouds may well have been steam from thermal activity.

  

On return, T found D up and reading the Oz news – not a good start to the day for him! But the visit to Huka Falls banished dark thoughts. This is a turbulent, violent, clean and bright demonstration of the power of nature as water rushes from the only exit of Lake Taupo in an almost horizontal narrow chasm. It is awesome.

As we returned to the car D (toolman) came to the rescue of a Polish father & son; the son’s spectacles had come apart, and the lad was asking, in very poor English, for some glue from the less than receptive volunteer at the kiosk who eventually understanding the request, but unable to help, sent him on his way. D overheard all this, and thought that the screw joining the arm to the frame was missing, a common occurrence, and offered a solution that involved fishing line. No, the arm was actually broken, so next solution was a bandaid…and of course D had the scissor tool (and the bandaid) to cut the bandaid into tiny strips. Very happy Polish tourists.

  

Then on to Orakei Korako, a small, less visited thermal activity area about 40 kms from Taupo. A little ferry took us across the river to a landing and then we followed the boardwalks/stairs up and around for a couple of hours. What a magical scene: colours of the algae, steam bubbling and gurgling and very few others to block the photo moments. From the shore it looked like the outflow from a particularly grubby rubbish tip, but close up the colours, textures, dimensions and forms of water were just gob-smacking. At a photo pause moment, T chatted to a guy who was seriously doing the business with a tripod. Yes, he said this was really frustrating for his 17 yr-old son who was in the car, bored as…and he’d already spent 2 hours earlier in the day, sitting in the car. T asked if the lad had a device to pass the time. The dad replied that yes he did and he had told his son to go right ahead and plug it in, but then they’d end up staying till the next day, by the time Road Service got out to rescue them. The photographer was in no hurry…he had magic moments to capture.

  

We were somewhat distracted from skywatch and the storm clouds gathered. Our reputations as drought breakers is, thankfully, now reassured, not least because we ourselves were caught in a heavy downpour about half way (of course) around the circuit. T suggested returning to a nearby shelter; all well and good but the sky offered no respite. But chivalry is still alive; D offered T his waterproof boots into which T could put her cork innersoles (these had to stay dry) and she hobbled, clutching her sneakers with D barefooting it to the ferry.

On to Rotorua, not by choice, but because of a missed turn… we were heading in more or less the right direction, so on we went. We had heard from several sources during the past 24 hours that a tour of Hobbiton (the Peter Jackson movie set) was a ‘must do’. Even if you are ignorant of Tolkein things, it is worth a visit we’d heard. Since we were in area, we thought why not? We’d be able to get info at the Visitor Centre. In Rotorua, the first thing that Judy at the counter of the i-Site said was: ’Take your weather back to Australia!’. We politely offered that the farmers we had spoken to were desperate for this rain: their green fields weren’t green enough and it hadn’t rained in a month. We don’t think NZ really knows what a drought is.

Anyway, Judy helped out by booking our visit to Hobbiton tomorrow, as well as accommodation in Cambridge (a small town close by), although she was a little surprised that we weren’t staying in Rotorua: ‘been before’ we added, although the real reason was ’too big, commercial and busy’.

Found Cambridge and our ‘Quiet Motel’, something from the 1970s that Norman Bates might have worked in (fortunately, no such ambience), but it is very clean and organized, although the bridge workers, who are out all night working on bridges, managed to park their various trucks in such a way that our little Mazda 3 had to wait until they’d gone to find its spot outside.

There’s something marvellous and uplifting about old machinery still in use making beautiful, timeless products. This morning we visited Stansborough Mill weaving establishment in Petone. It’s an unassuming shopfront that holds its treasures behind with 6 late -19^th century British looms, producing textiles with the wool from the unique ‘Stansborough Greys’ bred by the business owner. The woven items include scarves, rugs, throws and blankets. The sheep, shorn twice a year, produce a soft grey curly fleece that feels a bit like patting a curly spaniel. How wonderful that these machines have not been scrapped and are maintained religiously, with new parts as required being fashioned from the engineering works opposite or by a wood craftsman friend. There are also apparently lots of original spares. The garments for the films The Hobbit and Narnia were woven here, and we were given 50 reasons for visiting the village/screen set at Hobbiton, between Hamilton and Auckland (that’s probably on tomorrow’s itinerary). As we have a significant anniversary looming, a lovely soft grey throw (to accompany the other soft grey items close to home) was purchased. D passed on the suggestion that a poncho would be a terrific thing to take on that mountain climb, or on the horse ride (King of Jordan has one for this purpose).

Getting out of Wellington was fairly easy, just follow No.1 north…First stop was at an ‘outlet town’: every shop on the main road being the graveyard of brands…but T got some Magic Pudding (Icebreaker) socks, that come with a lifetime guarantee…if holes appear or they shrink, or…just bring them in and they’ll be replaced. Not sure how that works…’a bit like Tupperware’ said D. Don’t know how that stands up re curing T’s foot…

Driving through central NI, we wondered where were the mountains and campervans. The sky darkened approaching Lake Taupo and showers were intermittent. It does rain in NZ, we thought. 

At 5:30 it was time to look for a bed; Taupo offered heaps of options. ‘Just give me a lake view’, said T, ‘since there’ll be no outdoor activity’…the sky was bruising up nicely for the camera.

  

So, choice was made promptly, with a bistro next door. It’s now a ‘whiteout’ with that threatening storm now pouring down. Might need to ask for a refund, as can’t see the lake anymore – the little sailing boats are scuttling for home, heeling ovdr in the wind..

This morning at Stansborough we were told that NZ sheep farmers were edgy as there’s been no rain for 6 weeks….maybe some lambs need to be sold…now a bit of magic! The Cran drought breakers are in town!

And someone else is very comfortable, thanks! Maybe T will retreat to the back bedroom if this soft black thing refuses to vacate.

The storm passed and we donned coats to dash next door to the Jolly Good Fellows eatery. And suitably jolly it was…D had a Guinness/beef pastie (measured around 12cm x 10cm) + peas and T went for the lamb’s fry and bacon (a treat last eaten about 5 years ago in a pub at White Cliffs, NSW). Both were fabulous.

Rain had cleared to a gentle evening, so a walk around town in search of a supermarket for breakfast supplies was a sensible but fruitless exercise. This tourist town takes on a lonely feel after dark, out of season.

 

 

 

Day 22. Monday 27 November.

Three weeks ago Keith drove us to the airport in the rain. Since then, we’ve had fine weather, with just one overnight rain storm that cleared by morning (or at least by the time we arose, which was a bit later).

A final flurry to clean the van, although we’d paid for the Express Checkout which included all those chores such as emptying grey and black water tanks etc. It wasn’t quite so express, as the van was checked out before we were cleared and advised that our ‘deposit’ of $NZ 7,500/$AS 6,920 (the excess insurance which was actually taken out of our credit rather than quarantined) had been re-credited. As at the writing of this report, the money hasn’t appeared back in our account, although it instantaneously went into theirs three weeks ago: why doesn’t that surprise us? D has quietly fumed about this set up for three weeks, on and off. The alternative was to pay a bit under $1,000 as to eliminate the excess – non-refundable – but that seemed silly as our Travel Insurance already covered us up to $6,000 for any vehicle excess. And the bit that really stung was that we were charged bank fees ($207.60) to do this!

But there was a courtesy bus to the airport – we arrived in plenty of time, so after the automatic check –in, a couple of hours to wait. There’s probably no more dispiriting place to while away a few hours than airport – any airport. Eventually boarded and departed – without any security screening at all. Smooth flight into Wellington, then quite a long drive to our hotel in Petone, on the other side of the harbor. The traffic was dense, and after the courtesy and ease of the South Island experience, a bit of a shock – like being in Canberra, with tail-gating the norm and very little give and take. But we made it.

A lovely meal at the Brewer and Butcher Hotel opposite the hotel then try to get to sleep in an overheated room with no aircon. How spoiled we are!

Day 23. Tuesday 28 November.

The day is partly driven by D’s work commitment at 1 PM for the job he no longer has (to write a unit history). He is to interview a NZ Army member who with breakfast at the Seaside Cabaret café on the waterfront. We’d driven the length of the Esplanade in search of a café with water views and had bemoaned the failure. Then, in an old rowing shed complex there was a café sign. Up the stairs, following the noise and there, inside it was frenetic as customers and staff milled, rushed and babbled in a ‘hip’ scene a bit like A Bite to Eat in Chifley. The breakfasts were delicious and we sat on the verandah looking out across the bay toward the city.

T then took herself off for a haircut and a wander around Petone which is a strange mix of working class cottages, small tradies businesses, a vibrant restaurant strip, with boutiques and op-shops. D prepared for the interview, which, in due course, was completed most satisfactorily.

T, in the meantime, walked the length and breadth of Petone. The beach could have been inviting were it not for the dark brown shoreline…something spilled? No, some kind of vegetable matter washed from? Several swimmers were in and by the end of the afternoon, many were having a frolic. The day was perfect for Wellingtonians…unbelievably warm & cloudless. T heard that there had not been a summer last year and here it was November and quite hot!

In the late afternoon we venture out to photograph the wharf which has been closed since the earthquake 12 months ago.

Then it’s time to select a dinner spot. T wants a steak and D obliges; he chooses a Cowboy combo of brisket and pork shoulder. The meat, music and vino at Kansas City BBQ was just right.

Now, we have 2 fans oscillating in our room, just stirring the air.

An overcast, cool day and gusty winds threatened to end our run of very good luck with the weather over the past three weeks. Rugged up for the conditions we walked and bussed into Christchurch, starting with a visit to the Botanic Gardens – and a coffee, of course. Some of the old cypress and pine trees were huge and majestic, but all introduced from North America. The rose garden had T fantasizing about reworking her rose garden, maybe it’s not too late, so watch this space. The first rose she stopped at was a ‘Meg’, one that we have in our front garden, and named, so D claims, after his mother.

A short walk along and across the Avon River brought back memories of a stroll along the riverbanks almost a decade ago. As we approached Cathedral Square, the changes to the building-scape were obvious: new construction and lots still underway. Needless to say, the sight of the partially destroyed cathedral was poignant, but to counter that there was a strong sense of revival and rebuilding. At the fenced off cathedral is a ‘whare’, symbolizing life/resurrection/hope. It is still in spring flowering, so provides a very positive foil to the ruin behind.

The square was full of activity, including a busker with a fabulous voice, and a National Geographic photo competition that had outstanding nature and wildlife subjects.

We walked for many kilometres, seeing old sights but not recognizing some of the new. The city centre is a mass of re-starting: vacant blocks, fencing with images of new beginnings/re-construction/roadworks; retail outlets draw visitors, there are market &street food outlets operating from caravans and shipping containers. Folk still paddle kayaks on the Avon and the Christchrch tram still runs its circuit. The randomness of the earthquake destruction is intriguing: pockets of survivors amongst the fallen.

  

The sun appeared off and on, Sunday city visitors moved about with a leisurely air. At the Gate of Remembrance there were white crosses in a green patch; we presumed that they referred to the fallen from WW1 but later reflection had us wondering whether they might relate to those who died in 2011.

The bus service delivered us back to the van park where the task of repacking, cleaning out, sorting and preparing to handover the vehicle begins. D tried to handover surplus toilet rolls to two campervan couples opposite: they declined, saying they had lots of their own to get rid of, most of which had been passed on as they started their trip. Seems there’s a glut of this essential item. The North Island awaits us.

 

Day started with Plan A – a stopover at Hanmer Springs after a walk in the beech forest along and across another of those fantastic NZ rivers, which followed a chat with the DOC ranger in which we praised the work of DOC in providing so many fabulous campsites in an exquisite environment.

And have we mentioned the hillsides covered in gorse and broom?

A late breakfast was spoiled a bit by inconsiderate drivers who drove past sufficiently quickly to create a dust cloud that added that little bit of extra grit to our scrambled omelette. We drove down as we were leaving to where they were parked, with the evil D intending to skid past and coat THEM with dust, but they were two family groups preparing to set out on a hike, so the good D won out, and only an unseen glare was offered in retaliation.

On arriving at Hanmer Springs, Plan B was developed – let’s go straight through to Christchurch. Hanmer Springs is a lovely township in the Southern Highlands style, and was full it seemed of wedding groups and giggly girls – not our scene! So after a coffee and a wander, back on the road south.

We had previously written that drivers here obeyed road works speed restrictions. That comment must now be moderated: they do in the country, but here in Christchurch the same rules that apply in Canberra are in operation: the speed signs are only advisory. As we travelled around the outskirts of the city to get to our van park, there was only one vehicle that stuck to whatever speed was designated: a white Mercedes Maui campervan, being driven by an Aussie nicknamed Ove.

Here we are pretty much at the end of our three-week odyssey. A quick tally: one night in an hotel, 8 nights in paid van parks, 8 nights in DOC campsites and 4 free camps. Tonight we stocktake food and wine supplies, and T can pat herself on the back for ending with almost a zero balance on food items. D is a bit more cautious: there may be some wine left over, but he reckons that’s a better outcome than a dry last night.

Tomorrow we’ll catch the bus into town and wander the CBD, perhaps reflecting on changes since we were last here in 2008 on a CDSS tour that D was leading – pre-earthquake in 2011.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NZ Green Lipped Mussels are the best – and the best in the world are apparently harvested around Havelock. As previously described, 2.2 kg were bought from the 4 Square store, and cooked in white wine, onion and garlic, and a stock….

There were enough left over for last night’s dinner!

 

 

Stopped off at yet another idyllic lake, this time Lake Rotoiti, near St. Arnaud, for lunch.

 

 

 

 

Did we mention the road works? This occurred every couple of kilometres. This morning (Saturday 25 November) the DOC ranger spoke of very bad behaviour, by locals, during winter. She works with her husband’s road maintenance business during the quiet season and handles the Stop/Go lolli[pop. She said she’s often abused, and even occasionally ignored.

 

Another beautiful evening (apart from the sand flies!), this time at the DOC site at Marble Hill, where we spent the night.

It’s time to start the trek to Christchurch – the long way. Highway 1 has been closed for 12month due to the earthquake, so the route to Christchurch traverses the central Alps, heading west then south. What a bonus for this inland road, with continuous widening and upgrading in order to handle freight and travellers. But the downside is…all the freight and travellers.

Back up the windy road to Picton and then a short hop to Blenheim for a walk and to get our daily coffee. The short walk into the town centre was along the river and we commented yet again on the clean, clear flow, with no shopping trolleys upended…and only the occasional drink can or beer bottle resting on the bottom – and feeding in front of us was a huge trout (D reckons 3-4 kg), happily just hanging in the current waiting for its dinner. Coffee was in a ‘Bar, Bistro and Patisserie’ called Saveur (which we think might be French for something – any clues, HJ?) It might well be French for toffee nosed, because we were quickly ushered outside to a seat on the porch: D thinks because of his T-shirt attire (most were more suitably attired) but T thinks it was because we were just there for coffee. Sitting behind us was Brian, from Harcourts, on the phone busily working through his contacts list: we admired the schmooze!

That was the fun part of the day. From then on it was drive, drive, drive….with a couple of stops to revive. The vineyards out of Blenheim carried many familiar names but when you’re touring, there’s no point in stopping to sample, notleast because we already had. We have no trouble finding the labels in our price range at retail outlets.

A snack by the lake at St Arnaud, which was a lovely setting in Nelson Lakes National Park, but with quite a few other visitors and too early for us to call it a day. One who almost got the Ove treatment was a young boy at the campground who taunted and chased a drake: if it wasn’t for the facts that tossing your swimmers at a duck is pretty low grade crime, and D had done pretty much the same thing at the same age he would have been severely spoken to.

Average speed never got over 55 kph, mostly because of the constant road works. But as previously reported, motorists were relaxed, courteous and tolerant – and, would you believe, mostly obeyed the road works speed limit signs! D continues to marvel.

Things were looking a bit weary at about 5 PM: the DOC’s book and WikiCamps NZ had no campsites listed where we were headed before dark, nor were there any commercial camp grounds. We have been constantly amazed at how late some folks pull in to campsites, having crept along very narrow mountain roads at 10 PM.

Unexpectedly, we found a DOC’s campsite about 20 km outside Springs Junction, on the Lewis River and beside beech forest and it is perfect for our needs. The beers have been opened – which seemed to be enough of an invitation for our sandfly mates to join us. Tomorrow we’ll go over the Lewis Pass