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Published: April 19th 2009
We gave this name to the blog because its Maori translation, Whakatane, is the name of a place that we passed through on our 3-day trip to the east coast. The name arises from an 800-yr old tale in which a young woman did the man’s work of steering a huge Maori canoe to shore, thereby saving everyone from great peril at sea... (N)
At the start of the month, I had a company conference on nearby
Waiheke Island for a couple of days. It was a mix of work and play, including a treasure hunt by car one afternoon, which was as cheesy as it sounds. We were split into teams and had to carry out odd or just generally compromising tasks, such as building a raft, getting photographed on a nudist beach and persuading one of the team to cross-dress, while recording all the evidence with a digital camera - and somehow our team ended up winning.
The first Friday of February was a public holiday for National Day, called
Waitangi Day. This celebrates the signing of the 1840 treaty between the Maoris and the British Government, in which Maoris were promised full equality as British subjects
in return for handing over power (but the Maori version implied that they would still have the right to self govern, which remains a source of conflict today).
We took advantage of the long weekend by heading to the east of the North Island on Thursday evening, stopping the night in a coastal town called
Tauranga, so that the following morning we could climb the 232m hill
Mount Manganui, which we did, just 7km down the road.
After a breakfast on the beach with the hill looming behind us, we began the 40-minute walk to the top. At the bottom there was a sign requesting no interference with the sheep because there is a resident shepherd! As we got nearer the top, the views became more picturesque: on one side, it looked out over the town and on the other side over a channel of water to a beautiful white-sand beach that stretched for miles. All sorts of different plants and trees made the mount look very tropical. A paraglider jumped off from the top while we were there, flying up and down along the side of the Mount with what seemed like little more than a big
plastic bag. Back at the bottom we just paddled in the ocean, swimming was not allowed due to strong currents…
Aware of the distance ahead, we got into the car and continued along the east coast of the north island, with a brief pit stop at a blueberry farm for ice cream. Soon after, we came to a sticky out bit shaped like a buttock, a protruding land mass just like we have in England where Norfolk and Suffolk lie, which is the
East Cape, known for its ruggedness: wild beaches, open countryside and one of the highest concentrations of Maori people in New Zealand.
The road that took us on our journey was called the
Pacific Coast Highway. We passed miles of pretty beaches (light golden sand, blue ocean waves) but as we went further they became more rugged: darker sand, sometimes pebbly, often with natural debris washed up from miles away, pitted with bleached white tree trunks. The feel of the surroundings became more rural, buildings became fewer,
huge mountains towered over the road, and signs warned of wandering cows and horses, with a phone number to call to report details of errant livestock. The weather was beautifully hot and these scenes really reminded us how far away we were from any big city. Sure enough, as we entered a village called
Hawai, a sign informed us we were entering “tribal lands”.
In tiny place called
Omaio we stopped for a late lunch, on a grass patch overlooking a beach and just across a track from an elegantly carved
marae, a Maori meeting house and grounds (see photo). The warm weather, deserted beach and slight waves created perfect conditions for a post-food swim, even though we were already going to arrive at our destination, further round the cape, well after dark. The beach in Omaio had lots and lots of small, very round pebbles that acted as a foot massage with every step. It was very relaxing to lie back in the ocean, taking in the late afternoon rays and looking at the mountains. I must have looked very happy because Paula, who up to this point was content just to sit on the beach (something about
Raukokore Church
East Cape, North Islandnot wanting to rummage around for her swim stuff) decided to strip to the bare essentials and come in as well! Looking back, that impulsive swim was one of the weekend highlights.
Not much further on, we came to
Te Kaha, one of the principal towns of the route, formerly a whaling station, but now with only a couple of thousand in population. The book recommended having a look at Te Kaha’s
marae because of its intricate carving, but as we approached we noticed dancing on the lawn outside. We asked a old man sitting down watching if we could join him and he said we could; he explained that it was the final practice before a national cultural dancing (“kapa haka”) competition. The words ‘cultural dancing’ to me suggest skipping round a maypole but this was completely different. There were probably about 40 dancers, mixed between men and women, and a couple of guitar players. The music and the voices were hauntingly beautiful (the man told us that one of the songs was written for his grand-daughter who had died), although they were not in costume the women wore hand-made flax skirts which flowed with their movements. Before
the end, the men performed the
haka (the same dance performed by the NZ All Blacks rugby team to intimidate the opposition in international matches) which was such an intimidating sight. The old man said that we could take pictures, but not to make it obvious in case they thought we were spies from another team! I took a surreptitious video which is attached to this blog which, although grainy, really shows the passion of the haka performers. The passion was so much in evidence, I still get goose bumps whenever I watch the little video clip. After the practice, we met one of the tribal heads called Eddy who gave us a mini tour of the
marae itself, which was as delicately carved as we had been led to believe. We were so fortunate we were to have stumbled across it just at that time.
Our last journey-breaker was at
Raukokore, another blink-and-you-miss-it tiny village, but what makes it special is its seaside tiny wooden Anglican church, well-kept and sparkling white. We arrived just as the sun was setting which made it look even more picturesque. The book’s accurate description of church reads “a beacon of belief on
The largest pohutukawa tree in NZ?!
The pohutukawa tree is known as the NZ Christmas Tree because it blooms full of red flowers in December. a lonely promontory”; and inside there was a little sign apologising if anyone noticed a fishy smell, but a penguin had laid eggs underneath it!
We didn’t arrive at the village of
Hick’s Bay until around 8pm, but it may as well have been 3am. The owners of the small place we were staying at had already gone to bed but fortunately a fellow guest knew where in the garden the caravan we had booked for the night was, otherwise we may never have found it. There was no sign of life anywhere in the village so we drove to the next one, looking for somewhere to find dinner. The only place open was the
Returned Services Association, a social club found in many parts of NZ. It was raucous, with seemingly most of the village of legal age inside drinking and celebrating the national holiday by murdering popular songs through the global art of karaoke. I suspected (and was right) that Paula was not going to be able to get the salad she was wanting but I, on the other hand, was well-catered for: the only food available was a selection of pies. We both had one and
East Cape lighthouse
The easternmost point of New Zealand they were delicious. Of course we didn’t look like we were regulars and people kept coming up to us and asking where we were from and what we were doing there. We met some really friendly people that night.
We headed back to our caravan in Hick’s Bay and my hand-written notes just say “It was very dark” before I fell asleep.
We were amazed at the beauty of the beach the next morning, the golden sands and blue water making it a place you could easily pass a couple of days. But this trip was an exploration journey for us, so by around midday we were back in the car heading down the coast for the approx 100 miles to the town of Gisborne. This does not sound very far, but once you factor in the single-lane curvy roads and a couple of stops, it’s easy to understand why it was nightfall again before we arrived. Our first stop of the day was in
Te Araroa where we had been at the RSA club for dinner the night before, to see NZ’s largest pohutukawa tree, around 600 years old. It was an imposing sight, with 22 trunks
and some 40m boughs. These trees are called ‘New Zealand Christmas Trees’ because their spectacular red blossom appears in December and is gone by the end of January.
Just 20km from the village is the
East Cape Lighthouse, but it took ages to get there as the road is unsealed, curvy and cliff-side in several parts, so we had to go slow. Yet another gorgeous view over the coast and ocean as we drove along there, then there was a steep walk to the 14m-tall lighthouse itself (range 35km), but it was worth it when we got there. This is the most easterly tip of mainland NZ. There used to be a resident lighthouse keeper but now it’s fully automated.
We drove back along the unsealed track, then headed south, stopping at a Manuka Honey ‘farm’ and somewhere in the middle of nowhere for a picnic. The scenery on this side of the cape was less pretty, being mostly away from the coast and consisting of farmland and arid mountainsides. The highlight was
Tolaga Bay, yet another beautiful deserted beach, which also happens to have NZ’s longest pier at one end. We did not resist the allure and
had another late afternoon swim, again enjoying the waves and warm water, before reaching Gisborne early evening.
Gisborne has more sun than anywhere else in NZ and its fertile soil means that it has been settled for more than 1,000 years (but the population is still just over 30,000). It’s also where Captain Cook had some of his earliest contact with this country that he would become famous for “discovering” in 1769. From the top of hill called
Titirangi Domain, there are great views out to sea and over the town. There is a statue that was erected in tribute to Cook here, but it later became apparent that it definitely
was not Cook, not only does it not resemble him, the uniform is not even British, the plaque underneath freely admits that they have no idea who it is!
Before we left Gisborne for the journey back to Auckland, which ended up taking 9 hours, we called in at the
marae where someone was kind enough to show us around. In common with many others, it was built in the 1930s, but unusually it had alcoves. Inside it had a polished wooden floor and was about the
The NZ flag blended with Maori design
Outside the Gisborne marae on "Auckland Day" size of 2 tennis courts, with lots of carvings inlaid with colourful
paua shells (“abalone” in English, if that’s any help). I found it interesting that while there is definitely a sentiment in NZ that it’s time to move on from British influence, and the flag outside this
marae was not the traditional national flag (the
Maori flag was in the corner, in place of the Union Jack, see photo), there was a picture of Queen Liz and Philip inside above the entrance. The person who showed us round was fairly pragmatic, saying that most Kiwis had some British or European blood and that it was no big deal.
The highlight of the long drive home was the
Waioeka Gorge, we had perfect weather again, and snaked between mountains, passed lots and lots of ferns, one of the country’s national symbols. I should also mention that we had one of the tastiest ice creams ever at
Kiwi 360, a centre where you can lots of stuff related to the kiwifruit (historically called Chinese Gooseberries and Monkey Peaches!), and also could take a tour through an orchard if you were that way inclined. Kiwi 360 is in the middle of
kiwi-fruit country, in the village called
Te Puke! But pronounced (Poo-key).
The following weekend, back in Auckland, we went on a bar crawl for old times’ sake. There are a number of backpacker pubs near us, so one Friday we visited several, pit-stopping half-way through at the longest-running takeaway van in Auckland,
The White Lady, for a burger dinner. This Auckland institution has been open for more than 22,000 continuous nights (the sign says) and was recently on the telly.
I have never played a full round of golf (or even a half round) so it was a bit of a concern when I was obliged to participate in a charity golf match one Friday in the middle of February. The day started badly as I had to get up at 5a.m. for the second day running, the previous day was to catch a flight and this day for the early registration at the golf club. Added to this was the weather: it was back to the tropical heavy rains of ‘winter’, the heaviest rain for about 4 months. Things got better as there were sausage sandwiches for breakfast. It then got worse again as teeing off in
Our route, East Cape of the North Island
We followed the coast road down from Tauranga to the Cape, and then followed the yellow coast road round and down to Gisborne. front of everyone was not great, I only managed to move the ball about 10 yards. Plus we were all completely wet through before we even got to the first green. Nevertheless, I did begin to hit the ball better as the game moved on, but at the fifth hole there was a large hospitality tent laid on by a wine company. We stepped in for some respite from the heavy rain, were persuaded to have a drink and some food, and that was the end of the game; we never made it back on the course. On reflection, I ended up enjoying the golf more than I thought, hearing the crickets and seeing the unusual-looking birds on the course, but still agree with the old sentiment that golf is a good walk ruined.
Valentines Day: We sometimes wonder whereabouts we were on our travels this time last year, and never really know exactly but
Valentines Day is different. On Feb 14th 2007, our first married Valentines Day, I was spectacularly late and we missed our dinner date, due to a horrendous traffic jam from the office in Windsor to our home in Twickenham, the whole journey taking five
hours (normally 45 minutes), and the previous year we had an enjoyable meal in an Afghan restaurant in Ealing, where Paula used to live. Last year we went to
Burma. But this year we decided to cook in.
All went smoothly apart from lighting of the candle. The only matches we had were ones in an old box that looked decades old. They were long weatherproof matches and came with a warning that they should only be struck outside. I didn’t believe that and struck one inside, and suddenly learnt what a weatherproof match is: half of the long match shaft burst into flames and let off a huge trail of smoke when it was blown out. Fortunately it did not set off the fire alarm, which would have ruined Valentines for those other residents across the 36 floors of apartments.
(P)
On
Valentine’s Day, before the match episode, we ventured to Auckland Fish Market near the seafront and gathered wares for Nick to cook up a seafood paella for dinner at our place; we reckon we had one of the best sunset view in town, right from our own window on the 30th floor.
Also this
month, we finally got round to doing the
Tim Tam Challenge: Tim Tams are chocolate biscuits similar to Penguins back home, and the challenge is to bite holes in opposite corners of the bar and then use it as a straw to suck tea (or hot chocolate) through the middle. We achieved varying degrees of success (and thanks to Ray & Yolanda for the Tim Tam Christmas present!)
The remainder of February was work as usual, and lots of time outside devising our plan of attack for our 2-week South Island adventure in March…
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