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Published: June 18th 2005
On the third morning of my road trip, I walked out to Mr. Camper Van with the song, “On the road again/Going places that I’ve never been” in my head. That song has whole new meaning now. I spent most of the day driving north along the Coromandel Peninsula I mentioned in my last blog. All in all, it took me about 4 hours stopping for lunch and the occasional scenic view point. I was high up in the mountains and from the view points could see the ocean just beyond. I am quite certain taking in nature’s vastness, unadulterated by mankind is the true chicken soup for soul. At one point, I pulled over and climbed up a staircase carved into the hillside looking back the way I had come. Beautiful. But then I turned around and saw the quaintest looking town far below nestled along the coastline. About 20 minutes later, I found out the town was my destination for lunch - Coromandel town. Most of the literature says Coromandel town is full of artists and creative types that fled the hustle and bustle of city living. It looked mostly like bait and hunting shops to me, though. I
Coromandel Town
It's there toward the bottom rightate a delicious mussel chowder at one of the cafes. Then I went to see about spending an hour or so updating my travelblog (this was Wednesday, mind you) and checking email. The one place in town that had broadband wouldn’t let me use my laptop nor would they let me download photos onto their computers. The manager (who had an awful, butt-split-down-the-middle, farrah fawcet wanna-be hair style) simply wouldn’t be reasoned with. She obviously didn’t realize that I am from San Francisco where the computer was basically invented! So now I’m pissed off at the whole town of Coromandel unless I’m way up high looking down on it from atop a mountain.
Coromandel town is on the northern most point on the westside of the peninsula diagonally opposite from where I started in the morning. The drive south took about an hour and was one of the rockiest, most stunning coastline drives I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience. Highly recommended! This portion of the drive was slow-going and windy as well, but the reduced speed allowed for increased scenic intake. I would have loved to been driving one of those sleek sports cars that hugs curves like
Whangamata
The beach that greeted me the morning after the technology went out a band-aid on my kneecap, however, Mr. Camper Van and I were quite pleased with the reality of our situation.
Shortly after I left the peninsula, I stopped at my third hot mineral pool. It was massive. About 8 of my gym pools lain side by side. There were loads of grassy areas around, barbeques and about 50 shaded picnic tables. It is obviously a popular destination for families. This day, there were four people, including myself, using the facilities. I ended the day in Auckland and spent a quite night at my friend, Dominick’s.
Day 4 - Thursday
Driving into the Auckland I was reminded of something I had quite happily forgotten about in my quiet Nelson existence - rush hour traffic (oh, and pollution too). Fresh in my mind, I decided to wait until 10am to continue my journey north. All loaded up and ready to go, the engine won’t turn over. Uh-oh. Check the lights. They were turned off. Radio off. Inside light - off. And they were all still working so it wasn’t the battery. Maybe I should go back inside and wait a little while. That’ll help, right? Guess not. I end
Ireland
ya reckon? up calling AA - not cause I picked up a drinking habit but because in New Zealand, they don’t have the Automobile Association of America. It’s just the Automobile Association and membership is global. I don’t know what they call Alcoholics Anonymous in New Zealand. A loooong while later, they arrive. Tell me it’s the battery. I hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just an old battery. AA gives me a jump and I let Mr. Camper Van run for 30 minutes before going to the car part shop where they install a new battery. I was also at the shop for a looong time. There were other clients and they had to take out a part of the dinette to get to where the battery is kept. I had left a message for the owner of the camper telling him the situation and by the time he got back to me, I was bothered and had lost my adventuresome spirit. I had determined to end my travels a day early and spend the rest of my time in Auckland. What I didn’t realize was the owner, Greg, was leaving the next day to go back to Australia - for three months. Crap. I had to push on. By the time I got on the road for a 4-5 hour drive, it was 2:30 and it gets dark at 5:30. I reminded myself that I only had 3 1/2 days left in the country, and I might as well live it up. I didn’t really want to spend all that time in Auckland anyway! The driving did become a bit of a mission. The weather was gloomy and wet. The scenery, at this point, was average and I wouldn’t be able to take (or even see) the coastal route. On the last stretch of the night, I did enjoy more night time, windy curves and almost ran over a possum. I finally arrived, safe and sound, in Kaitaia (Kai-TIE-a) and turned Mr. Camper Van over to his rightful owner with a tinge of sadness. My roadtrip was over.
But man! Greg’s property was something else. He met me on the main road and we turned off on to an unsealed (gravel) road and then turned off that on to a property that had no road - just some tracks through the grassy underbrush! The shelter, for I dare not call it a house, was an old gypsy caravan - I think he said it was. It was elevated on wheels. There was one small room with a bed and some shelving and an even tinier room with some kitchen stuff. It was fully wild-west style. I heard animals rustling around in the woods - and he doesn’t have pets. But it was a clear night in Kaitaia. There were a gazillion stars and like in Nelson, and many other parts of NZ I could see the creamy part of the Milky Way. In fact, Jupiter had passed behind the moon earlier and I could see it up above slightly to the left of the moon.
Greg drove me into town where he had booked me a room in the hotel. He was headed back to Auckland that night at 1:30am with a truck driver on his route south. We had a couple of beers in the bar/nightclub attached to the hotel. Karaoke night. There was also a pool competition going on where maybe 10 Maori men and 1 woman were getting beaten by a British pool shark (or so I determined). The club was a decent size with a small dancefloor, low seating around the wall opposite the bar, and three pool tables. A group of 6 or so drunken Maori mums were dancing to their favorite songs their friends sang up on the slightly elevated stage area. The Karaoke DJ fancied himself a bit of an entertainer as he ruffled his feathers while singing John Travolta’s part in a Grease tune, Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock” and a few other tracks where he could feasibly pull up his collar to enhance his performance. In reality, his voice wasn’t that great and he was about 50 pounds overweight. And when he wasn’t singing, he’d stare out over the packed crowd of 20, diligently smacking away on his gum. I was really enjoying myself actually. For me, it was a classic scene to end my New Zealand experience with. And what sealed the deal was when two Maori men, after finishing their pool match, pressed their noses together in traditional Maori-style greeting/parting. Ironically, when I returned to my room at the end of the night, I could hear the music from the bar playing Hotel California (not that I ever liked that song very much).
Friday
It’s Friday as I write this. I’m on a bus bound for Auckland. I quick-stopped at the internet café this morning to put the thermal wonderland blog up and hope to rearrange the photos better somewhere down the line. I won’t get in until early evening tonight. I hope to hang out with some friends here over the next two days until I leave for Fiji on Sunday. Happy Father’s Day to you Dad’s out there I may not be able to reach this weekend. In particular, I’d like to send a shout out to my pops and my bro. Keep up the good work! Oh yeah, and Happy Belated Birthday to my pal Mark Eddison in San Francisco. I’ll buy ya some drinks at Aunt Charlie’s when I get back and give you some dollars to tip the lip-synching drag queens with. That’s a promise! Until next time…
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The fearless scribbling road warrior NEVER, but NEVER EVER puts chicken soup in the same paragraph as butt-crack. Just thought you'd like to know. Happy landings!!!!!!!