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Published: December 1st 2005
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The dreaded day has finally come - we’re on our way out of New Zealand. But I decided I needed to make the most of this last day. I was up at 4:45am this morning for a quick shower, gathering up my things in the darkness and quiet and slipping out the door while the others slept. Why? To see the sun rise over the Pacific and answer the call of the Port Hills and the Banks Peninsula, who weren’t about to let me go without the courtesy of a proper visit.
What a great morning it was. I chose this morning to play the new Kate Bush CD which I’d recently bought, and she was a perfect accompaniment to the dim orange sun, lush hills, still water, tranquil birdsong and deserted roads. Driving out along the north coast of the Banks Peninsula, I wore gloves to keep the morning chill away as I tried in vain to capture the beauty and stillness of the sunlit hills and inlets with our camera. In my wanderings I came across several secluded bays (including Governor’s Bay, my favorite), one with a small creek that ran down the muddy beach to spill into the
open water of Lyttelton Harbour. Residents of the modest houses here enjoy a good life in small coastal communities amongst the hills, with nearby beaches and harbours and a leisurely and mostly traffic-free drive into Christchurch. Some people were up early jogging or walking their dogs; without exception they all waved hello to me and other passing drivers, seeming to assume we were either people they knew or people they should.
My initial goal was to go out to Pigeon Bay on the Banks Peninsula; a destination I’d hoped we’d reach yesterday before time’s passage intervened. However, as I made my way around to Diamond Harbour and began ascending into the hills, I realized that I would not have time to go to Pigeon Bay and made what turned out to be a spectacular detour. Consulting the map, I decided to turn off at Port Levy and make my way back toward Little River to to turn westward and complete my circuit in Christchurch. As I made the turn, I noted a sign that read “NARROW ROAD LIMITED PASSING NOT SUITABLE FOR TOWING OR CARAVANS.” As I entered the road I pulled to the side to allow an oncoming car
to pass; the driver also pulled to the side as if he expected we’d both continue moving. I thought this strange until I reached the point where the road TRULY narrowed, and found myself driving on what might be the narrowest unsealed road of my life.
What a thrill it was! Luckily for me, no more cars came in the opposite direction so I didn’t have to figure out how to negotiate around each other. What I did enjoy was a very twisty ascent to the summit at a slow enough pace to enjoy the sounds of various birds chirping through the open windows, the sights of at least three rabbits lazily hopping off the road as I approached, and the mounting thrill as the hillsides dropped away and I found myself curving around them, inches away from a several-hundred-metre fall at all times. It reminded me of Savitri’s comment “I grew up on roads like these” and gave me a tiny window into what fond memories she must have of those days.
Once I reached the summit, I was rewarded with spectacular views of the bays to the north and south as well as the ring of emerald hills
surrounding the ancient volcanic crater whose eruption formed the Banks Peninsula. I paused up there for awhile, drinking in the strengthening sunlight and crisp air until I knew it was time to head back. Then I had a fun roller-coaster ride down more curvy hillsides back to the sealed road and the beginnings of civilization.
Our friend Jeff has referred to how San Francisco puts on a little song and dance for visitors, enticing them to leave their cold, dirty, grey hometowns behind. This final morning on my private drive, I felt that New Zealand was putting on such a song and dance for me. Even lovely San Francisco can’t quite match the experience of leaving behind the dramatic Banks Peninsula, only to be greeted by the distant gleam of snow-sprinkled mountains minutes later. This morning the mountains, free of fog and cloud, asserted their presence. How imposing and yet accessible they are from Christchurch, I thought.
Back in town, I struggled to tell the story of my morning drive as we headed out for a final breakfast and shopping binge in Christchurch. I tried to inject some drama into the morning by leaving my everything-bag hanging from an outdoor
café chair, only to come running back minutes later to find it gone (but safely in the hands of the barista to whom someone had turned it in.) One of our shopping stops was at Whitcoull’s, a chain bookstore in NZ that has sections on NZ fiction and NZ nonfiction/biography. I got my long-sought biography of Captain Cook (specifically focused on his Pacific adventures) as well as some works by New Zealand authors, a Kiwi slang dictionary and a cookbook. Maybe if people are especially deserving I may make them some pavlova…
Finally the moment of truth came…the trip to Christchurch airport, a flight to Auckland, a couple of hours to say our final goodbye-for-nows to New Zealand. While waiting for the flight to Los Angeles, we talked about some of our favorite memories of the trip. I think Ben and Gary have gained the same passion for New Zealand that Rich and I share. Then came takeoff at sunset, watching the tip of the Coromandel Peninsula disappear into the coming darkness and wondering when we’ll visit this precious place again.
I never even saw the Southern Cross on this trip (or the clear night sky at all, for that
matter). I must come back to correct this glaring oversight.
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