Motorhome News from New Zealand 2

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Motorhome News from New Zealand 2
10th October 2008

Motorhoming through Tauranga, Rotorua, Opotiki, Gisborne and Napier to Wellington,

We didn't expect any frills with our rented motorhome. The price was keen; booked from a UK agent over the internet some months ago, but 'Lizzie', as our six-metre long new home is affectionately called, has been good to us since we collected it from Auckland Airport. Lizzie is a bit basic as motorhomes go, but solid - as a rental machine needs to be. Weighing in at around 3 tonnes all up, we can achieve speeds of 80 kph or more in downhill mode - which suits our nomadic purpose fine! In order to give us the space we need for our ten-week journey we chose a four berth motorhome to make sure we had a good sized bathroom with a shower, loo, and fold down handbasin. The fridge is a little on the small side, but we have a four-ring gas cooker and electric heating. To avoid making up the bed each night, we use the double bed in the luton over the cab. That's home as we now know it.

It has been a smooth ride so far, though we have encountered a couple of problems that need attention. One problem requires an engineer, and the other, a dentist.
It didn't take us long to discover the grill on our gas stove wouldn't stay alight. That's not the end of the world, but it is inconvenient for certain meals as you might imagine and we have to live with it until December. An agent of the hire company took a look at it when we were in Tauranga and he managed to get it to stay alight but it wouldn't get hot enough to melt a pat of butter. Another call to the hire boys and a new grill was promised for delivery overnight, to Rotorua, our next port of call. The dental problem was of more concern, Janice having lost half a tooth to her breakfast cereal! We put that on the backburner whilst we contemplated a solution, and the potential cost - in NZ dollars and in pain!

Meanwhile we had arranged to meet up with a couple of locals we met on our journey around North America. They're motorhomers too, and indeed more intrepid than us two Pommie upstarts. Clive and Margaret have only been back from the USA for a few weeks. Like us, they rented their house to help finance their travels and now they hope to move back in as soon as their tennants can be extricated! In the meantime they are lodging with family. They joined us in their home town of Tauranga whilst the engineer had his head in our oven, and took us to the beach where they bathed and cavorted in their youth. It's changed since those days of course, as Clive explained. From a humble seaside hamlet with a few tumbledown seaside shops on a horse-shoe sandy bay, this is now a metropolis of smart outlets, high-rise blocks and multi-million dollar glass and glitz houses on the shoreline. It's the same the whole world over. That's progress. Clive had an interview in town for a job that morning and he felt positive about the ourtcome - subject to a medical and drugs test. Margaret took us to the takeaway to get our lunch. We had hot pies on the beach, jumpstarting us into true Kiwi mode before heading for the countryside.

Tauranga is on the Bay of Plenty as you might see from the map in your World Atlas; so named by James Cook when he landed in 1769 to find the natives friendly and plentiful fresh supplies for his crew. This heritage has been nurtured along this easterly coast, blessed with mild, sunny weather and fertile soils, producing a range of fruit to make your hair curl. At the top of the Bay's list is the kiwi-fruit, exported in vast quantities from Tauranga's dockside to countries around the world.

Our passion for birds and wildlife goes before us and by prior arrangement we all landed on Clive's brother's doorstep, his 'Hach' (a holiday cottage), on the banks of Lake Rotoiti, near Rotorua, for the night, rising early in the chilly morning to seek out the Scaup, New Zealand Grebe, Coot, and Black Swans with their white cygnets on the water. I resisted the temptation to join the locals, loading their boats with gear at sun-up to go fishing for trout. My reputation as a fisherman also goes before me.

The rest of Clive's family turned up when we arrived at his mother's in Rotorua where we parked on the drive for the next couple of nights: Philip, sister Ruth and brother-in-law, Alastair. Another take-out, our fifth since landing in Auckland, totally against our usual dining regime, but clearly a Kiwi thing to do when a crowd arrives. Rotorua is one of those places we have all heard about. Its fame is firmly based on its thermal springs. This spa heritage still rings the tills around town. Plumes of steam driven by underground volcanic activity rise in the most unexpected places; along the street, on the golf course, and all around the park. Clouds of mist waft sulphurous odours from hot crystal pools, boiling like vast vats; mud pools glug, splat and blob, spit and splutter, beside the road. The true spectacle, erupting, gushing geysers, gurgling hot springs and sulphurous streams, gaping holes in the thin crust where the ground vibrates underfoot and Maori culture-shows keep the punters amused in the 'living thermal village' of Whakarewarewa. 'Don't Dig' signs can be seen all over town! It's no wonder the giant pink camelias flower in profusion and crimson rhododendron trees line the streets.

In the formal gardens surrounding Bath House - a grand Tudor style building now housing the Museum of Art and History, ladies, and gentlemen in boaters, play croquet in whites and teams of players gather excitedly on bowling greens bordered with palm trees, Victorian lamp-posts, an ornate bandstand, little box hedges, glorious beds of tulips and poppies. Dropped here on the end of a bungee you might think you were in England. It's almost more English than Bath or Woodhall. But lurking around the corner is the real Rotorua; a vibrant new city of 80,000 people cashing in on tourism. Locals refer to it as 'Show us your Money City' we're told. The streets are wide and airy, the shops, mostly single storey, are set on a modern grid in long straight lines and every other unit sells souvenirs, all the same, all the same jade and bone jewelry, lambswool this and that, carved wooden Maori figures, faces and 'mere pounamu', striking weapons. Tewhakarewarewatangaoteopetauaawahiao (it probably means the little church on the hill - or something), or Te Whakarewarewa Thermal Village for short, (and the even shorter, Whaka, as they would say in Liverpool) provided an interesting experience and a touch of classic Maori commercialism. The best thing in Rotorua is Clive's mum, Jessie. A young 84, she's as bright as the sun on a sparkling sea and resolute when set with a challenge. She scoured the town for a dentist for Janice though the final result was as anticipated - no room in the dentist's chair. Thanks for the hook-up Jessie! We await news of Clive's drugs test!

Our ferry to South Island was booked for us at the Information Centre, at discounted rates, for the 10th October. We returned to the garage in Rotorura to find the guy had given up on our gas problem. To his credit, he sent us on our way with an old electric grill of his own to keep us going. Not totally satisfactory, but now we had a ferry to catch. We set off to the east, out towards the Bay of Plenty once again, to Opotiki, a sleepy settlement that time forgot: a handful of shops and cafes with faded Art Deco facades set on a wide deserted mainstreet, its population scattered like deer on a Scottish hillside.

The road out of Opotiki rises, twisting and turning up a tree-clad vee-shaped gorge as the Waihuka River narrows, a dead possum every fifty metres; dropping from the top in stark contrast, down, down the ever widening Waipaoa river, snaking its way out to the Pacific at Gisborne, a dead rabbit every fifty metres, through magnificent hilly pasture, a green and velvet landscape basking in evening sunlight, to the valley floor. Here the flat fertile plains nourish vast vineyards, blossoming apples trees, and trees laden with oranges and lemons behind high poplar hedges with trimmed tops and sides.
Models of Cook's Endeavour guard Gisborne's broad main street, lined with palm trees and one of several statues of our hero now looks out over the entrance to the port.
James Cook landed here at Poverty Bay as he checked out the harbour but his crew left empty handed after a confrontation with the locals led to fighting. Hence the name. But Gisborne has yet another claim to fame. It is the first City in the World to greet each new day as the sun rises over the Pacific horizon! You'll be pleased to know we have been up and on the road for many hours before you open your sleepy eyes!

There are only 4.4 million people in New Zealand give or take a few, and a quarter of them live in Auckland. Beyond that it's a lonely place. The roads are never busy - or so it seems, except when the queue is behind us. Many towns to the south here are quite small and showing signs of desertion, with empty shops and faded facades on the covered walkways. South of Gisborne the rugged hills go rolling by, hugging the coast where miles are long and the gift of spring glows bright on verdant pasture. Trees, a veritable arboretum, are bright with bud in every shade of green and every few miles there's another homestead, a gathering of wild turkeys, a scattering of white dots where ewes tend their lambs and piebald cows dawdle by the roadside, herded to the milking-sheds by a motorcycling farmhand. An Austrian family arrived at one of our campsites, travellng south like ourselves. 'We're here for six months this time,' the lady told us. 'This is our third visit. We come to get away from the crowded streets and overcrowded towns.' Their two children will be attending school for one term whilst they're in South Island. If North Island is anything to go by, it will certainly be quiet down south!

You'll doubtless have heard of Hawke's Bay, even if you have not yet sampled the fine wines from the region. The earth shook here back in 1931 when an earthquake measuring 7.8 on the Richter Scale and subsequent fires completely devastated the town of Napier and caused considerable damage throughout the region. We came to Napier to ogle at the stunning buildings erected over the following few years as the Great Depression burnt itself out. These were the days of Art Deco, and this lovely young city delighted us with its wide streets, vibrant pastel colours, coffee shops and stunning architecture of that period, from downtown all the way to the suburbs. Themes of lightning flashes, the rising sun, geometric patterns, leaping deer and zigurats can be seen on every street corner. It is indeed a seaside town, with elegant Norfolk pines, formal gardens and kiddies funstops along the promenade, but there's nothing tacky about Napier: no candy floss, no sticks of rock, no funfair, no kiss-me-quick hats, no gift-shop overkill.

A sign behind the Art Deco Centre said, 'Dentist'. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss. The receptionist's reception was cool.
'Sorry,' she said with a shrug. Janice looked dejected, putting her hand to her cheek. I looked hurt.
'We just need someone to take a look and tell us if it will last until we get back home,' I pleaded.
Sally looked down at her diary, contemplated, looked up again, and smiled. 'Come back at 10 o'clock and I'll see if we can do something.' By 10.15, Janice had a shiny new filling. Problem solved - for just $60NZ, (£24) probably what it would cost in the UK. Janice is now a happy bunny and $60 won't break the bank.

Tuesday morning brought bright skies and high winds. The severity of the wind was not apparent until we were on the road, buffetted by gales raging up to 165kph according to weather reports on the radio. Conditions were scary for us to say the least; our high-sided vehicle buffeted from side to side by strong gusts across our bows, gripping the steering wheel and holding steady at 60 kph, traffic piling up behind, Janice pleading for us to stop. And stop we did after just a few miles, to rest a while and grab a coffee at a roadside eatery. We were not alone. There we met a couple from Essex who were heading the same way in a similar motorhome, hoping to catch the Wellington Ferry to South Island next morning, a day or two ahead of us. It didn't seem likely they would make it, but neither did it make sense for us to stay put. Finally we traded our options, filled our water tank at the local campsite to lower our centre of gravity and set off to take it a few miles at a time.
'It could be worse,' Janice remarked a little later as we caught a tail wind. 'It could be raining.'
And then it did. Murphy's Law kicked in and lashing walls of water thrashed horizontally across the road, driven by the wind in blinding sheets, fields turned to lakes and raging rivers gushed brown and angry below windswept bridges. We stopped again, had an early lunch and waited, hoping it would blow itself out. Our plans for the day already out of the window, we ventured on, cautiously tacking across the wind, making our way south with Wellington finally in our sights.

We met our friend Murphy again a short way along the road. At Featherston, with just 60 km to go, flashing roadsigns halted traffic. Highway 2 over the Rimutaka Pass to Wellington was closed ahead. High winds and mudslides we were told. The options were threefold: we could wait, drive back a few miles and camp overnight, or take a 220 km diversion to Wellington! With a few hours before sundown we decided to wait, chancing our luck on the road clearing before dark. Another chapter of another book and just an hour or so later, we were on our way again, a long centipede of cars and trucks creeping up the steep circuitous Pass and down into the city at last. Another hairy day, but our first signs of bad weather in three weeks - and hopefully the last.

It was still windy though bright the following day and with two whole days to spare before the ferry, we gave Wellington our best shot. Like all major cities, Wellington has its share of tall buildings - quite a lot are more than a single storey. There's an eclectic mix of boutique shops and a handful of designer labels tucked under the characteristic covered sidewalks, a pinch of America in the form of food and coffee outlets and a fistfull of tall glass towers.
The school kids were still on their spring break.and most of them were running about in the Te Papa Museum when we arrived. We escaped to the upper floors and soaked up as much culture and history as we could chew on in one day. For a City of circa 250,000 people it provides a strikingly charming village atmosphere; as much in the central business area as elsewhere, from shops to suburbs, rising up the mighty hills and spreading out across all corners of the bay.

I don't know what we expected of this Capital City. Sydney has its Opera House, London has Tower Bridge, India has the Taj Mahal, New York has the Statue of Liberty - but where's the image of New Zealand, that says, 'I've arrived?' The All Blacks didn't turn out for us and there were no sheep on the lawn outside Parliament House - nicknamed the 'Beehive'. The Beehive hides like a Kiwi behind a mass of high towers and sadly fails to fire the imagination, leaving little to remember Wellington by, other than its friendly atmosphere. That said, in common with Auckland, you're never far from the beach or countryside.

There is no shortage of news from home here in New Zealand. Daily newspapers provide good coverage of UK events and politics as well as reporting news from across the world, significantly the USA. We often think of home, comparing prices is our most common pastime, with diesel here at $1.48NZ (.57p in real money) and Petrol $1.90NZ (.73p), but many other things also compare quite favourably. Campsites when we use them cost around $30NZ (£12) for tip-top quality. They are a little behind the times with Internet right now: We have not yet found any free access, even at libraries, and generally wi-fi, accessible at most good campsites, can be relatively expensive. We won't let that stop the blog getting through. That's either good news or bad for you, our readers!

The cooker grill saga was finally resolved with the help of a motorhome gas specialist in Wellington who sorted it out whilst we traipsed around Wellington, proving the point that one motorhome expert is worth more than two motor mechanics. It's toast for breakfast tomorrow before we set sail for South Island and stage two - or is it three, of our adventure.

Our bird list grows by the day, though slowly indeed. An exhibit at the museum recorded that since Maori and Europeans arrived, some 49 species of bird have disappeared from these islands. They're making an effort to save what's left with ring-fenced reserves and reintroduction programmes for endangered species in many areas and there's a lot of evidence of predator trapping wherever we have been. One new bird on our list is the Kaka, a large forest parrot, making great progress in the Karori Sanctuary on the edge of Wellington. There are no Puffins for Janice this side of the equator, but we hope to discover some of the many species of Albatross, Shearwater, Petrel and Penguin as we venture further south. There are no bears either, but we haven't told Todd that yet.

We're still trying to get our bearings. The sun appears in the north at midday playing tricks on my old Boy Scout habit of finding south using my watch. We'll have to trust the Captain of our ferry to find the way to Picton, South Island.

Wish us 'Bon Voyage',

David and Janice The Grey Haired Nomads

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Photos

Clive and Margaret
with David at Mount Maunganui

Rotorua
The Pohutu Geyser

Rotorua
Sulphurous streams

Mud at Rotorua
glug, glug, splat!

Rotorua
Croquet on the lawn

Gisborne
Captain Cook arrived here in 1769

Napier
The Daily Telegraph Building

Napier
Fantastic Art Deco!

Wellington
The Beehive Parliament building

Sailing
The Interislander ferry from Wellington to South Island

It's a dog's life!
sleep tight