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Published: January 25th 2007
The North Island: Homeward Bound.
The Volcano sits in the background.Friday 19th January to Sunday 21st January, 2007.
We´d picked our new ´old´ car up (a Toyota Corrolla 1.8 turbo) and were on the road northwards by 9am. The original plan, with us both having seperate accommodation booked in Auckland, Marg the luxurious Duxton Hotel, me ACB Backpackers was to make the journey in two long days of driving but somewhere along the line I had a brainwave. Cancel the bookings and arrange to drop the car at the airport rather than the City, thus making way for three shorter days travel. I was disappointed with myself that I hadn´t thought of it earlier.
Having stopped for lunch by the river in Wanganui and been entertained by the local youth´s performing wondrous stuff on their BMX´s we were fifteen minutes into the afternoon drive when all of sudden I started coming over all unecessary, literally falling asleep at the wheel. I told Marg that it was in our best interests if we stopped, particularily bearing in mind the massive drops off the side of the highway and for the first time in my life whilst driving I pulled over and slept, only ten minutes whilst Marg waited patiently, but
The North Island: Homeward Bound.
Oure linchtime entertainment. He did this one specially for me. enough.
As we drove the landscapes regularily changed as we´d now become accustomed to expect but coming into sight now was something else, three huge snow capped volcanoes. Ruapeho first, flat topped and textbook followed by Ngauruhoe and Tongariro. The next town we were due to hit was the originally named National Park and with the view that the volcanoes afforded we decided that this would do us for the night. We called at all of the townships´accommodation and they either didn´t have twins available or Marg didn´t like the owners son who showed us around, a big guy in this case weirdly dressed I thought in black suit and tie who, when we asked why there were no cooking facilities answered "we used to have them but we had a few Indians stay and after that we got rid of the them". Racist swine.
The only one left that we hadn´t tried had a sign that included the dreaded ´backpackers´ word but which also gave mention of high speed internet which was enough for me to persuade Marg to at least have a look. At 100 bucks it was equal to our most extravagant yet but the
room was brilliant, Queen and single beds with Sky TV and a sun exposed verandha. The long haired guy on reception who struck me as being desperate for company but who was a nice fella and who, when I asked how far away the volcanoes were answered "you´re standing on ém" told us proudly that the beds were brand new and that was enough for Margy and by 4.30 we were sat on the porch, wine in hand. As I walked over to check in having viewed the room he read my t shirt aloud "God Is A DJ?" he enquired sounding slightly puzzled "don´t know about that but she´s a woman. Nobody else could be that fickle!" I was glad Marg wasn´t there.
After she had prepared a lovely meal of Chicken and Groper recommended to us by the woman on the fish counter we walked for a better view of the volcanoes then settled for a bit of cricket, Annette Benning in the movie ´Mrs Harris´during which Marg again nodded off and more wine.
We were off a little later than usual at 9.45 with Waitomo, home of the famous glow worm caves, our goal, and
arrived at 11.45 and ate lunch in the car park. When we finally went to get tickets the guy told me that next tour departed at 12:30, it was now 12:28. Perfect, the only problem was Marg had just nipped to the john and I had no idea how long she was going to be. I´d also discovered in the car park that my camera battery had died but the ticket man had told me there was no photography in the glowworm cave anyway so I left it with him to charge, Marg returned and we jogged up the hill to join the guide. The excitement of jogging must have had an effect on Marg because as we tagged on the back of the twenty or so strong group she whispered in my ear "can I trump?". "Yeah, why not" I whispered back half expecting a rip roarer to be let forth bringing rocks down all around us and she so did but with excellent control. We both giggled like kids on a school outing.
Each tour was approximately 45 minutes long and at one stage we came into a big opening like a mini concert hall. The Maori
guide explained about the acoustics and asked if anyone wanted to sing. I implored Marg to entertain us but she wasn´t having it although as we moved on the words of ´Walter´(don´t ask) came forth. Too little too late.
The tour ended with us boarding a small boat in the darkness which was pulled through the caves by the guide. As we started there was deafly silence, nothing but the lovely relaxing sound of the water lapping against the front of the boat. Strategically placed lights lit up parts of the rock and we looked open mouthed at the ceiling, which was covered in hundreds of tiny lights emmitted by the worms. An awesome sight. We emerged from the cave into the forest, had a short walk to the car then drove to the site of the next tour.
We sat at the sign which read ´Cave Tour Wait Here´, smoked a cigarette and waited. After five minutes we were joined by a New Zealand guy who asked us if we were going in the caves. We told him yes, and that this was were you were to wait. We chatted for a good five minutes about all
sorts, the dangers and anti socialness of smoking, the Sikh family who were dining on a full Indian picnic behind us and more before it began to dawn on Marg and I that he was actually waiting for us. He was our guide. His name was Christian, I instantly presumed him to be gay and after our laughing aplogies the three of us set off around the Ratanua Caves. Talk about the personal touch, us two and our very own guide and not a single Japanese tourist in sight. Stalagtites and nites grow at a rate of 1 cubic centimetre every three hundred years and some of these things were at least ten metres long so it was a fascinating three quarters of an hour.
We hit Hamilton by 3:30 having missed the turning for our intended route and came into the City from the east side. Marg had read from our guide book a description of Raglan, some of NZ´s best surf and beaches with beautiful scenery. It was 45km west of Hamilton and Marg asked me if I could be bothered driving all that way but I decided I could last that long and we headed off.
It took 45 minutes to get there due to the helter skelter road and when we did it was under one big cloud of rain. I popped into a motel where they wanted 165 dollars (no chance) and jokingly asked the couple behind the counter "there´s none of them blooming sand flies out here are there?" The woman was just about to answer when her hubby piped up "Aw, I got done by ém yesterday down at the mud flats". Oh no. "They take a few days to come on through though" she added. You´re not frigging kidding I thought to myself, I was still itching constantly from my attack three days earlier and even Marg´s dead blood was suffering.
That was enough for me to want to get the hell out of Raglan. We looked at another hotel and I was secretly ecstatic when I took mum to the room and she didn´t like the look of it so we drove all the way back to Hamilton then headed north. It was now near 6pm and we were both shot and decided we were going to stop at the first place we came across. That unfortunately was a
The North Island: Homeward Bound.
And this one is called ´The Witch´. town called Ngaruawahia (pronounced Engarrawea) which had one motel, ours. While Marg read in an attempt to finish her book ´The Secret Life Of Bees´which I´d picked up on the ferry and was going to read after her, I nipped into town to attempt to buy a phone card for her and on the way back thought I´d call into the local bar for only my third beer since hitting New Zealand. It was another scary place. Although there were only about fifteen people in there they all appeared to be at various stages of being totally arseholed. They were mostly Maori looking which made me stick out like a sore thumb although no one thankfully seemed to pay the slightest bit of notice to me. I noticed two fellas about to attempt to play pool rubbing foreheads together like a couple of battling Stags, I presume the equivalent to our handshake and another little guy, with a constant bemused smile on his face sat on his own. All of a sudden he stood up, still smiling and swaying as he rose to his feet. He was about five feet five tall but his feet, in unlaced workboots which he
The North Island: Homeward Bound.
And this one above my head is ´The Pig´. carried round as though they were made of lead, looked at least size a 12. He then, without saying anything or removing the grin from his face proceeded to pull up a chair, climb onto it and close the window. Then he waltzed, foxtrotted or tangoed with an imaginary partner to the next window, pulled up a chair and closed that one. He didn´t stop until they were all closed and no one, not even the two women behind the bar batted an eyelid. I didn´t wait around to see if he did the same routine in reverse when everyone started feeling a bit stuffy and as I left the local bobby was going in to check they were all behaving themselves.
Ngaruawahia is about one hour south of Auckland and at 11.45 we were sat outside the airport eating our lunch. Having Marg with me these two weeks has been a pleasure. We´ve talked about anything and everything; family, friends, memories good and bad, sang songs together and most importantly laughed together and it has been two weeks that I´ll always remember with affection. Despite living in each others pockets 24/7 we have had not a single cross
word. At 1pm we said our goodbye´s and Marg shed a little tear before getting on the escalator to the departure´s lounge. It was very poignant to see the escalator taking her onward and upward in her crinkle free suit and once at the top she stopped, turned and waved. I waved back.
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Well.That's it.NZ off the schedule.Glas to see you had such a good time with your mum.Looking forward to your South American adventures.Have you felt homesick at any time since you've been away?I hope not because this place sucks in the winter.And that's the TRUTH!