Motorhome News from New Zealand 7


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December 3rd 2008
Published: December 3rd 2008
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Motorhome News from New Zealand 7
30th November 2008

Wellington - Wanganui - Taupo - Taumarunui - Stratford - New Plymouth - Hamilton - Auckland

Returning to The North Island for more mountains, volcanoes, and old friends.

The clock is ticking ever faster now. The rhythm rising a notch each day as we approach the end of our journey through New Zealand. That's how it is with holidays, isn't it?.

As spring rain continues to fall along the western reaches, New Zealander's thoughts of summer holidays and barbecues on the beach mingle with the jingle of Christmas, now modestly evident in some shops. Still without our phone, (goodness knows where it might be) we were hoping to meet up with our friends Brian and Kathryn at the ferry terminal as we finally prepared to leave The South Island. Alert as ever, they spotted our motorhome at the supermarket in Picton, giving us time for catch-up over coffee before the three-hour journey across the water back to Wellington.

The Capital City's suburbs reach out northwards into holiday-land up along the coast; seaside resorts for the family, 'little America' creeping in whether we like it or not: outlet
WanganuiWanganuiWanganui

'We have a new Mayor now. He gets things done'
shops, fast-food joints and roadside hoardings verging on neon glory. But it's all clean and smart; quiet just now, waiting nervously for the summer punters to arrive and start the tills ringing. Things are not looking good for New Zealand on the tourist front this year and continued reports of world-wide recession suggest that won't change overnight. Our friend Gordon Brown is not the flavour of the month here at the moment, the proposed imposition of 'carbon taxes' on flights out of the UK could well be the final nail in the coffin for NZ's tourism hopes this summer.
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Wanganui, our next port of call, had also been in the news of late. We could well have passed it by, but morning coffee called - and we turned off the main drag into town. The fine architecture took us by surprise, lovely up-market shops with pleasant facades, grand buildings, heaps of Art Deco and a great feel-good factor - a prosperous rural town.
Janice was busy buying chocolates. 'We like your town,' she remarked to a shop assistant. 'Yes, we like it too,' the lady replied, 'but we've had some bad press of late.' Enough said. I guess everybody in NZ had read the news article reporting that the town's Mayor had just outlawed gang uniforms, a recent fad amongst the lads in town apparently. A week or so later we talked to a 'House Mover' manouvering his big truck around our parked motorhome. "I'm from Wanganui," he called over the engine noise. "We have a great Mayor now. He gets things done. We've had our little problems, but it was never really that serious," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Most people would doubtless choose the State Highway 4 route north to Lake Taupo, but that's the cissy way out! For us, it was adventure we were looking for; the Whanganui River Road, a 75km run on a serpentine road beside the river up to Raetihi. The river carries crystal waters from the distant peaks of Tongariro National Park through deep incised gorges where native plants cling to its steep banks. For much of the way the road is still wild and unsurfaced, currently in the process of reconstruction; giant diggers, lorries and rollers on tight bends, the road swirling with clouds of choking white dust, past Maori settlements on step hillsides, wandering free-range pigs and cows,
Wanganui River RoadWanganui River RoadWanganui River Road

Clouds of choking dust!
a herd of goats on a gravel-bank in the river and sheep grazing the slopes. Relief from the dust came at last when we sighted Bob's Tea Shed, a well turned out, help-yourself style shack, where you can make yourself tea or coffee, help yourself to a can of juice from the fridge or an ice cream from the freezer. Bob sat outside in the sun, watching us looking around for someone to serve us, seemingly totally unconcerned, just idly waiting for somebody to chat to. He's a retired maths teacher, a Maori with a million stories to tell that your mother wouldn't believe. I asked him if he was a local. He smiled. The sort of smile that says, 'Is this guy stupid?'
'Local?' he said, 'I have 38 cousins down along the valley, most of them working on the new road at a guess. I came back here when I retired from teaching. It's home.'
Tourists will be flocking down this valley when they hear the new road is finished and if Bob the maths teacher has done his sums right, he could soon be counting money all day.

Brian and Kathryn were keen to tackle some
Mount NgauruhoeMount NgauruhoeMount Ngauruhoe

Wow! What a sky!
serious hiking, and the distant volcanoes of Tongariro National Park, showing themselves between the clouds, looked too tempting to resist. The weather forecast offered a small break for them to tackle the renowned and demanding 18.5km Tongariro Alpine Crossing, one of the greatest day-hikes in Kiwiland. They survived the experience - but may never walk the same again. They had watched aghast as a lady in a tramping group in front of them was air-lifted off the mountain by helicopter following a fall!
That hike was thought to be out of our class these days and we chose an easier trek to the falls, walking for three hours across lava strewn desert and moorland landscape with fabulous views, a hearty lunch and a restful afternoon. That's more our style!
The Tongario National Park hosts the largest ski-fields in the country, set in the shadow of 2,800m high Mt Ruapehu (rua 'pit', pehu 'to explode') an active volcano, Mt Tongariro and Mt Ngauruhoe. Together they made a magnificent sight, snow-clad volcanic peaks on every horizon against stunning blue skies. It's not every day we get to walk amongst volcanoes, and we recognise how lucky we are whenever we get days like
Mt RuapehuMt RuapehuMt Ruapehu

Tongariro National Park
that. Mt Ngauruhoe featured as Mt Doom in Lord of the Rings so we're told.

Up to the north lies Lake Taupo, labelled as the largest fresh water lake in the southern hemisphere and famed for its trout fishing. The town of Taupo is the year round fun and adventure centre that gives the lake its name (or is it the other way round?). We arrived early on a windy but bright day and parked on the front where a hundred or more tiny dinghys chased the wind in the bay and a 'Hole in One' challenge was in progress; local golfing lads hitting balls 150m out to a green on an artificial island moored offshore! Steaming geothermal springs, mud pools, skiing, great rapids and waterfalls and activities a'plenty make Taupo a good alternative to touristy Rotorua; certainly it's a little less pocket wrenching - though it is lacking the visible Maori cultural heritage - and the geysers!
After morning coffee we said goodbye to Brian and Kathryn as they headed east to Art Deco soaked Napier and the coast. We were going in the opposite direction, across the hills to see that other volcano, Mount Taranaki, and New
TaupoTaupoTaupo

Where did that one go?
Plymouth. It will be the end of the trail when next we meet, at motorhome drop-off time in Auckland on the 2nd December.

Driving westwards we stopped off for groceries at Taumarunui, a tired old logging and coal mining town, miles from anywhere, serving a few thousand people who might travel half a day for a loaf of bread or a chat with something other than a sheep or cow to break the monotony of life in the wilderness.
It was time for a haircut. Let me be straight with you - it was many weeks late for a haircut, but who cares? My chosen barber of mature years was both gracious and friendly. He was the only barber in town. He posessed a pair of electric shears with which he proceded to trim my fair, nay, silver, locks. It seems he had never found the need for scissors out there in sheep shearing country. I half expected him to grip me under the chin and grab me between his knees.

Farmers are busy in the fields right now, shearing their sheep, cutting hay for store, tilling the shallow soil ready for seeding new season's grass and maize.
TaupoTaupoTaupo

Anyone for a burger?
Forecast rain threatened one of the most delightful of all our drives that took us along the Forgotten World Highway, a long, twisting, logging road. 'No petrol for 150km' the big sign had said, so we filled up in town before we left. We've given up worrying about the miles we travel - with diesel now down at NZ$1.28 per litre, (.50p) it really doesn't matter too much!
Great swathes of delightful conical hills gazed down on us, green pastures, gently undulating, like Hobbitland, to distant horizons and beyond, bared by land clearance from the 1890's, emerald green now, serene and mellow, a few stately trees, grazing cattle and contented sheep, remnants of coal-mines and ancient sub-tropical rainforest, delicate tree-ferns, pampas grass, rushing streams and dense undergrowth. Desperation must have driven our forefathers to clear these hills. How or precisely why we may never know, but many of them finally despaired and left in the process it is said. Few remain; there are many deserted buildings, but every few miles there is another farm, another sheep-station, hidden dwellings fronted with delightful gardens dripping with early summer flowers, rhododendrons, roses and specimen trees, and just one cafe and one hotel along the whole route. It's pretty lively down at the hotel each night we're led to believe.
We held our breath, waiting for the forecast rain to start. It kept off for a while, but sadly, the mountains were shrouded in low cloud and steady rain for the final few miles to Stratford - yes, Stratford. It's a well serviced, tidy, dairy town hanging on to Shakespeare, his characters remembered in its street names, a Globe full of mock-tudor buildings and ye Olde-English nameplates over shop doorways. That's New Zealand, a secret England of days gone by.
Stratford sits on the inland side of a flatish land mass jutting out on the west coast, not unlike our home Counties of Norfolk and Suffolk but in reverse hand - with volcanic Mount Taranaki standing like a Mexican hat at its centre, rising from the fertile dairy plains producing real white milk as white as I remember it from my childhood, and butter for New Zealand's export markets. There's a strong feeling of home here on the Taranaki peninsular, fields of Friesian cows on green meadows - and hedges, I don't think we have seen hedges elsewhere in New Zealand. We had hoped
Forgotten World HighwayForgotten World HighwayForgotten World Highway

Those beautiful rolling hills..
to see the mountain, a 'stand-in' for Japan's Mount Fuji by all accounts, but Mt Taranaki was still completely lost in continuous showers and low cloud. They used this mountain (on a clear sunny day no doubt) in the film, The Last Samurai, in 2002 - starring - don't swoon girls - Tom Cruise.

There was still no sign of the mountain next morning. Rather disappointed but ever hopeful, we continued around the rocky surfing coast in a clockwise direction, anxiously watching the clouds shrouding the mountain over our right shoulders until our day finally ended at New Plymouth. It's much like the 'old' Plymouth back in Devon, a port, though much smaller, just 50,000 people; a welcoming town with wide streets and modern buildings blended with old, a delightful promenade, and boats, (or is it ships?) anchored at the docks off to the south. But we still had not seen that mystic mountain; hidden somewhere in the clouds - and the forecast was for more showers the following day.

The sun was up, chasing a few thin clouds across a deep blue sky when we woke at 7am next morning. That's New Zealand; unpredictable.
Janice checked the
Mt TaranakiMt TaranakiMt Taranaki

At last!
skyline inland looking for a mountain and ran back in with the news. 'I can see Mt Taranaki!' she shouted excitedly. By 7.30 we were showered and dressed, the crockery, set for breakfast, was stowed away, books and papers returned to drawers, laptop stored in its secret compartment, electric cable disconnected, handbrake off.... and within minutes we were away! New Plymouth is 25km from the mountain and we were determined to get a closer look before cloud descended once again - breakfast would have to wait. Our navigator's research (the lady in the passenger seat) had suggested good views from a park outside town; a fifteen minute drive on the edge of the speed limit, willing traffic lights to green (there are few), watching the mountain, watching as clouds rolled in from the sea, pumping gas.

You've heard it from us before. 'You make your own luck, don't you?' Believe me, the view was absolutely stunning; the snow-topped volcano shone bright on the horizon, its glory reflected in the dark mirror of the lake. There was fresh morning dew on the grass, birds were flitting in the rushes, the sapphire sky patched with pluffy clouds and not another soul
Mt TaranakiMt TaranakiMt Taranaki

Where's it gone?
in sight. That was a real wow on the wowmeter scale.... a ten! The strange thing is, within five minutes it had vanished - totally obscurred by cloud as we watched from our breakfast table at the rear window of the motorhome..'Prove it,' I hear you say. The proof is in the two photos; take a look.

Breakfast finished, we were knocking on the gates of Tupare Gardens as it opened at 9am, another Taranaki Regional Council enterprise, now supported by funding from the local gas and oil industry. We walked for an hour amongst banks of hydrangeas and flowering shrubs along paths deep in rhododendron petals, on grassy banks perfumed with exotic aromas, holding hands, treading lightly, minds full of plans and desires to change our little garden back home. Janice has in mind a new greenhouse for Christmas, I'll bet. By the end of that day we had visited the Waiau Winery for morning coffee and carrot cake (an almost daily habit when motorhoming), walked a mile or three along the cliff-top at White Cliffs and sauntered a while on the beach at Three Sisters - standing rocks off shore now down to two sisters after recent
The Three SistersThe Three SistersThe Three Sisters

...or is it two?
storms. Perhaps they'll change the name some day.
That kind of day is going to be somewhat difficult to achieve when we eventually get back home, but it's a typical day for a pair of grey-haired-nomads in travelling mode. Please; don't let it stop.

Regular g-h-n blog readers (should there be one or more), will be aware of my passion for caves. We have visited many in recent years, Janice and I: in France, Spain, Gibraltar, Switzerland, and several across the USA; but each one always has something new to offer. Waitomo, down the road in King Country, had something really, really, special....... glowworms! These beautiful limestone caves are far from the largest; indeed they are quite small, but they are incredibly intimate, with thousands upon thousands of delicate stalectites; ivory structures like fragile Chinese carvings, mighty white caverns resonating to the whispering voices of our small group of early risers.
Those who know me particularly well will also know I'm writing a story, nearly finished now, which features a cave - and glowworms; though I had previously no idea that they could be found in caves! So, let's put this one down to research; those millions of tiny
Tupare GardensTupare GardensTupare Gardens

Near New Plymouth
luminous dots illuminating the cavern ceiling, the gliding boat sliding silently along a pitch-dark tunnel, passengers necks craned upwards, hearts pumping with joy; above us what could well have been the night sky, glowworms shining like stars as these minute creatures signal their prey into their sticky lure. It was yet another moment for the memory bank - one of the few Banks in the world not currently in trouble.
There are plenty of other things to do in Waitomo. Believe it or not, you can pay good money to put on a wetsuit and glide down underground rivers with your bum stuck in a car inner-tube! It's called black-water rafting or 'tubing'. That's New Zealand.

Very soon it will be - 'and that was New Zealand,' time. The next few days will see us visiting old teacher exchange friends, Jean and Greg, (you'll remember him and his visit to Canada from an earlier blog) at their home in Hamilton, then packing and preparing the motorhome for return to the airport in Auckland. After a couple of days there, we'll be off back to Malaysia - to visit the cool hills in the Cameron Highlands north of Kuala Lumpur.
Waitomo CavesWaitomo CavesWaitomo Caves

Aranui Cave


Life is a Journey, not a Destination. It has a beginning and an end. It's the bit in the middle that's improtant.

David and Janice The grey haired nomads

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4th December 2008

Come back, all is forgiven!
Hi both (or maybe it's Salamat Datang by now). It seems like you're going to miss New Zealand. Perhaps you could take your own motorhome up to the Lake or Peak Districts and pretend you're still there. You wouldn't even have to tape a picture of elusive Mt Taranaki to the window by your breakfast table. No snow in these parts yet - and no interest on our savings either! Speak to you before Christmas. Keep smiling!

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