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Published: January 28th 2009
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Having just pumped my way up a nice sized hill in the summer sun, I spotted a seductive beach, just begging me to dive in. Joyously I did, but forgot to remove my watch, which promptly died. With nothing but small farm communities laying ahead, barely offering minimal food essentials, I had no chance to replace it. Since then, I have been without any concept of time, living out my days by the sun and the sea. It is liberating and relaxing to have lost awareness of time, feeling out your days in a more instinctual way. Instead of being concerned about my km/hr, I can just watch the scenery roll by, tune into the wind and the tide. I rise when the sun does, and I pitch my tent when colors once again begin to tint the sky.
Since I've been following along the coast, I'm able to pull over every time I spot a nice beach to dive in, cooling off and relaxing under a shaded tree until the sun changes its angle in the sky.
On my first day, I could barely make it up a 100m hill without having to get off and push my bike at
least part of the way. After only a few weeks conditioning, I'm pumping up 400m hills, despite the pair of 9 month old twins strapped to my back tire. But soaring down those twisted angular passes with 360 degree panoramic views and the sheer exhilaration of it all is addicting.
I have been surprised by most people's reaction to my cycle touring. I expected to solicit more of a positive reaction out of people, but instead, I am often met with shock and disapproval, people telling me that what I'm doing is dangerous and urging me to just put my bicycle on a bus. Or, others simply tell me they think I'm very "brave". But, I don't think what I'm doing is any of these things, and I can't help wondering, is this because I'm a girl? Surely, I've seen many other cycle tourists out on the roads here. But almost all were middle aged men...
Anyways, after having left behind my little Buddhist experience, I cruised back down to Coromandel and stocked up on some food supplies before making my way over the mountain pass to Whitianga, a beach town on the other side of the peninsula. I decided
to splurge on a nice little hostel right on the beach, which had free kayak rentals. Gleefully, I spent the afternoon taking one out for a spin, paddling over gentle waves across the bay. Two kiwi kids spotted me and jumped on board, helping to paddle and wanting to ask me a string of questions. I dropped them off at the beach and then, making my way back, got overturned by a huge wave! Suddenly, the sea was turning on me, and ejected the kayak and myself right up onto the shore, at the foot of a bunch of chuckling tourists.
A thermal heated hot spring, accessible during low tide on the beach further afield, is the main attraction on this stretch of the coast. To get there you must first take a short ferry trip over to Cooks Beach, named so after Captain Cook, who landed here some odd years ago, claiming the land for the British.
Together with a German girl I met at the hostel (You'll find Germans everywhere in New Zealand, it's like their mecca), we rode bikes the 20km to the Hot Water Beach.
We stopped off at the Purang winery on the way for
some awesome complimentary tasting by our hilarious kiwi host. He explained that Feijoa fruit, not kiwi is actually the native fruit to New Zealand. The majority of New Zealand kiwis are simply for export, picked off the vine while rock hard, packed, and shipped around the world. And so, we weren't allowed to leave before first sampling some Feijoa liquor and being given a paper bag of the frozen things to eat later in the day. Now wobbly, we climbed back on our bikes, to go dig a hole in the sand and lie in it. Hot Water Beach was quite an amusing site, with everyone trying to get the best spot and frantically digging out a pool for the hot water to bubbles up into from underground. There is only a two hour window during low tide when you can enjoy this spectacle, after which the waves come crashing in, reclaiming your hole to the sea.
I continued onward, through more gorgeous scenery, finding a secluded patch to make camp. My fourth day on the road, I found yet another awesome thermal hot spring motor camp to pitch at. I met a friendly Scotsman who was as amusingly sunburn
as myself, whom invited me over to his camper van to share some wine. He is on a working visa in New Zealand, and had sold his house and left his sales job in Scotland to come mow the lawn of the motor camp in exchange for his food, accommodation, daily pool excursions, and a little extra spending my. Not a bad deal, eh?
My last day of heavy cycling was definitely the best, as I had 60k of rolling hills to weave through. I cruised at nice speeds with a gentle breeze keeping me cool, stopping occasionally at a fruit stands by the side of the road, to enjoy cheap, locally grown watermelons, avocados, and pears.
But, all good things must come to an end. After 3 weeks touring the countryside, I have arrived in the large port city of Tauranga, an ugly cemented city littered with cranes which is the primary gateway for the flow of goods to and from New Zealand. Tauranga is slowly outgrowing Auckland as the primary port town and the biggest city. The landscape here actually reminds me a lot of Osaka; bays everywhere and hills in the backdrop, cheap shopping and loads of
nightlife. At least one upside I find to this is that New Zealand manages to concentrate all this necessary cemented ugliness in one place, allowing the rest of the country to retain its purity.
It has certainly been a great week. Living like this, I feel my brain is melting into butter. I also wonder, will I begin to tire of these beautiful beaches after a while? I suppose I will have to wait and see...
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Laurel H
non-member comment
vicarious sun
Soak in the warmth and keep writing about it! It's helping me survive here in Chicago. xo