THE “BUZZ” KILL

Thursday, January 28th @ 10:00

Kevin

On what is presumably our last ferry ride, we arrive at the southern tip of the north island of New Zealand. In fact, as we drive Fern off the boat and out of the port, we breech a signal light that places us smack dab in the middle of the CBD (commercial business district) of the capital city of Wellington. At first it is a bit overwhelming. We haven't seen this many people in ages. Then, we realize just how much we have missed big cities. And this one is a charmer. It is the commercial and political hub of the country. It reminds us a bit of Sydney, which reminded us a bit of San Francisco. A picturesque city with rolling hills, charming architecture, surrounding a beautiful harbor and full of people hustling and bustling, New Zealand style, which means running, bike riding, skating, skiing, swimming, indoor rock climbing, unicycling and everything else you can imagine and all right in the middle of downtown.




Wellington is New Zealand's windiest city. However, we are treated to two beautiful and sunny days with only a mild breeze to cool us off. We enjoy our time here strolling through the botanical gardens, which we access by cable car, walking along the waterfront and touring the very unique and characteristic neighborhoods, such as Cuba Street and the political district, where you can have a tour of Parliament and the famous beehive building .














A march to the top of Mount Victoria affords us million dollar views of the entire area. And almost a full day in the Te Papa museum absolutely floors us. Perhaps the best museum to date. Complete with amazing displays of Maori culture, natural history and even an earthquake room! North Island, we have arrived.

Seems we've gotten a bit lazy with our planning being as it is so close to the end of our trip. We pull out of our accommodation in Wellington and just start driving north. No destination in mind. It is, really, the best way to travel. In many ways, we did save the best for last. Had we done this type of traveling first, where you have your own wheels and only the loosest of plans, it may have made the rest of the trip feel a bit more restrictive. Our journey finds us driving almost all day, perhaps the most distance covered to date, with stop offs along the way, like lunch in the city of Levin. We end up hugging the southwest coast until we decide we've had enough, which coincides with our passing, and then turning around to return to, Kai Iwi beach and this lovely little campground. As has happened so many times in the past, we are completely enchanted and get sucked into relaxing and enjoying the most amazing scenery and coastline, with enough time for a (very cold) surf session, some book reading, and the always necessary laundry and clean up.

We tear ourselves away from (yet another) paradise and head right into the s@#t. We are in a very unique area of the island where a (some say still active, and slightly overdue) volcano rests and has created a semi-circular land mass that bulges right out into the Tasman Sea. The perimeter road has been dubbed the “Surf Highway” and for good reason. Some of the north islands best breaks are located within this hundred or so kilometers. But not yet! First, we decide to head right up to the volcano, Mount Taranaki. as far as we can get by car. Which, after the pissing rain and gray clouds clear (for only twenty minutes) we find is immediately above us and quite grand. It is an almost perfect cone with one small (from a distance) sliver that juts out, known as “shark tooth”.



We decide to stay the night up here to see if the morning affords us good enough weather for a wee wander. It does not. So, we feel thankful to have seen it, even if ever so briefly. We drive back down the volcano and as we do, the sky starts to open up along the coast and the sun makes an appearance.




The wind is predominantly southwest and all the surf that we check on this side of the bulge is huge, cold, windswept and menacing. So, we keep driving. As soon as we round the bulge and get out of the strong winds, things start looking up. First stop is for a surf in Oakura. Good waves, no crowd, very cold! After a few more pull overs and surf checks, we wind up in the relatively large town of New Plymouth and more specifically, Fitzroy Beach. At this point, the wind is off shore, the tide is low and I am treated to perhaps one of the best sessions of my life, albeit very cold!



Feeling exhausted we decide to check into the Fitzroy Caravan Park and once again get sucked into a couple of days of surf, some sun and lots of fun. New Plymouth, the gas and oil hub of New Zealand and the deepest port on the west coast has a very industrial feel. However, a few years ago, the Council decided to move the train tracks more inland, demolish the old warehouses and install a walkway and green belt that flanks the coast. A tourist i-site, museums, public library and shops and cafes follow. A brilliant move by all accounts. Even though I see the stack of the local power plant penetrating the skyline, I also get to see a beautiful coastline and a volcano ever looming, though not always visible, in the background as I sit in the line up waiting for the next swell to roll in. We end our stay with a free concert in the park followed by a film preview by a local artist. Life is great!






While at Fitzroy, we get a tip about some back roads that may be of interest. So, we head off. After a bit of driving, we arrive at the end of a dirt road at what appears to be a bit of a hippie colony. It is actually known as Waikawau Beach and we decided to settle in for a night of freedom camping. It is an interesting place. There is a tunnel that leads to the beach that was cut right out of the limestone cliffs. Apparently it was used to drive cattle through the country side and out into boats waiting on the other side. Now, it provides safe passage for hippies and the occasional tourists. Another completely empty and stunning natural beach. Surf looks like it could pretty much pulverize me, so we opt for a morning walk instead. After which, we have breakfast and bid the hippies fair well.











We continue driving on the sometime paved, sometimes gravel, always winding road and stop in at several little villages and beaches to have a gander. The more memorable ones are Kiritehere Beach, a long left hander and sacred burial site, and Marakope, holiday sea-side village, where we enjoy lunch in the shade. That night, we reach Kawhia, pronounced Kafia?! It gives us a weird feeling, but we end up staying two days anyways. At $8 per person, per night, it is a steal, complete with cooking facilities and hot showers. The beach is amazing, something of legend perhaps. It is called Te Puia Springs and is the location of a very important and historic Maori village. One where the creator of a “Haka”, or more commonly known as the welcome dance, lived. It is enough to scare the pants off of you with screams, bellows and distorted faces with protruding tongues, but it really is a traditional welcome. I would loved to have seen the faces of the early European settlers as a crowd of as many as fifty huge Pacific Island men gave them this special greeting! We have yet to experience the Haka, which may be a blessing, but we did not miss out on the hospitality of this great little town and the magic of their local beach. In addition to having great surf, two hours either side of low tide you can scour the sand for signs of hot springs that run underneath. One is steam, the other is the smell of rotting eggs. Once found, simply dig a hole and bury yourself in steaming hot mineral water as you watch the surf pound the shore. We find a couple of locals who seem to have found the hottest hole. They invite us over, we extend the dug out and have the most amazing day alternating between dips in freezing cold sea water and comfortably warm spring water, all while burning to a crisp in the unrelenting summer sun which has no ozone to filter its damaging effects.



A long, hot, dusty ride on a gravel road that someone said, “would turn you inside out”, deposited us onto the shores of Raglan. Two world famous left hand point breaks, Whale Bay and Manu Bay, and a beach break.





Two of the damdest things would happen within just the first few hours of arrival. The first would happen right as we were finishing up an amazing dinner of fresh snapper fillets compliments of a guy we met in the previous campground. Just as I would lean back and let out a great sigh of satisfaction a bug would fly right into the ear canal of my left ear. It did not linger around the outside to feel out this new accommodation, it flew right into the center of my ear and continued to flap even though it had met an abrupt dead end. The sound and feeling immediately brought tears to my eyes and made me instantly go insane. So much so that I was looking for the closest cliff to jump from. I never thought such a small incident could cause so much discomfort. I first started by running to the shower and turning the water on full blast and right into my ear. No success. Idalis would then pour warm water from a glass into my ear. Still nothing. We would then roll up a piece of paper and poor Idalis tried to suck the bugger out. Nothing. Just a constant high pitched vibrato deep in the middle of my brain. Relief was nowhere. Despite my sudden lack of balance we packed up, in a hurry, and headed into town looking for help. The health clinic was closed and the paramedic only had a pen light. The operator at the end of the emergency phone line said use oil to float it out. I said, “what kind of oil”. She said, “cooking oil”. So right there in the middle of downtown Idalis was pouring extra virgin olive oil in my ear. The bug did not float out and I smelled like a salad, but at least the hum of the flapping wings stopped. Yeah! I would have to sleep on the ear that night hoping my uninvited guest would get the hint and fall out, but no luck. So, the next morning we went back to the health clinic, filled out the necessary paperwork and the nurse proceeded to flush out my ear with a high power syringe. Voile!



The other damdest occurrence, equally as painful bet less involved was that all these famous left hand breaks, supposedly the world's longest, would lay down flat. The search continues.