Kiwi sense of humor, classic

Very top of New Zealand, Cape Reinga

Where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean, the Wildwest of NZ

Kaifra on Chiquita, her personal horse

Nappy Hair and our friends Dan, Mara and Tom

Note: Post should have been inserted prior to the ‘All Blacks’ Game.

A landmark along this route was to be Napier, which we lovingly refer to as Nappy Hair.  Dubbed “NZ’s art deco capitol” because an earthquake in the early 1900s afforded the city a clean slate with which to rebuild as they liked.  Indeed the buildings are art deco.  And that’s where the intrigue of Napier ends.  Really.  Although to be fair, it boasts many kilometers of sweet coastline, right in city center.  After our first day in the city we were walking around, dubious with how to spend our time.  But that first day was spectacular.  To check another item off our to-do list, we rented some bikes along Napier’s beachfront from a sarcastic ex-Wellington-er (who found it hard transitioning to life in conservative Napier) and rode off in the warm wind with Maha ranting continuously, “I LOVE this place”.  There were interesting structures everywhere, an easy (compared to Motu trails) coastline trail, a warm wind and a massive playground that had us in stitches.  In it was a miniature motorway for kids on their skuuts/pedal-less bikes/bikes complete with traffic lights.  Kafira was a veritable giant amongst kids more in Zosha’s age bracket and size.  Afterwards we had freshly made gelato in flavors like mango madness and fresh feijoa.  City centre is quite interesting as the roads swerves around and it is quite possible to lose yourself with the deco building structures and lines so that you might accidentally step into the street and not realize it.  And NZ drivers are not ones who believe in pedestrian right-of-way, unless you are walking on the pedestrian privileged thick white crossing lines (which they will ALWAYS stop at).  Later on in the trip, as a driver, Maha stopped randomly in the street for a pedestrian to cross.  He laughed at her like she was crazy and waved her on, clearly aware and in deep reverence for pedestrian law.  

 

While in Hastings we parked for the night at an RSA (returned services assn- a Veteran’s club) as our NZMCA made us members.  We were drawn by the ‘$8 Fish and Chips with a Jug’ sign out front, and we manifested that as our dinner when we mistakenly thought we had run out of gas.   The facility was immaculate, and we noticed a shower for our use that was equally clean.  The bartender was super accommodating, and served us up an incredible Fish and Chips meal.  We had a laugh though, as the ‘Jug’ advertised was a jug of juice.  Yes, the average age in the place was sixty, and men and women alike sat in circles playing cards.  Nevertheless, the current Madame Prez came over to our table to introduce herself and make us feel welcome and at home.  She was adorably bubbly, chatting to us of The America’s Cup, about which we knew absolutely nothing and so nodded our heads like bobble-heads.  When she heard we were on our way to an All Blacks game, she became even more animated, telling us of the local teams’, The Magpies, recent win.  Again from us more bobble-heading. 

 

To be honest to our trip route, we actually swerved around Napier when coming into the area and went first to it’s sister city Hastings.  Hastings is home to the Hawkes Bay region of wineries, which are lesser known but award winning.  After taking a breather of a day not driving and staying at a dog park off the highway (yes, strange combination and not very peaceful), we decided to hit up a couple of vineyards.  We were pointed to one where there was a playground for children (ridiculously brilliant.  how boring is wine tasting for children??!!).  As we had just parked, we were greeted by Daniel, who happened to be from Philadelphia and took a turn as winemaker, coming to study in Hawke’s Bay.  We had a jovial tasting with him which ended in him saying, “you know what?  I don’t meet too many Americans these days.  How about you guys come and park at our house?  The girls will love my partner Mara, a vivacious Italian who just finished her Waldorf/Rudolf Stiener training. She loves telling stories”.  Jackpot!!!  

 

Daniel, Mara and their housemate Tom live in the middle of a gorgeous vineyard.  THey invited us in with open arms, welcoming us to use their house at will.  Mara got the girls to work on some painting and sat down with Maha to share some of her stainer training (and infuse a little inspiration into our current homeschool program).  The girls did indeed fall in love with Mara as she told them tales and gave them sweet attention while Daniel strummed on his guitar and showed them how to use the record player (in fact this was the first record player they remember seeing.  “Guys!,” Kafira proudly exclaimed, laughing, “i know what ‘like a broken record’ means now!!”).  He told us he makes his own wine that he sells in the US called “Decimal”.  Tom was a fun and light fellow, and it was an excellent time to breathe and enjoy not moving (so much).  

 

We went to the Hastings farmers’ market, a huge affair with anything you could imagine wanting along with a bacon sandwich Zack had that had him smiling with fulfillment for hours.  We also visited Mara at her place of work, a pizza joint housed in a bubble gum pink building and named “Pippi”.  Kafira spent the meal making secret messages and pictures of adoration for Mara that she ate up with appreciation.  

 

With the ALl Blacks game day approaching, we set off from the East coast to cross the country back towards Auckland.  We planned this as a three day sojourn, two of those days including stops at hot springs along the way.  We left Nappy Hair on the run from an on coming storm, the winds blowing our little camper relentlessly, threatening to throw us from the windy mountain passes.  In fact, there was one stretch we survived but very nearly.  Upon arrival at Tawera, a town that is marked only by a cafe and a little known hot springs on DOC land, the man in the cafe told us that a camper van slightly larger than ours was actually blown off the road at the very spot we felt was a close call.  No one was gravely injured, but that evening we shivered not from the cold but the shear possibilities, limitations and risks we take.  

 

The hot springs turned out to be a bit of a disappointment; for some reason DOC dissuades users with signs foretelling the dangers of soaking in these waters, and so they are not very well maintained.  Zack and Kafira soldered the storm with high hopes and huge wells of faith to make it work, but alas, they came back dry and defeated.  However, the next day after a pit stop in Taupo, we blew through the rest of the north Island-another three hours after the first to Taupo- to have a day to just relax at Miranda Hot Springs.  We laughed at ourselves once again realizing we’d been here our last time in NZ, again remembering it as somewhere else.  Billing itself as the “largest mineral hot pool in the southern hemisphere”, Miranda lives up to it’s name.  But it works.  The water is hot, they have a air-filled ‘pillow’ for the kids to jump on for hours, along with grills for hire.  THe day ended up being spectacularly sunny and beautiful and a great time to rest. The girls made friends with a four year old girl named Sasha, but we ran into a problem that seems to happen with Zoshi and kids around her age or a little older.  She seems to butt heads with them, followed by the curse of ‘3’: where Zosha feels left out or out of synch of the play.  And all she really ever wants is to play with Kafira anyway.

 

We stayed the night at an open space called ‘Ray’s Rest’ overlooking the water and the Coromandel peninsula.  Supposedly it’s a resting stop for migratory birds, but we didn’t spot a one.  It was uncomfortably windy, so even a nice stroll wasn’t so nice.  The next day we headed out towards Auckland; being a quick 90 minute drive we decided to take a round-about route.  We stopped at a wonderful small park for the kids that was like landing on a pirate’s island.  It even had a cave with a reclining Buddha like the ancient ones in Afghanistan that are no longer.  There we met a wonderful family with children perfectly suited to our own:  Finn was seven and Oliver 3.  The kids actually all got along beautifully and would have happily played all day.  Helen and Grant lived across the channel in the town of Thames for the past 8 years, right at the base of the Coromandel.  Helen considered herself an Aussie, albeit originally from NZ, she’s lived there since she was 18 and Grant is fully from Oz.  Being an architect, Grant spoke eloquently about how he draws inspiration from the Australian landscape; that there are places there that are stilled untouched since the time of the dinosaurs.  Helen, a mosaic artist, said it has been interesting watching Grant work from NZ when his inspiration point was across the Tasman Sea.  She felt that when a person was not in their native passion place, their work may not be up to prime.  We chatted about our gypsy existence, and bantered about how some people are built for it, have it in them, and others do not.  They offered to buy the girls ice blocks (ice creams bars) and invited us to visit them in their “ugly pink house” on Thames’ main strip.  They were the first couple that we really connected with, all of us, and would love to see them again.  Too soon, however, it was time for all of us to pack it up and leave– us for the game and them for Miranda hot springs.

 

We drove into Auckland with little time to spare and called the i-site for help with which bus to take to the game.  We then got a little lost on the way to where we wanted to park for the night, a quiet area called Erin’s Pools that is virtually shut during winter but bustling with local joggers and exercise cravers as it is right on the water.  It was also, unbeknown to us, the current home of a family drama in the midst of unfolding.  The mother, a chain-smoking spit of a woman without an ounce of fat on her and very little teeth, knocked on our camper door the next morning,

 

“Do you remember my husband, who was here last night?  Fat with white hair?  Would you call the police if you see him tampering with my camper van?  We are separated and we are living here for a bit.  My boy is sick and i have to care for him.”

 

What do you say to this?  Immediately our thoughts were, “Let’s get out of here”.  But wouldn’t you know it?  When we started up the camper, it make a high pitched screaming sound that told us to stay put.  As it was a Sunday, we’d have to wait it out for a day.  The i-site gave us the name of a mechanic who turned out to be wonderful and spent a great deal of thought and 30 min figuring out our problem, which thankfully was only some water in the engine that he drained.  Not giving us a price for his service, we offered him a $20 which he gladly accepted.

 

Oh, but the family drama?  Turned out to be nothing really, but it was quite interesting how the mother assembled a support system from two men who also lived in their vans, who took turns sipping tea and commiserating with the mum or watching the boy.  And he was a bit off; the girls attempted to play with him but gave up after ten minutes.

Summer Festivals!

Meir is truly the Year of the Dragon!

Ooohehhh AHHHHHHH

The second item to be crossed off our to-do list was going to an All Black’s game.  We are not sports fans- well Kafira somehow is- but we figured it would be awesome and rowdy and we’d get to see the HAKA, which opens each game. Rugby matches are a succinct 80 min of action, with a very short break between the first and second half.  There are no long stretches of time outs or deliberation periods; there’s also a bit of acrobatics when two players pair up to thrust a third into the air towards the ball.  A full contact sport where bloody faces are common, the only “safety” equipment used are mouth guards.  The match was NZ All Blacks vs South Africa, and a long rivalry exists between these two.  Visiting op-shops on our way back to Auckland, we suited up with All blacks gear (the colors are super easy– black and silver) and made our way.  The weather was ominously dark, and the land of the long white cloud was living up to it’s name and threatening rain.  We were assured by the i-site that the stadium was covered, with a big hole in the center where the field was; although arriving at the stadium we found that there was also a giant gap where our seats were as well.  Luckily we were decked out in rain gear and a will to see this match.  We ended up taking a cab to and from the stadium, as the i-site misinformed us of the bus schedule and game time was coming close.  It was just as well, as we learned something very important on our cab ride to the game.  Zack was trying super hard to get our very serious cabbie to laugh, when the guy asked if we were from South Africa.  Zack asked why he thought that and the cabbie, gesturing towards Zack’s bright orange rain coat and Maha’s orange down jacket, answered that S. Africa’s colors are green and orange.  Laughing, we stripped down to appropriate colors.  

 

The match was super.  Exciting, action packed and great fun.  All 47,000 seats in the stadium were filled and the rain was an off/on light shower.  All Blacks slammed S. Africa 29-15 and the opening Haka was a powerful way for the ALl blacks to warn S. Africa of the power that was about to come at them and summon extreme excitement from the crowd.  Although interestingly (and to us funny) enough, two robust Maori sang Italian Opera before the game began.  Then a skinny Pakeha sang the NZ national anthem both in English and Te Reo.  The game was also hilarious time to enjoy the qualities that make our children charmingly themselves:  Kafira was completely enrapt in the game, following every moment and cheering with gusto.  Zosha’s head was thrown back staring at the bright moon, fully conversing with it.  And Lil Meir was making friends; in the carrier he was afforded a 360 degree view of all our neighbors.  He flirted with the older couple behind us, threw his head back and knotted the hair of the lady in front of us and played with the patch on the jacket of the young guy next to us.  This guy was super sweet, talking to Meir the entire game and at one point he laughed to Maha that what he thought was someone pick-pocketing him was really Meir’s constant kicking of his side.   For weeks after we’ve laughed as a family answering the call of the game with, “ooh ehh.  AHHHHHH”(Zosha inserted a thumb slicing her throat like the Haka entails).

 

Since our mad rush to make the All Blacks game was complete we wanted to hunker down in Auckland.  With Meir’s recent milestone of crawling at full throttle, we also thought this would be a great time to list our camper for sale as most people buy campers from September-December.  Like everything else, we’ve adapted to our small and somewhat precarious space and what that means with a crawling baby; Kafira came up with an ingenious idea to keep Meir from falling down the stairs by stuffing a sleeping bag there.  We’ve come to the conclusion that flying somewhere warm and exotic is just not going to happen, with the rising cost of airplane tickets.  It would not only severely deplete our savings, but take us further from what we wanted to do here; namely ground ourselves by working and learning on a farm.  We are currently researching different farms that might accept a family with children through WWOOF: Willing Workers On Organic Farms.  This has been a bit of a challenge as many farms do not accept families with children.  In fact, in our research, we are finding that many of the listings aren’t even farms, but people’s homes that just happen to have an organic garden.  The trade is simple: work for food and a place to sleep.  Many of the places require at least 4 hours of work a day (the Waldorf schools throughout the country call for a staggering 8-4 work day), which leaves us scratching our heads as how to make this happen.  Do we switch off every two hours?  What to do with the kids while we work?  And more importantly, what do we want to learn?  We sent out a mass email to a few farms that said they were alright hosting children and decided to go on another adventure.

 

Leaving Auckland in our rearview mirror we climbed the hills of West Auckland to the picturesque beach village of Piha that sees 2500 tourists roll in each summer day.  Surfers and swimmers alike rejoice in the cold waters, and the beach becomes laden with holes that fill up with luke warm water from beneath the sand.   Which is super wonderful for carefree children who carelessly tramp in the water and need a quick warm up before the cool winds prove villainous.  Thankfully we arrived in early spring, so the beach was quiet and we enjoyed a hike up both sides of surrounding hillsides, which the Maori used to live on as it was a perfect place to keep an eye on any approaching enemy, and the abundant see life left no one hungry.  The walks were steep, and at one point on one side, the side that is a humungous rock face jutting from the sea and is the picturesque part of Piha featured in cards and maps.  The trail is closed off with a thick iron fence as landslides are clearly starting to occur due to the loss of the top soil (when Pakehas were stripping this area of it’s abundant trees and Kauri).  Up there we noticed three young American girls (no “eh” so we knew they weren’t Canadian) attempting to scale the incline in jandals/flip flops.  They were scared and slipping, but also giggling so we let them be.  We parked right on the beach that night, and enjoyed the quiet revelry before waking to several campers parked right next to us (it must make them feel safe to pack themselves in like sardines).  A funny old grandma knocked on our camper door offering to sell us hats she makes herself; we also met a writer working on a book about Bhutan.  

 

We originally imagined rolling back into Auckland after Piha but then decided, why?!  Why return to the mayhem of the city when we could just continue north, towards hot springs and nature?  We decided to make the trek up to Cape Reinga, the northernmost tip of NZ where the Tasman Sea and Pacific Oceans meet.  We realized the encroaching self imposed time line of selling the camper and yet felt (at least at this point) as we had some space to meander along.  We decided to give ourselves a month to sell the camper ourselves, after which if it didn’t sell we would bring it back to Neil, who said he’d be happy to sell it for the 8th time.  And we wanted to start WWOOFing September 15, so again we found ourselves with a tight timeline.  It seems sometimes you have to squish yourself, but we’d like to find a way in the future to do the things we enjoy and have a schedule without this feeling prevailing.

Children are our treasure

Children are our Treasure

 

The concrete jungle of Tauranga caught us in it’s twisty turn-y roundabouts each time we tried to make our way.  Second to Auckland in population, it’s as bustling as a NZ city can get.  The most remarkable thing about it for us is that we found Kafira a Flick and Flack watch in an op shop that has simultaneously helped her learn to tell time and count by fives. We also found a sweet toy store where we decided to try out a tactic we’ve been considering:  buy Zosha a doll stroller which would get her to walk more in city streets without constantly complaining (So far it’s working about half the time). The shop owner obviously loves what he does, demonstrating how many of the little spinning toys worked and throwing a couple in our bag for free.   Tauranga’s city centre playground was built after the city took a poll of 1000 citizens of what kinds of interesting things they’d like to see/have in a park.  The result is a thrilling playground full of water (even in the chilly weather kids were stomping through it, soaked to the bone) and intriguing climbing and spinning structures.  Beyond strip of stores and busy streets, Tauranga is surrounded by water and a bustling port and the beauty of Mount Manganui, a small round topped mountain that seems to jut from the ocean itself.  

 

Mount Manganui is a small but upscale town with a farmer’s market offering goodies like venison salamis and homemade coconut shampoo and juice boosters full of fresh beets, carrots and ginger.  We parked for a couple of days right on the water, and enjoyed morning walks along the beach, full of puffer fish that had been washed ashore from a storm the night before.  An older gentleman stopped us to chat, and related that people from time to time still found conch shells the size of a human skull on that beach.  

 

The first time we attempted to climb the mountain it was raining so hard, the drops hurt and our clothes were soaked.  We tried again on a warm sunny morning, and chose the path (one of many) that wound it’s way first along the side of the mountain, affording us grandiose views of the ocean and surrounding land.  Moving into the bush, the path was frequented by people of all ages, from elders with walking sticks to day joggers to little ones; quite impressive taking in the sheer climb of the trail.  Our kids snacked the entire climb, as was custom, but when we hit the top, and breathed in the incredible vastness of the view, like eagles from their nest, we saw a family we passed on the trail enjoying a proper picnic.   We realized we are snacking so much (mostly the kids) along the trails we take that we are too full to take time for a sweet rewarding picnic at the top or end of a trail.  We met an old man (possibly 80++) at the top, who lamented at his slow pace; we remarked how impressed we were that he was there.  Zosha’s fairy dress powered her up the mountain as always; we make sure to outfit her in it for the more difficult treks.  Kafira on the other hand complained bitterly, even more after having reached the top.  Zack and Maha look at each other in times like this, smirking and singing, “if it’s not one it’s the other,” a song we’ve penned as a coping mechanism in times such as these.

 

Mt Manganui has much more soul and flavor than it’s neighbor Tauranga, but we squeaked out a couple of nice mellow and quiet days in a park of a Tauranga suburb.  Fergusen park lies right on the water, and sunsets play their colors along the sand and the tide (as usual in this country) is dramatic as it surges forward in high tide and regresses largely in low tide, both rapidly.  Maha met a sweet woman named Coralee, a Maori woman married to a Pakeha man, friendly and sweet as can be.  She took notice of our kids’ names and related the name of her youngest blue eyed son- Maniah, the Maori guardian of the sky.  She was so curious about the US, starting with, “Does everyone there own a gun?”  To which Maha responded with a laugh, half sad.  Then Coralee asked what Maha’s biggest impressions of NZers were.  First Maha responded how impressed she was with how the Maoris were with their children.  Coralee nodded, “that’s because children are our treasure.”  This simple sentence has become our mantra when the girls grate on our nerves (aka mirroring us) and balance all we hear about the current generation of Maori and the rise in child abuse.

I have meat in my freezer

oh the blandness

 

We camped at Dickey Flat last time we were in NZ.  A simple campsite, it lies along the beautiful river and has a 4km walkway full of bush, suspension bridges, waterfalls, glowworm tunnels and mining tunnels.  We actually hadn’t intended to go the entire way- a lapse in our collective memory had us splicing the hike into two separate ones.  The realization hit us 3 km in, when we met a sweet couple from the Northland district and asked them where they started.  Wonderfully there was a cafe we remembered correctly at the end of the hike, which saved us from mutiny as we had run out of both water and snacks.  A delicious meal had us ready for our return hike, and then the rain came down.  Luckily most of the tramp is covered bush…along the way we met up with a kindy (preschool) group who were admiring the cave crickets:  giant things that looked like spiders crawling along the sides of the caves with their long legs.  This put Maha at ease, as she spotted a couple on the first part of the tramp.  The glowworm tunnel required head lamps, as not long upon entering darkness engulfs you.  Looking up, like small green and blue stars, the glowworms glow on the ceiling.  Also helping to entertain along the lengthy trail was a stick bug that attacked itself to Kafira’s back and was aptly named Stu.  There was some talk of keeping ol’ stu, but being that a camper van is not the most ideal environment for a stick bug, Kafira decided to do what was best for Stu and leave him trailside (And Maha sighed with relief).  

 

I have meat in my freezer

 

We made another list, this time of things that we would feel at a complete loss about if we did not accomplish them before the end of our NZ adventure:

• a couple of family bike rides
• seeing the ALL Blacks (NZ’s premier rugby team) perform the Haka and play a match 
• Zack and Kafira kayaking

 

Writing things down is really the first step towards them becoming actualized.  We are constantly forgetting this awesome power we hold, and laugh upon looking back at our requests: in our trip preparation notebook, on the page where we listed everything we wanted in a camper van, there is only one price.  It was for a listing we found while searching for campervans, and not even the one we ended up with, not to mention above the price we were willing to pay.  But as it was the only number we wrote down, it ended up being the exact price we paid for Kazam.

 

The bike ride part proved to be easy, we just had to set the day.  Father’s day in NZ is September 1, so after Maha’s birthday in her sacred place Whakatane, we headed towards the Motu trails by Opotiki.  Some trails flow alongside the ocean and others go deep into the surrounding mountains.  We opted to bike alongside the meandering ocean trail, a 18km roundtrip gravelly path that wound like a serpent.  The trail afforded us glorious views of White Island, NZ’s only active volcanic island, with a constantly flowing and growing volcanic cloud.  Kafira took a couple of nasty falls, screaming and crying much of the ride.  Zosha was stoked in her bike seat behind Zack and Meir, tired of attempting to rid himself of his immense helmut, fell fast asleep. We only made it about 12 km, much of which we did on the beach.  Upon returning the bikes to the lovely owners of the shop, Kafira was about to complain to Maha about her various scrapes when the woman owner exclaimed, “Did you fall?!  All the kids do.  Now you are officially in the club.”  Immediately Kafira’s face lightened up, and she began smiling and really revealing in how awesome the bike ride was.  The couple also gave us a sweet Father’s day deal and knocking off the cost of a bike.  Having worked up a big appetite, we visited a local fish-n-chips shop and Zack decided to try the much hyped NZ fav, Whitebait patties.  Whitebait, or inanga, are tiny fish, the baby spawn of bigger fish.  People stand in the rivers with giant nets waiting for schools of them to float in.  It’s a big deal here; they fry them up whole (gills, eyes etc) into these egg patties.  Wanna hear a secret?  Like most food here, they are pretty soggy and tasteless.  In fact, Zack was disappointed his didn’t even taste the POP of the little eyeballs.  

 

Checking one thing off our list, we headed towards the sparsely populated East Coast, full of rugged coastline, dramatic mountains and hard core ocean waves.  What we love about this part of NZ is that it really feels like what we imagined NZ to be: the East coast does not cater to tourists at all, towns are small and very quiet.  It feels like the quiet and beauty of the land is what is paramount here.  We stopped in Te Araroa, a small valley town tucked into the East coast and the only place to park the night for many kilometers.  Here a an exceptional Maori woman named Pauline has refurbished an old nunnery into a backpackers hostel that is quite affordable.  A big beautiful wooden home with large windows and clever surrounding landscape. ,you can see the raging see from here.  She also holds bone/pounamu carving workshops as well as weaving classes.  For $5, we parked on her land and enjoyed the simple pleasures of clean hot shower rooms and toilets at our disposal; but more interestingly Pauline’s company.  She has a four year old granddaughter who fell right into step with our girls, playing through the dusk hours.  At one point Maha came out to offer the girls some salami slices to hold them over until dinner; when she offered one to Pauline’s granddaughter, the girl looked back at Maha like she was completely strange and said, “Nah, I have meat in my freezer.”  Zosha was so taken by the girl that the next day before we left, she jumped out and gave the girl her prized stuffed unicorn as a gift.  Pauline was so taken by this exchange that she ran to find some Maori books for the girls, along with stunning pieces of Paua shell and Pounamu.  Kafira made herself a gorgeous necklace from the paua.  

 

We have been reading a chapter book with Kafira called Jungle Child (by Sabine Kruegler), which is an interesting account of a white family who goes to live amongst the Fayu, a tribe in Papua New Guinea that up until that point was so isolated that they had never seen white people, and this is in the 1980s.  ALthough there is a bit of “white man saves” missionary flavor to the book, it is an incredible tale of growing up in the jungle and the customs of the Fayu, who up to that point where beginning to die out due to their constant warfare and the fact that the younger generation was not learning the customs from the elders.   Pauline was accounting a similar tale of the modern Maori, how they are not interested in learning the old ways, such as weaving, and prefer to grow pot and live off the welfare system (which unlike the welfare system of the US, it is quite possible to more that survive off).  Pauline’s own mother was forbidden to speak Maori, so she cannot speak with much fluidity; she treasures the Maori language school that her granddaughter attends, to learn the language.  She also told us about the dreaded Red Pine tree, not a native NZ tree, that the Chinese influenced the Maori to plant.  It’s pollen poisons Pauline’s rainwater (and many other water sources in NZ) and yet there are thousands upon thousands of hectares of their growth all over the country.  These tree grow quite quickly, so their wood is not incredibly strong but can be used for the interior of houses and as garden pulp and paper.   

 

The East coast is wild and aloof from the rest of NZ.  It does not cater to tourists nor does it boast many of the simple amenities of many places.  Most people traveling NZ bypass this part entirely by taking the shortcut from Opotiki.  And in doing so one misses the rugged coast, the massive and holy mt something (can you believe we are not fact checking this because we threw out our lonely planet and many maps??) and the quirky Morere hot springs, and the dramatic coastline of the Mahia peninsula, where we got lost and drove back and forth before parking in the dark.  When we awoke we were afforded incredible views of the sea, the vast blue deep beneath us.  We enjoy the springs of Morere.  long ago used as a cooking area for the Maori, there is a beautiful short bush trail that leads to four small tubs over looking a river.  Besides some locals in the larger pools we had the place to ourselves.  All along the bush trail are big signs that remind you to consider the natural world around you with sayings like, “how many native trees can you see right now?” or “which bird songs are you hearing?”, which are exactly the kinds of things we love to do on a tramp. 

 

Winding around the coastline, through Wairoa which has free wifi for 2km (we scrambled to use  this service as we coasted through town and of course couldn’t get it to work) and world famous pies will remain a mystery for us currently, as all three children were asleep when we rolled through and that is a delicate balance that needs to be kept even keel.  We came upon Gisbourne midmorning and found a “playground” on the coast to have a sweet picnic in.  The word playground was in quotes due to the fact that the word was an understatement.  THis place was a veritable adventure land, sprawling grass with play structures scattered all over the place.  

THe biggest surprise of Gisbourne (pronounced Giz-bin), a place we originally imagined as a pit stop to do laundry and some food shopping, was that we fell in love with it.  It is a lovely seaside city that hosts a secret surfer spot and is the beginning of the wine region of Hawkes Bay.  The local maps are artfully done, there are sweet museums, the people of the city are friendly, helpful and sweet (the local coffee roaster invited us to his home to buy the coffee since we wouldn’t be around for the farmers market).  We decided to take the plunge and buy tickets for the All Blacks game that was in ten days and possibly our only chance to see them play.  The Gisbourne I-site was hosted by some of the most accommodatingly friendly people we’ve encountered at an i-site.  A curly haired surfer was our host, and he allowed us to print our tickets for free, along with guiding us to some great activities to fill the unfortunately short amount of time we had in that sweet city: 24 hours (he managed this all the while conversing with an elderly fellow in a motorized wheel chair, one eye, little to know hearing and inaudible speech, who frequents the i-site throughout his days).  As it was to rain our next day here, we were sent to Toihoukura, school of Maori visual arts and design.  When we first arrived, the receptionist told us that a morning class was taking place, but that we would be welcome to come back after lunch time.  We took that time to visit the city’s other museum [what is it called??], full of artifacts and artwork both interesting an chilling.  Also there were some old films of people catching fish with the old time flax nets and a film of an archeological dig in the area.  Upon returning to Toihoukura we were immediately welcomed and apologized to.  Apparently the morning class was actually their morning Haka and song time, a warm up for the day; we were told that we would have been more than welcome to sit in and enjoy the ritual but that the receptionist was knew and naive of protocol  Hearing this Maha was ready to come back the next day.  Alas, as our All Blacks schedule was already in motion, this was not possible.   One of the professors, a friendly and accommodating woman, gave us a guided tour of the facilities.  There is painting, sculpture, Maori wood carving, Ta Moko (Maori tattoo) and weaving among others.  ALl the students must take classes in each of the styles before settling on their own.  We laughed at those who volunteer for Ta Moko, and right away a heavy set young guy laughs and obligingly pulls up his pant leg to show us his classmates work; and it was pretty impressive.  

 

Sadly making peace with our short time in Gisbourne, we hit up a vineyard on our way out of town and bought the most delicious unfiltered grape juice we had ever tasted.  Zack used the silicone cups the girls have for their games of “tea time” to make them ices in our small freezer.  Because, what meltdown with children couldn’t be avoided with a simple but delicious ice? Brilliant. 

 

The ocean is my best friend

Whitianga (pronounced Fih-tianga) is a beautiful coastal town on the eastern side of the Coromandel.  We were lucky enough to spend several nights parked on a paddock owned by Margaret and Peter Simpson, overlooking the beauty that is Simpson Beach. The Simpson family is one of the original Paheka families, as they’ve been around an impressive 150 years.  They are a lovely couple in their 80s; they’re children are a colorful lot, the daughter cracking Maha up with her plans to spend her 60th birthday in Vegas. They included many of the things that make Vegas so crazy noting all the while that this was a hilarious way to experience American Culture.  When Maha noted that the natural splendor of the Nevada desert was worth checking out, the daughter just chortled.  Coming from the expansive and meagerly habituated beauty that is NZ, we suppose one must be ready for the expansive craziness of human nature and larger populaces. The Simpson’s grown son runs his own bar, an unlicensed joint that is frequented by notables and average Joes alike, and hosts many crazy activities.  

As it is VERY early spring, all the ewes on the Simpson’s property had just given birth to lambs, and most of them gave birth to twins.  Peter joked to Maha that this was happening because they were an old lot, and winked that she better be careful the older she got.  Kafira, our in-house animal whisperer (she used to feed the deer in the yard of our home in Soquel) gained the lambs’ trust long enough to approach one for a pet.  We noted the way the mama’s were with their young; if scared, the ewes would run away, possibly kicking one of her lambs in the head.  But it was fascinating to watch them mew each other out when separated.  OK, we said to each other, we’re not doing so bad in the evolutionary spectrum.

Whitianga’s population swells by more than half in the summertime, and understandably as it is such a gorgeous place.  Dramatic Islands jut out of the water like dominoes covered in bush and rainbows sprout seemingly after each rain.  The Maoris used to frequent this area, although now they make up for less than 2% of the local populace.   A shopkeeper related that the Maori were in fact cannibals and enjoyed the fruits of their slaves’ labour, saying all this with an air of reverence for the people, as many of the Pahekas on the eastern side of the Coromandel seem to.  She told us how you can easily find remnants of Maori feasts in the hills, where they dug huge pits to put all their seafood refuse; also in the hills Moa stones could be found.  These are round and smooth stones that the Moa swallowed then regurgitated to help them digest their food.  Not really sure about the excitement over those, perhaps the connection to the past?

We then drove around the eastern side of the peninsula, a circle of roads around Cooks beach.  There lie two spots we enjoyed last time we were in NZ:  Hot water beach and the gorgeous Cathedral Cove.  Hot water beach is a crazy tourist spot, but even so it’s hilarious and worth visiting.  Especially if you are thermal spring aficionados like ourselves.  From two hours on either side of low tide, you can dig out hot pools along the beach, right by the water.  Sure, there’s only two small sources of the hot water, and you have to fight the breach of cold ocean water filling your tubs.  Nevertheless, you’ll find there tons of people with their rented shovels digging enthusiastically, ever hopeful they will find the source.  The result is a pot-holed beach where started and abandoned holes litter the sand.  There is no sense of ownership about the tubs, and people share the space easily.  Finding the shovel rental place closed upon our arrival, Zack manned himself with a big flat stick instead.  Maha howled with laughter and Kafira whined that we had no luck finding the source.  People all around were doing the same; only a small amount lie lazily happy in their steaming pools.  We were about to give up when a mama invited us into her pool.  Zack went to work on the upkeep of the sand and water balance, and the source was so hot he burnt his toes if he stepped on the bubbles.  As it turned out, Kafira was more interested in jumping in the ocean.  She body surfed and laughed and screamed, “The ocean is my best friend!!!”  At one point, Zosha was the only one in a tub that could easily have held six adults.  She was playing and holding the space, in her own world.  We didn’t realize the extent of her power at holding the space until it was time to go.  As she left the tub, an eager group of ten teenagers swarmed the tub.  Little ol’ Zosha, a force to be reckoned with.   

We are beginning to realize a trend that is happening as we start to revisit places we’ve been to.  You know how sometimes you’ll visit a place that feels magical and has a huge impact upon you, only to visit it again and feel that the impact is much flatter or less inspiring than before?  That doesn’t seem to happen here.  We are constantly awed by the sheer consistent amazingness of the natural beauty here.  Cathedral Cove is one of those places, and we were overjoyed at our luck in finding out that we could park our camper van and sleep there, awakening to sky and ocean that dropped off below us and islands of tropical bush sprinkled along the coast.  In the morning we cooked griddle cakes filled with Goji berries and dates with this view as our front/back/surrounding ‘yard’.  Then the sweet hike down down down to the cove where the unseasonably hot weather allowed us a jump in the ocean and for the girls to play naked on the sand.  We washed them off in the coldest sliver of a waterfall, which cascaded from the cliff above us.  By the time we climbed back up to the cliff top and reached our camper, the rain began to pour down and the wind commenced to blow.  And just like that, it was winter again.  

To satisfy Zack’s bi-weekly wood fired pizza craving we moseyed down the road to Purangi winery.  This place is the antithesis of the sometimes stuffy and immaculate manner of vineyards.  It is hilariously dusty, like an old tavern in Britain some 50 years ago.  The owner, son of the man who bought the land in the 1970s, is a lively bloke who loves discussing the peculiarities of nationalities he’s seen stroll through his doors.  He rattles jokes off almost too fast for us to enjoy or even laugh at them, but Kafira enjoyed him immensely (and so sparked her Aussie joke spree).  The pizza was good and the tasting was the most generous we’ve ever experienced:  about ten varieties.  We ate in the garden between rain showers under the sparse branches of a Feijoa tree that grew out of the table.   Feijoas, or pineapple guavas as they’re called in the US (even though they are related to neither pineapples or guavas) are a Brazilian fruit that grow remarkably well in NZ.  Kiwis claim them more as their national fruit, more than kiwifruit which is sprayed with massive amounts of pesticide and shipped overseas.  They are delicious frozen and sliced.

On the road again and back into the bush we began to make our journey eastward.  But as we head south and the weather starts to cool again we laugh and ask ourselves, what was our rush?  We so love the coromandel, why didn’t we spend more time there?? We will go back to enjoy it’s splendor, however we are realizing we realistically have less time to enjoy life on the road than we originally thought.  Meir is on the precipice of crawling and camper vans are not built for crawling babies.  We have never counted ourselves as nervous parents, only fulfilling the smallest baby proofing measures.  However in a camper there are tons of sharp corners, levers that will flip a table rushing towards the ground in a matter of seconds, a bed high off the ground and steps that lead to the hard (many times concrete) ground.  Our plan is to sell the camper in the beginning of spring (late Sept-early October).  If we succeed in doing so, we will live (hopefully less expensively) in Fiji or Taiwan for two months before flying back to the states.  In the tropics we can warm our bones and turn this baby blog into a book, while flexing our position as citizens of the earth.   Also to acknowledge the synchronistic happenings after the idea of living in Fiji entered the picture.  First we were looking at a map of all the pacific islands when our eyes zeroed in on Fiji; then we started meeting people from there and a couple at Cathedral cover ON THEIR WAY THERE.  We realized that this tropical paradise, a fantasy of picturesque landscape and a warm relief from our year of winter could easily become a reality.