As an attempt to diversify this page from something other than my salt-encrusted opinions on films, I have been writing up each day of my travels in New Zealand and Australia. Below is a snapshot of my time upside down in the Southern Hemisphere. It is untouched from when originally written, save for grammatical changes. I hope there is something to enjoy here. (‘We’ is of course Liv and myself.)
Day 24 – Coromandel Peninsula, New Zealand. March.
I slept like the sleepiest log in the world. It was tropical weather outside and I set up an outside table for breakfast. However, our honey puffs, left in our room overnight, were infested with ants. I checked the room and saw a line of ants running along the skirting board to where our food had been left at the bottom of the bed. I traced the line back to a hole in the corner of the room. From my First Aid kit I whipped out my roll of adhesive strip and covered the hole hoping the others would scatter over the day without food. After solving this, and switching to emergency Corn Flakes, I drove Damien the automatic Toyota to the east of the peninsula.
The main road, Highway 25, takes you across the map and then down, providing some exciting bends and views. We went to Hot Water Beach, a great spot famous for the hot water springs that run under the sand. A large rock in the shallows signposts the digging vicinity if you get there early. If not, look for the dozens of people lounging in the steaming sediment. From a nearby shop we rented small metal spade, here called Preston, for $10. We sun-creamed and joined our fellow spring prospectors. Inevitably we hit cold water first, but a nearby couple said they were leaving if we wanted their homemade spa. Steam rose off their patch of water. We thanked them but I wanted to make my own hole still, so I dug a path connecting my cold hole to their hot one, mixing the boiling with the chilled. Eggs could poach in it. We were having fun until a non-English speaking tourist came and sat in my hole, filming himself bathing and digging like a child in a bath. I was seething and stood looking at him as he caused sections of my tunnel to crumble. The moment was spoiled. He beckoned his wife over to sit in the heat and take photos, taking the credit for mine and Preston’s hard work. I was too dumbfounded by this audacity to speak. After a while I gave up and went for a swim. The waves were powerful and I got flung to the shore, but the water was warm and clear.
We left in Damien, coming across an eagle ripping apart roadkill – it would not fly away and I lost the standoff, having to slowly swerve around it. We ate jam sandwiches at a lookout before heading back via Whangapoua, yet another super isolated town where I scratch my head working out how they get their resources delivered. From Whangapoua you can access New Chum Beach. This isolated paradise is only accessed by foot or boat. On foot you have to cross an estuary (at low tide) then walk along the ankle-strengthening rocks right around the headland. This ‘path’ was in the shade, but as we emerged through the jungle on the headland, New Chum Beach was dappled in sunlight. There are no shops, toilets or even bins here; it is untouched. A romantic excursion from civilisation. Few people were there, fewer still were swimming in the high surf. Liv forgot her book, so I read a story from The Explorers about a traveller who was shot in the jaw by his own camel whilst navigating South Australia. I went for another body-surfing session before we clocked that everyone had disappeared – we had forgotten the tide.
We dried and changed, expecting to get wet on the estuary crossing but wanting to be warm and comfortable for the rocky walk back. Sure enough, much of the rock track was submerged. A few boulders fought valiantly against the waves for our safe passage. Liv rolled an ankle. We got to the estuary with the transparent water showing us a hip-deep crossing. We had our rucksacks with phones and passports, so they had to be kept high. I remained in my cargo shorts, hiking them up to my scrotum, and held my trainers aloft. I started wading, keeping to the rocks that stopped my boxers from soaking. Realising one misstep on an unstable rock could lead to me and the bag falling in, I sucked up and just allowed my hips to go in the seawater. It was for the greater good, and nothing the car could not dry out. Liv, a little shorter than I am, suffered a little more. This was the beauty of New Chum Beach: the journey was as fun as the destination.
By this point my wave battered body was exhausted. The drive through the treacherous hills proved more dangerous in the bright, setting sun and chafing shorts, but Damien got us back to Tui Lodge. I reheated a generous portion of curry, seasoned with the salt and pepper sachets we had pocketed from the Milford Sound boat cruise on Day 6 – 19 days of holding onto them was worth it. The room was effectively ant free, making me an anti-hero. Some Weetbix were left as free food so we had some for pudding. They were so stale soaking them in milk did little to soften them. Disgusting – the first food I’ve started but not finished since being away. Before retiring I marvelled at the pulsing night sky. Here in the wild the nebulas shone their haze across the heavens as the crickets sang in the fields. Coromandel is my favourite spot in the country.
For A Few Thoughts More 