On the Road, in shades of Kerouac
It’s early morning, Baylys Beach, west coast, Northland. The Tasman rolls in green luminescent swells, flattened by the offshore wind. In the distance two walkers track hoof-falls along the endless strand; the horses just specks on the sea-mist horizon. As their shapes grow larger the thud of hoofs mingles with the breakers until they’re upon us, frothing and snorting taut energy against their leather harness. Faced with so much fitness so early in the day, I feel a growing need for a good coffee. We stroll inland to the Funky Fish café. How unexpected, but fantastic, to find an oasis of great coffee in the tiny coastal settlement that is Baylys Beach, 15 kilometres west of Dargaville. Good coffee is of out-of-proportion importance to this band of travellers heavily weighted with Dutch genes. “We” are my mother, Josefa, 73, member of the 1950s Dutch migration down-under. Brother, Franie, 48, Devon-dweller, part of the 1978 Kiwi brain-drain, and back in New Zealand just two days. And my Dutch aunt Marieke, on short-term leave from home and husband in the Netherlands. We’re on the road, not quite in the vein of Jack Kerouac, but we’re giving spontaneous prose our best crack. Part Dutch, part English, and part bad Cockney accent, know wha’ oi mean? Our trip aims to follow the ‘Discovery Highway’ - Auckland to Auckland, via Northland. Yesterday, our first day, the sun shone, the birds sang. Full of confidence, we detoured off through the Waitakere Ranges to spot the piano on Karekare beach, a treat for Marieke (that movie was very big in Holland). Thrill over, we were trapped by endless t-intersections; actually, often the same one, from a different angle. Local garage man assures - “It’s easy, just up the road, hang left, then right, ya can’t go wrong mate.” Well, we did. Go wrong. All the way out to Bethell’s Beach. (Mental note, start of Discovery Highway needs more road signs). By the time we made it to Waipoua Forest and Tane Mahuta, the king of kauri, it was raining. Timing is all. With water bouncing off his shaven pate, Franie struggled to be impressed. So we headed down the highway for a damp but beautiful sunset at the grand entrance to Hokianga Harbour. God-beams escaped the cloud to highlight gold in the mountain dunes across the channel, and picked up the wings of an eagle ray flying below us. This road trip has a purpose. Months before, Josefa was diagnosed with Parkinsons disease, the one that makes you shake, rattle and roll. A self-reliant widow for the 12 years since my father died, independence has been tiring of late and she was quietly pleased at fate’s directive to lie back and be taken care of. No chance. “Stay active or the disease will take you over in no time,” says her doc. “Whatever you’re doing now, do more.” So Parkinsons has become her hobby. Yoga, walking, exercise sessions with other wobblies. She’s an inspiration. But we all know this road trip may be her last expedition. “Shake a leg,” says Franie empathically. Northland turns out to be an inspired choice for our journey. We are a palate of mixed expectations, and Northland provides a great canvas. My mother is the most easily pleased. She wants time with her kids and to not make decisions; she could be anywhere really. Franie, he’s a bit nervous at re-entry into the family bosom, a potpourri of high hopes and cautious anticipation. My aunt; she wants to see it all, win all the arguments, and have a laugh. If the location was wrong, we’d know, but Northland delivers what we don’t realise we’re looking for – its laid back, beautiful, neutral. Among our aims is to see as much and travel as little as possible - it’s a B & B (bed to beach) crawl and we’re taking the challenge seriously - one day we advance just 50 kilometres, from Ahipara to Cable Bay. The only things we’re chasing are sun and Kiwi icons – we’re all set to tick off Tane Mahuta, the dark light of Colin McCahon’s Ahipara, seething seas at Cape Reinga, and the Waitangi Treaty house. As it turns out the icons that stand out are not the ones I expect, nor where I expect them. It’s people that make the impression. Take Ruth, our hostess at Opononi in the Hokianga. The birds are working the harbour, so her family’s gone fishing. Ruth doesn’t fish. Hates it. As a trained chef she’ll cook them, but she won’t clean them. She’s a great advocate for the saying “Never trust a skinny chef.” I trust Ruth. Instead of bringing in the kai moana, she does the garden, and the possums. The possums come from her dad’s block, part of his efforts to protect the kiwi living there. ‘Doing the possums’ means plucking their fur using a home-built scutching machine. Three possums furnish one kilo of fur, going rate $50 a kilo. She jiggles and giggles a demonstration on how to grasp the possum’s legs and hang on as its body is hooked and pulled into the peeler. And sends us off with recipes for flounder and paua. As we head out of Opononi for the Rawene car ferry, the sand hills across Hokianga Harbour mottle gold and grey under a cloudy sky. The search for good coffee continues. We don’t find it in the Ferry House, Rawene, but we do find huge leather chairs and an unexpectedly catholic collection of second-hand books and Asian artefacts for sale; it’s like taking elevenses in a dishevelled museum. I check our touring guide, Driving Scenic New Zealand. Its author has proved a reliable ferret of good grounds and, sure enough, round the corner, as promised, is the Boatshed Café and a damn fine flat white. From the verandah overhanging the harbour, the ferry’s progress can be factored in to whether there’s time for a second cup. (Mental note, remember the guidebook sooner). Then there’s Kingi from Kaitaia, our Cape Reinga bus driver, sporting knee-high white socks and spouting jokes. “So, who knows what Kai-tyre (Kataia) means? Meals on wheels!” The droll delivery of stories and songs slowly builds a picture of the region’s significance to Maori. Its from Cape Reinga that spirits of their dead depart to join their ancestors. Hurtling along Ninety-Mile Beach, Kingi interrupts his horror story about a beach bus accident and a quiet waiata floats down the microphone as he pays his respects at Te Aria, the most sacred hill on the beach. The day is a blend of Maori spirituality and Kiwi thrill seeking via a blast of sand tobogganing on the dunes at Te Paki. Kingi’s been doing this for 24-years and he still has us eating out of his hands. Obligatory snaps in front of Cape Reinga lighthouse. No wind and a wonky line of foam where the swells of two great oceans meet – from the west the Tasman, the Pacific from the east. The Maori spirits must soar on the winds that can whip these same still waters into nine-metre swells. Ninety-mile Beach isn’t. It’s 64 miles, but who’s counting? Tuatua shells litter the tide lines, and the water scrolls patterns of black sand on white. Pied stilts pick away in the shallows as quad bikes and 4x4s rush past. So wide, so flat, so straight, it’s better than the highway and gets washed two times a day. But beware the tides. Like a scarecrow, one rusting hulk is left, a rotting warning to those who may be tempted to take the beach lightly. The story goes its driver, late to pick up his wife, decided to take a shortcut along the beach, fearing her wrath more than the tide. He got both. By day six we’ve made it to the east coast. We see nude bathers, of a sort, at Karikari Peninsula. We share chips from the famous Mangonui fish shop with gulls. We visit Matauri Bay but miss the memorial to the Rainbow Warrior, that icon of New Zealand’s 1980s antinuclear stance that now provides fish habitat. (Mental note, why take a guidebook if you’re not going to read it?) Rain keeps us out of Puketi Forest, where I was hoping to hear a kokako. And my mother is irked to learn that Pompallier House was a printery, not the eponymous bishop’s home. Our last night on the road is in that ‘hell-hole of the Pacific,’ Russell, once a place of randy whalers, skullduggerers and rum-crazed dullboots. In the misty rain that pulls the blinds on the day, hiding the modern yachts, luxury homes and lights of Paihia across the bay, Franie and I can make like we’re back in time. We’ve scored the old hand-sawn tongue and groove cabin down on the beach front, reputedly once a grog and knock shop. After a swim in the rain we repair to its verandah to smoke cigars, down red wine and shorthand our lives of the past 10 years into interesting porkies. Kerouac sums mine up nicely, "You\'d be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday." Heading for Auckland, we stop off in Kawakawa for the obligatory pee in Hundertwasser’s dunny. The Austrian-born architect and ecologist advocated a peace treaty between people and nature - lawns on roofs, tenants in trees, humus toilets – but is perhaps most famous for his tirades against the “absolute tyranny” of the straight line. It was, he feared, leading to the downfall of mankind, creating a world devoid of aesthetics, a “desert of uniformity and criminal sterility.” Ironically, visiting Kawakawa is like taking a straight line back to 1970s small town New Zealand – old-fashioned shop fronts and not a brick-paved footpath or fancy lamppost to be seen, a town happy to rest on its dunny laurels, and they’re a fine enough edifice to carry it off. As we pull into Auckland, Franie ventures a migrant’s observation on a new Kiwi consciousness. “Kiwis don’t look outwards for your identity any more, you know yourselves better. New Zealand is much more New Zealand than I remember it.” ENDS Fact File Word Count: 420 When to go When can you leave? For me, Northland’s beaches, surf and bush are best in summer. But check any weather map at any time of year and Kaitaia usually tops the national temperature stakes, so it’s probably a good bolt hole from the winter blues as well. But be warned, it can rain, really rain, in Northland at any time of year. Where to stay I booked the whole shebang on the internet – my starting point was The New Zealand Bed and Breakfast Book Online – www.bnb.co.nz We paid our own way, so I’m very comfortable recommending the following places. They’re all quite different, each has its delighful quirks, and the hosts are excellent. Their rates ranged from $95 - $190 for four people. • Paula and John Powell at Oceanview Bed and Breakfast, Baylys Beach 025 623 3821; • Alan and Gaye Dawn at the Opononi Beachside Apartments, Opononi, 09 405 8773; • Ank and Sue, 5 Seaview Road, Cable Bay, 09 406 1919; • Vivienne and Andy Nathan, Treetops, Te Wahapu, Russell, 09 403 7475 Getting there If you live in Auckland or Northland, just jump in the motor and go. If, like us, you hail from further south, main options to Auckland are train, plane or bus. Josefa and I caught the Overlander train from Wellington to Auckland, one of those trips you have to do once in your life and, at 11 hours one way, probably just the once. Adult fares cost from NZ$102 – NZ$145 one-way, depending how early you book. And if you don’t mind an old carriage with smaller windows, there’s a backpacker fare at NZ$73. Flights costs for an adult from Wellington to Auckland-return can be incredibly cheap, if you book far enough ahead. The cheapest I found are Qantas, at NZ$137.58, Air New Zealand at NZ$147.60 and Origin Pacific, at NZ$178. Getting around Our four-door sedan hailed from Howick Rent a Car at $45 a day. The price includes gst, insurance and unlimited kilometres, and free from the airport pick-up between 8am and 8pm. Contact them at www.rentacar.co.nz or 09 273 4647. Advisory Don’t miss the Funky Fish Café at Baylys Beach. And to make sure you don’t miss any other important coffee oases, notable landmarks, bush walks, points of interest and things to do, take a copy of Dave Chowdhury’s Driving Scenic New Zealand, A Guide to Touring New Zealand by Road (Craig Potton Publishing 2001). We travelled to Cape Reinga with the locally owned Harrisons Cape Runner - www.ahipara.co.nz/caperunner. ENDS © Marieke Hilhorst/ORIGIN NATURAL HISTORY MEDIA |