I feel possessed (Northland, New Zealand)

And for our last night in New Zealand we have returned to the dark ages. No internet. That I can discover. The information about the bach we are staying in was sent via Stayz. All good. But who prints that stuff? Not me, so when we arrive at the place and there is no book containing the sacred of the sacred, the internet password, you are left with, well, nothing. Don’t get me wrong, the accommodation is lovely, in a great spot, although a hill makes it a little further from town than the distance suggests. But, but, no net! And I can’t check to see whether there should be because … yep, I can’t connect with Stayz. A nifty little catch-22 and we’re only here for one night.

Sorry, dear reader, I didn’t mean to commence with a rant. Today’s title? We return to my possessed GPS who likes to ignore the usual conventions and gaslight you. Today, among other adventures, we drove off the main road around the block and returned to the road we were travelling on previously. So, yes, she is possessed, although probably not in the way Crowded House intended.

Due to an oversight of mine, we are staying only one night in the far north at Paihia. I booked our flights for 12 days not 12 nights, so we are a day short for exploration. But that didn’t stop us exploring on the way from Auckland. The first bit of excitement was driving across the harbour bridge. Yeah, nah. It doesn’t really measure up. I can’t even understand why anyone would bother to climb it. There are a number of other spots where you can get better views.

On our way to our first stop we passed through a lovely little beachside suburb called Orewa. Lovely beach, good assortment of shops and plenty cafés and restaurants. It would be well worth checking out – next time. One attraction somewhere beyond Orewa on the road to nowhere was … wait for it … Sheepworld. I kid you not. Sheepworld. I wonder what the main attraction would be? An intelligent sheep? Nah, they don’t exist. Maybe a freshly roasted leg of lamb? Jayne suggested dredging classes. Now that should send the younger generation to their keyboards and Dr Google. Whatever it is that was on offer, we’ll never know. Not even if I do come bye here again.

I have a question for you, one which I am unable to answer dear reader – if only because I am again without the internet. What is a Hospice Shop? We passed two of them today. I am assuming that the translation for hospice in NZ is not the same as we have in Australia.

Once out of the big city we passed the Champion Bakery at Wellsford in favour of La Nonna Italian Bakery at Kaiwaka. It was equally awarded and renowned for its pies, pastries and coffee. I’ll be the judge of that. The pie was first class – again, I haven’t had one disappoint since I arrived. There appear to be many small bakeries all doing their own thing and the produce is fresh and tasty. Australia was the same until mass production and shopping malls destroyed communities and community in favour of sameness and depersonalised service.

Anyway, La Nonna was very popular. The pie lived up to expectations but for the first time since I arrived on the sunny shore of the seventh state, the coffee was, meh. I was suspect about the coffee when I walked in and saw only take-away cups. I’m sorry my dear reader but the receptacle changes the flavour of the contents. I wouldn’t drink wine out of a paper cup and nor coffee, unless forced.

And then … wait for it … $20 for two coffees and two pies. Cash. No credit cards. Like, what? Where are we? What year is this? I had a little cash that I had been using sparingly on the trip. In my pocket I had $21.70. Just enough. A pity, because we would have liked to have purchased some of the delectable pastries to join us on the journey north.

Almost cashless, but hunger sated, we rejoined the highway and once again chanced the wiles of the GPS. The lookout at Waipu for views across the flat lands to the sea. Despite there being a signposted stop. Despite the area having been tarred and sealed and parking bays delineated. Despite there being a coffee truck open for business. The first signs you see when you get out of the car are “Private Property” “No Trespassing” “No access”.  “Area monitored by CCTV”. “Trespassers will be hit with sticks”. I thought we’d come to the wrong place, but no. There was a goat track, unsealed, that ran along the outside of the fence up to a high point with fairly good views. Not as good as the top of the hill from which we had just descended by car. Nor as good as those that could be obtained if the farmer had moved his coffee truck (it was a permanent establishment) and fence line back 10 metres. If you don’t want people on your property, that is fine and completely understandable. However, is there line between ‘stay out’ and profiting from the tourist trade by setting up a coffee truck? While we there the milkman arrived with about 20 litres of milk for the coffee truck that were deposited in the refrigerated container, inside the forbidden fence line. The milko had the best view. Bastard.

Next stop, a waterfall. Who can resist a waterfall? Not me. At 26m the Whangarei Falls were a tad underwhelming. The area was popular, there were very few car spots in the parking area. Although, it appeared some were semi-permanent and had a clothes line set up in the shade of the trees. Hillbilly cousins. More dreadlocks than a reggae festival.

The falls were quite close to the car park, so we walked down took a few happy snaps and resumed our journey. You’ll never guess what we were heading for next? Another waterfall? A look out? A giant tree? A Maori site? Nope, all wrong. A public toilet.

The public toilet in Kawakawa is famous. Well in Kiwi it is. But before we could get there we had to fight with the GPS. Kawakawa was about 50km away, but the GPS decided it would be better to turn back in the opposite direction and crafted a 129km route to the same place. The fight was on. I ignored her direction; she’d recalculate to the correct destination and then when I wasn’t looking recalculate again to the over 100km route. This went on for 20km until she caved in. Possessed I tell you.

There was a massive sign noting the public toilet, encouraging tourists to turn off the main drive. And then, nothing. We drove carefully through the main street looking for a sign. Nothing. About half way a long I glimpsed something unusual, so we found a place to park and walked back. The amazing public toilet is certainly like no other public toilet, except for the smell. The architect, Hundertwasser by name, has used empty wine bottles in the walls to assist with the flow of light. Yep, that’s about it. I’m sure there is an entire house in Broken Hill or Lightning Ridge built entirely of bottles. It’s not new, just novel. This was, however, Hundertwasser’s swansong – he died not long after its creation.

Back on the road to Paihia, we scoped out where we were staying for the night and then pushed on to tick a few more tourist boxes. Next another falls, this one was the Haruru Falls. If the Whangarei Falls were underwhelmingly these were disappointing. I’ve jumped from bigger, although there was no-one swimming today. It wasn’t worth the walk from the car.

After a brief stop at Countdown, Woollies if you are Australian, we arrived at the Waitangi Treaty Ground. We have limited time and to do justice here we needed a couple of hours and to join the guided tour. Sadly, we headed back to the car. This is a next time experience – and we will be back.

On the way back to the bach, we sorted a place for dinner and made a reservation, Charlotte’s Kitchen. There are a lot of people around here. I wouldn’t want to be here on the day when school holidays finish and everyone is driving back to Auckland. Although we are leaving way too early and leaving behind plenty of things to see and do … next time.

And that is about it from the Northland. Charlotte’s Place, although recommended was a bit disappointing. It’s on the pier at Paihia with an excellent view over the water to Russell. They have the usual plastic screens to protect you from the weather and movable roof slats to allow the sun in. Once again, no oysters. For areas that rave about their oysters I’ve yet to be able to order any. At dinner time the only thing coming through the slats was a cold wind. It ensured the food got cold quickly and that I never got comfortable. That said, the the food was OK, but nothing to get excited about.

However, there was free Wifi which allowed me to send an email and check to see whether our bach has the internet. It does not. My fault. I booked it. Unforgivably stupid on my part. But seriously, who doesn’t have the internet? Can you imagine some Millennials turning up here and wondering what the TV is all about? Like, wow, it can’t stream. It’s free to air. Whoa, dinosaur age.

There will be one final post to draw together my reflections of New Zealand and the similarities and differences with Australia. In many ways NZ has out aussied Australia. Except with scooters. Like really?

Until next time.

My Mistake (Coromandel, Hobbiton, New Zealand)

Did you miss me dear reader? We have ventured into Zombieland. Well, not really, but we did drive past it leaving Rotorua this morning. It exists. Here is the link. Coromandel may not be zombie land but it almost the end of the earth and internet access is very patchy, to the extent that this post was written in Word before being dropped into Blogspot. I am not even sure when it will be uploaded – possibly not until we are ensconced in Auckland.

I have resisted the urge to make jokes about rotten egg gas and the sulphur smell that has contributed to the legend that is Rotorua. The reason? It hasn’t been that noticeable. It was quite pervasive on the way into town, but we were driving past a geothermal pool and geyser. It was also very strong at the park where we found the boiling lake and bubbling mud. Beyond that, it’s like trying to remember something, and it just keeps to back of your mind, just out of reach. It’s a shadow that is always with you.

That was until this morning. My scratchy, raspy throat that I have attributed to the bushfires and terrible atmosphere in Sydney before we left, was worse today than it’s been. I woke early and the first thing I noticed was the sulphur smell. It was extremely pungent. The shadow had morphed into a ring wraith and it had its hands around my throat. Whether the sulphurous air made my throat worse, who knows? It is not something you can avoid but today I had no tolerance for it and couldn’t get out of Rotorua quickly enough. Yes quickly dear reader, an adverb, I know, an Australian who knows how to use an adverb!

To avoid the demonic GPS leading me astray, I actually researched the route to Hobbiton. Obviously, she was aware of this and so there was no attempt to steer us from the most direct route.

On the drive to Coromandel (Coro to the locals) I saw a sign for a “working gold mine”. I quipped that we had just left a working gold mine at Hobbiton. I am getting ahead of myself.

 The intention was to just rock up at 501 Buckland Road, Hinuera, aka Hobbiton, but one brochure suggested bookings were essential. Online I checked out what was available. Tours were leaving roughly every 10 minutes. There were 20 adults in our group, plus the kids, one of whom had the most ridiculous haircut ever seen. A sort of landing strip, long at the sides and crew cut down the centre. On a 10 year old girl. Her sister had the entire left side of her head shaved. Fashion would have been a great title today except I’m staying with Kiwi musicians to provide inspiration.

No-one home. The Bagginses are out on adventure

 I digress. So, yeah, 20 adults x $84 for a 2 hour tour = $1680 plus the kids' entry fee (at least Gilligan’s crowd got a three hour tour). And there were larger groups than ours. Each group moved with clockwork precision around Hobbiton finishing at the Green Dragon for, in my case, a breakfast beer.  I don't think I've done that since I was 18. I was glad I wasn’t on the 8am tour. We were scheduled to commence at 10:10am but arrived early so we were bumped up to the 9:40am tour – so clearly, they do keep places for walk-ins.

Bilbo's pipe and book

 While I’ve read the books and seen the movies, except for the Hobbit movie, I’m not a die hard fan. It was interesting seeing Hobbiton and it will be even more so when I sit down to watch The Lord of the Rings again. The money they spend to keep Hobbiton looking like the movie set must be astronomical. The flower beds, vegie gardens, hedges and grasses that need to be tended to be forever in summer take a lot of intensive work.

I neglected to state that all tours are guided tours. There is a car park and then you join a tour and are transported by bus to the start of the tour. You are also returned to the same spot, where, if you have unlimited spending power, you can waste your money in the gift shop. No really. These guys have price gouging down to an art form. Despite having a Tolkien addicted child, we could not justify paying what they were asking for things we could probably buy cheaper elsewhere. Not that we looked, sorry Dave.

The video that was played on the bus ride into Hobbiton features Sir Peter Jackson, movie director, talking about finding the perfect set location while reconnoitring the area in a helicopter. He espied the farm owned by the Alexander family and, after some negotiation, the earth movers rolled in to create Hobbiton in the middle of the property. The place remains a working farm and Hobbiton was deconstructed following Lord of the Rings. After the Hobbit Trilogy was made, the permanent sets that had been constructed were preserved rather than being abandoned again and Farmer Alexander and Sir Peter formed a business partnership that is now the “working goldmine”. Farmer Alexander could quite comfortably live off this small portion of his agricultural land holding and treat the real farm like a hobby.

And then it was back on the road to Coromandel. It is a very long and very winding road that leads to our door. It was etched out of the rock that is the peninsula and wound around the coast like a string. In a typically NZ way there were sections of unrestricted speed limit, with no speed sign corner posts – some of which needed to be taken at around 30 km p/h or less.

That was not the challenge. No. Other drivers, who should never have been issued with a driver’s license, were the challenge. It was 54km of snaking road that needed to be negotiated before we reached our destination. In all seriousness I could write a separate post about the guy in the blue Corolla that we followed for the first 20kms. OMG.

We arrived in Coro a tad early and went to spec out the town. That took all of five minutes. It is a testament to urban geography and ribbon development. The shops stretch the length of two blocks on the main road. It has everything required, 3 pubs, numerous cafés, a supermarket, a local craft market, 2 bottle shops and a number of ‘gift’ shops where the tourists can support the local economy and buy stuff they don't need and will later wonder why they bought it.

The only sustenance I'd had so far was my glass of stout at the conclusion of the Hobbiton tour, so we set about finding something to eat. Coro pies (sorry, no website). Slightly off the main street, selling from a semi-industrial unit, Coro Pies is worth discovering. There are a few picnic tables out front where you can sit to enjoy their wares. The range of pies is a bigger number than the local population. And very tasty they were. It was the best pie I’ve had in a very long time.

Our accommodation in Coro is a miner’s cottage in the garden of Quail Cottage, not far from town. It is walkable if the weather is agreeable. It’s a quaint, rustic little place with a comfortable verandah from which to watch the local bird population come and go. A very pleasant place to while away the afternoon. The bathroom is separate from the cottage, only about 5 metres, but not for the feint-hearted in winter I should imagine.

There is no reason for this photo to be here, but here it is anyway.

 Shane, our host, showed us around and explained the idiosyncrasies of the place. The yard is quite large with a number of different fruit trees. Whisky, the indolent black cat, is the only other permanent resident. Care should be taken when driving in or out of the residence. Whisky likes to lie in the middle of the drive and is not easily encouraged to move.

Rather than fussing about dinner, we opted for cheese, salami, peanuts, crisps and a bottle of chardonnay on the verandah and watched the sun move slowly across the sky. Very pleasant and very relaxing.

We were woken around 4am by a most unfamiliar sound. In fact, I wasn’t sure what was happening. Is that rain? No, the wind is picking up. No. It was rain. Reasonably heavy too and it continued through till around 7am. It was still misty when we headed into town for breakfast, the planned walk postponed in favour of the car. The Weta Café is recommended (again, no web site). Great coffee and a really interesting menu that goes beyond the usual fixation with eggs.

See previous caption. Afraid of heights? Me?

 The weather has kept us close to home and although we had intended Coro to be downtime, the rain has ensured that will definitely happen. The cloud never left the mountain top and occasionally, without warning, came down the mountain just to surprise. We ventured as far as Coro for fish and chips for lunch – the bottom shop is the better option. And just managed to stay dry. While in town we saw the dreaded blue Corolla that haunted and taunted me on the drive on yesterday.

Yes, my inquisitive reader, of course we staked it out to see who was driving. All I remember from yesterday is grey hair (not that there is anything wrong with that). We were enjoying our lunch and fending off the sparrows. Don’t laugh, they were seriously aggressive and arrived in number. I made several air swipes to send them away to no avail. They did finally decide there were easier targets when I connected with one. All the while we were watching the Corolla.

Then it happened. They arrived. I had been speculating about which grey haired man would get behind the wheel. I was wrong. She had grey hair and he a bad dye job. They got into the car and wasted 5 minutes playing with the GPS. Glasses on, glasses off, Karate Kid style, check notes. Adjust. Discuss. Repeat. I am amazed they made it to Coro. Then, blinker on she carefully moved the car onto the road and then stopped to do a U-turn. OMFG. I will have nightmares forever.

The weather continued to be capricious, so we made the most of the afternoon and alternated our time from inside the bach to the verandah and enjoyed some of New Zealand’s finest grape products.

You've made it to the end of a marathon post my persistent reader. Well done. The title? Well, a classic number form Split Enz to reflect the fact that Coromandel may well be for locals, but the time and effort required when you are touring was not, in my opinion, commensurate with the reward. My choice, my mistake.

Tomorrow is Auckland. City life. A strong internet connection and a change of scenery.

Until then.