Kawhia or Cowhia?

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  Hamilton, North Island, New Zealand
Sunday, September 21, 2008

Debi has already pointed out, in yesterday's entry, the idyllic nature of our morning. Birds singing, the sounds of mild surf far below and a view that stretches for miles and miles. Gorgeous. We set out, continuing northward.
Breakfast-our usual "too much" food-and fuel for the car highlighted the morning--we couldn't figure out how to get the gas filler flap open on the Holden but finally cracked the code to the relief of all concerned. In this country, they still come out and fill your tank for you. We decided to head for Kawhia (up the coast) on the advice of Hugh, our host for last night. Not much there other than the general store but the road to get there was stupendous. After stopping off the Holden Beach Road to visit the expansive black sand beach, we took a back road (gravel for 50 kilometers with a couple of washouts) to Raglan. It is a quaint little town and the perfect spot for a late lunch. We decided it didn't warrant a night's stay, however, so we kept on until we reached Hamilton

I-70 across Kansas it ain't

.
The scenery in New Zealand is mindboggling. You find yourself in a valley of rolling hills and then you cross a ridge and you are assaulted by rocky fields. Next, mounds appear, next bubbling streams, then a waterfall, then a cliff, then a mountain. Amazing.
This country experienced a violent birth, that's for sure. The formations of land could only have resulted from unimaginable upheavals. Livestock-sheep and cattle-have carved walkways into the sides of hills giving them a washboard surface. Water flows and flows, often over rocks rubbed smooth and lovely. Verdant green predominates and, depending upon the light, either whispers or shouts at you as you pass. The color is enhanced by constant manicures at the hands of the animals that graze the fields so that they appear to have been freshly mowed. There aren't enough mowers in this country to tend this much acreage. The photographer's problem is that there is often no place to stop by the side of the road to take that prize winning photo. Shoulders don't exist on these narrow roadways and traffic flies at 100 kilometers per hour (or better) which is the national speed limit. As an American driver, I must constantly remember to stay left, particularly at intersections. I've only threatened a head-on collision with an oncoming Kiwi once and that was after a wrong turn resulting in a disorienting U-turn from which I barely recovered

Share the road

. Fortunately, at that particular time, both of us were barely moving so there was no harm done-other than to my pride.
The iPod has been indispensable. We had a small speaker for it for the first legs or our journey which became unnecessary when we got the Holden which has an auxiliary input which plays our music through the car's stereo system. We've listened to music not heard for years. The Garmin GPS has been of even more value, guiding us flawlessly. The only problem with it is that the voice cannot seem to correctly pronounce any of the Moira street names and even struggles on many English word names. I'll never travel without one of these gadgets.
A final observation is about "Motels." There are almost as many motels in this country as there are people. They are mostly bright, shiny and all are welcoming. You park right next to your room which is almost always entered by way of a sliding glass door. Each unit contains, in addition to the expected bed, bathroom, TV, etc., a mini-kitchen including, at a minimum, a refrigerator and microwave. Not one of these rooms has central heat or air conditioning which is typical of homes here, we are told. If you want heat, you turn on the portable electric heater that plugs into the wall. If you want cool air, you open the windows. Viola. Our weather has been mostly cool but we've never really been cold in our rooms.

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Stop occasionally to look around

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Stock up when you can

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