Tag Archives: road trip

Wot I did on my holiday

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Ashura666 desired to go diving during his time in Aotearoa New Zealand, so me and Teh Matt decided to come along for the ride, so we turned it into a road trip. We hit State Highway One and headed up to scenic Tutukaka.

(Ha! That sounds so easy, like we didn’t spend a good day panicking because every rental car in Auckland was already rented, but eventually fate smiled on us when a car rental place a block away from Matt’s bachelor pad had a car available.)

Monday

Conclusion about the trip from Auckland to Whangarei: Very scenic. Roads not as windy as I expected.
Conclusion about Whangarei: The less said, the better. Pak’n Save was particularly forgettable.
Conclusion about the trip from Whangarei to Tutukaka: Windier than I expected. Ngunguru was very scenic. I still can’t pronounce Ngunguru to a pleasing enough degree.
Conclusion about the accommodation in Tutukaka: Clean and tidy, with splendid views and a delightful piece of folk art made from old wine bottle corks.
Conclusion about dinner at Schnappa Rock: Rather good. Crazy Emma recommended it to us (true), but we would have gone there anyway.

Tuesday

Ashura-san got up early and went diving so Matt and I were lazy arses and slept. When we finally awoke, we drove along the coast and hung out at Sandy Bay, a surf beach. Matt went swimming, while I took some photos along the beach and read “Collapse” by Jared Diamond, because that’s the kind of krazy stuff I do on holiday.

(This omits the part where I got up early to to drive Ashura to the marina, but the car wouldn’t start. It turned out the bumpy road to the cottage had shaken the battery cable loose.)

Fish n chips were acquired from the Ngunguru fish n chip shop. They were all right, but their paua fritters scared me with their greenness.

Wednesday

Matt decided to go out on the boat, leaving me with the car for the day, so I decided to explore historic Northland.

My first stop was Kawakawa, formerly known as Train Town, now known as The One With The Toilet. Yes, I visited the Hundertwasser toilet. It’s all that. I was going to say it’s a pity there isn’t anything more to do in Kawakawa, but maybe it’s a good thing that the loos are the best thing about it.

I continued further up north to Paihia and then Waitangi. I was last in Waitangi about 20 years ago. I went to the Treaty House because, like, that’s the birthplace of the nation.

I’m not sure, but I might have been the only New Zealander amongst the visitors. A quick glance in the visitors book revealed very few mentions of New Zealand.

The Treaty House was kind of strange. Part of the display was dedicated to factoids about the construction of the house itself, but it’s not the house that’s important (and it is a rather unremarkable house – not like Pompalier House across the harbour in Russell, or nearby Kemp House or the Stone Store in Kerikeri). It’s what happened in and around it in 1840 that is. The treaty signing itself happened in a tent, and you don’t see 19th century canvas manufacturing techniques being examined.

I was hoping that the Treaty House would give me some insights as to what it means to be a New Zealander. All it left me was wondering why the house needs to be “restored” every 30 years or so, and what present-day ills would be corrected at the next restoration.

I much preferred the big lawn area over looking the Bay of Island, surrounded by the Treaty House, whare nui, and flagpole. That says something to me about being a New Zealander.

Passing through Whangarei on the way back, I stopped off at the Countdown to get some provisions. I had to end my visit prematurely because I was so grossed out by the suburbanness of the supermarket. The checkout lady wanted me to look at a dress some lady was wearing in the next aisle. It was a really ordinary looking flowery dress. “Mmm, it’s nice,” I said, nausea welling.

On Wednesday night, I saw the Milky Way for the first time ever, and it was magical and special.

Thursday

One more set of dives for Ashura, so Matt and I again hung out at Sandy Bay, where I read more of “Collapse”.

Ashura, Matt and I all have Canon cameras, so there developed a competitive spirit to take the most excellent holiday snaps. It wasn’t enough to take one picture of a nice sunset. No, we would be mucking around with exposures and making panoramas and comparing results. I think I totally nailed the Tutukaka sunset:

Tutukaka sunset

Then it was time to head back down to Auckland. Delightfully, some clever person had skilfully changed a number of Warkworth road signs to read Wankworth. Ha ha!

A splendid few days were had. Of course, I’m still planning on doing a comprehensive exploration of historic Northland, but that’ll be a while off.

Wellington

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I used to live in Hamilton, and so did Mike. In 1997 I moved up to Auckland, and he moved down to Wellington. Ever since then I’d been meaning to go down there to see him, but was too slack to do so. Then Mike said (and I’m paraphrasing here) “I’m having a big piss up for my birthday and you’re coming down for it whether you like it or not.” Choice!

So a fine Friday came along and I jumped into my automobile and drove for eight hours in a southerly direction. I had considered flying down, but as much fun as flight attendants with peanuts and orange juice are, that doesn’t quite make up for such things as the moment when I was driving into Taupo and suddenly the snow-capped splendour of Mount Ruapehu popped up in the distance.

I eventually made it to the capital city. I really like how the motorway was built along a fault line (well, it’s not like there was anywhere else to build it). I negotiated the one-way streets and drove around in a circle until I got in the right lane to get to Mike’s spatial palatial house of desire. His street has a big hill with a tunnel at the end of it, but only buses are allowed through the tunnel. You don’t get that sort of thing in Auckland (or Hamilton, for that matter). In Auckland car parks have been provided so the citizens of the city do not have to lower themselves to use public transport.

That night a cornucopia of delights awaited me. First up was the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games. It was claaaassy, but wonderful. We headed to a skanky arse bar for a Private Function. After eating all the dip we left and went to Barney’s, Wellington’s premiere night spot. I wish there were more clubs like Barney’s around where I live. It was totally going off. We entered as the Grease medley was playing. That was followed by that famous tune celebrating a famous gay hang-out, “YMCA”. Other delights to rock the night were “Venus” and “Blue Monday”. If you like watching old men get down and shake their booty in an attempt to impress 18 year old girls, then Barney’s is the place.

The next day was big party day which means, of course, that the guests of honour had to shave their hair off. We abducted Mike’s friend Darryl who was kind enough to shave off the hair of both Mike and his flatmate Helen. We then buried the hair in the garden and prayed to the mother goddess spirit*.

Then party time came at Glenn’s house which used to be a brothel. We know it used to be a brothel because there is a basin in every room. Cool. Mike claimed that I was guaranteed to score at this party, but I didn’t so therefore he is a bloody liar, and probably just said that to lure me there. In fact, I have serious doubts that there were any heterosexual guys there.

As the evening progressed all the fairy bread and jelly shots were heartily consumed. There was the token person-who-drank-too-much, but most people were relatively well behaved party goers.

Eventually the party ended and we went home. I was about to retire for the evening when a glamourous young lady by the name of Ms PollyFilla knocked on my door. She had come home from a busy night out. By then I was very tired so I quickly slipped into a coma and didn’t come out of it until the following morning.

Sunday was tidy up day, and it was discovered that a large amount of beer and wine was left over from the party. Hooray! That’s New Year’s taken care of.

A bit of sun bathing upon the brothel balcony (a.k.a. fire escape) took place, then I demanded that Mike accompany me to Te Papa. He didn’t want to go and said it was crap, but I made him go anyway. But after looking around, I agreed that the Museum of New Zealand was, indeed, crap.

Back to the brothel where cards and trivial pursuit were played and fish ‘n’ chips were eaten. Yay. Then back to Mike’s haus where we watched those boring Olympic sports that no one actually cares about (softball, anyone?).

The next day I bid farewell to the fine city of Wellington. Heading along the motorway I noticed that it didn’t quite look the same as it had on the way there. Then suddenly I saw a sign proclaiming “LOWER HUTT”. Great. I was hoping I could go through life without ever having to go to Lower Hutt. As soon as I could I turned around and got back on state highway one and made my way back up north.

I had lunch at Taupo on both the way there and back. On the way there I at at a skanky doris cafe that did not pretend to be anything else. On the way back I ate at a skanky doris cafe that was trying to be a hip deli. Even service station pies are better than skanky doris pseudo delis.

You know how all those small towns try and make themselves interesting by giving themselves slogans? Turangi is the “trout Capital of the world”, Hamilton is no longer the Fountain City, or “Where It’s Happening”, but now is something like “More than you’d expect”. But the best town motto is for Foxton. It proudly proclaims itself to be “New Zealand’s Fox Town.” What?

I drove through Hamilton without stopping (a first) and then back to my home in Auckland. Oh, what an enjoyable weekend!

* No we didn’t. I think it just got biffed in the rubbish.