Or rather, I didn't, but the first words directed at us as we took a walk on the beach after arriving at Raglan late afternoon were "Out to see the moonrise eh?", shortly followed by a woman on a horse who told us that we were at the perfect place to see the moonrise, then on arrival back at the hostel "Did you see the moon then?" We hadn't, despite having a good look for it. Maybe we'd missed it as we darted along the piece of footpath that crossed the runway at the local airport, listening out for the roar of an engine. What was it about this place? What had we stumbled across? As it turned out, we'd arrived at a fabulous little town that has remained refreshingly uncommercialised with a great beach town feel, despite having what is believed to be the best surfing beach in New Zealand. They come here from all over the world to ride what is rumoured to be the longest and most consistent left-hand break on the planet. If I'm honest, I've still no real idea of the significance of a left hand break or a barrel but they seemed mighty proud of theirs at Raglan.
The hostel was wonderful. The french-doors in our room opened out onto a circular courtyard filled with trees and flowers. Hammocks hung between the trees against which dozens of surfboards and canoes were propped up and wetsuits draped over the branches. The kitchen had a big box of baking ingredients from which guests were welcome to bake old favourites from home or something new from the recipe books on the shelf. There was only one rule - anything made with stuff from the box had to be left of the kitchen table and shared with the other guests. Marc thought he'd died and gone to heaven. While out on a bike ride one afternoon we called into a little shed on the quay and bought some Catch of the Day - some lovely gurnard that we baked in foil parcels with vegetables and herbs from the garden. It smelt wonderful as it was cooking and there were a dozen pairs of eyes on the steaming parcels as they were opened up but only two very satisfied souls half an hour later.
Raglan was the venue for our third foray in a kayak. With the assurance from the hostel owner that it was practically impossible to capsize these ocean-going kayaks (why did he have to say "practically"), off we went from the wharf heading across the estuary, under the main bridge into town and upstream as far as we liked. The water was nice and calm and with me up front and Marc at the back, the kayak seemed to go where it was steered - what a novelty! All was well but there was still some degree of trepidation up front, when suddenly things perked up no end when I realised that I could see the bottom. Hey - this was fun ... On we went up the river which after a while seemed to split in two and we went left. Soon we realised that we'd paddled into a giant bay with a small island in the middle so we decided that we'd go around the island then head for home. Still comforted by the sight of the riverbed through the clear water we rounded the island which was carpeted in seabirds, then the bottom seemed to get closer and closer until we were paddling in about four inches of water about 200 metres from the shore of the island. On we went until there was a scraping sound and we howled with laughter. Here was I, afraid of drowning, when in reality we could have probably walked all the way. The knight at the back of the boat got out and without getting his ankles wet pushed us back into navigable waters and by the time we got back to the wharf we had built up such a turn of speed that had we not shot up the gravel landing spot onto the beach and had hit the wall instead, Marc would have been catapulted out of the back, straight into the hostel garden at the top of the hill.
We had arrived at Raglan on 'Boxing Day'. Traditionally the hostel holds a Mid-Summer Christmas Day and the place was trimmed with tinsel and a Christmas tree complete with twinkling lights. After enjoying a turkey dinner in fancy dress, all the guests had got a gift from Secret Santa (all were alcoholic) then half of them had gone surfing and the other had fallen asleep in front of the telly. I wonder which Bond movie was showing ...
p.s. Raglan will always be etched in my memory as the place where I had the first twinges and stiffness in my back. I apologise for all the mutterings and whingeing about the clapped-out bed at the hostel when it was in fact a clapped-out backbone that was falling apart.
Saturday, 31 January 2009
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
KING COUNTRY - Otorohanga and Waitomo
And so we arrived in King Country where a very cheery fellow called Bill was awaiting the arrival of our coach at Otorohanga to drive us the few miles to Waitomo in his shuttle bus. Otorohanga is the Official "Kiwiana" Town of New Zealand and here they celebrate the icons, heroes and events that are uniquely Kiwi. The main street is dedicated to huge murals and displays of the silver fern, kiwi, gumboots, pavlova, kiwi boot polish, buzzy-bees, jandals, sheep, the paua shell, butterflies and many others and last but definitely not least, hokey pokey ice-cream - a fabulous combination of vanilla ice-cream and chunks of Crunchie - a national institution. Everyone here seemed to be of a sunny disposition and the town had a big carnival feel about it. Bill was very enthusiastic about everything in general and stopped at a kiwi fruit plantation on the way to Waitomo to take us for a combined walk and horticulture lecture under a huge pergola structure that was just dripping with huge clusters of fruit.
Back in his minibus, he gave us a potted history of the region. King Country is named after the Maori King Movement which developed here in the 1850's. Legend has it that after King Tawhiao and his people were forced to move south after being defeated by British troops during the Waikato Land Wars, he placed his hat on a large map of New Zealand and declared that all land covered by it would be under his authority. He meant business as it was only at the end of the 19th century that white persons were permitted into the district and it still retains a powerful Maori influence under Tuheitia - the present Maori King. He is the seventh in the line of succession and is descended from the first settlers that arrived on the Tainui ancestral canoe many centuries ago. Bill made sure that we were paying attention as he would slip in the occasional question and we sat nervously at the back of the minibus wondering if we were nearly there yet. It turns out that he was a retired teacher.
It is not advisable to go wandering about aimlessly off the beaten track around Waitomo as you are likely to fall into one of numerous shafts dotted across the countryside and land in one of at least three hundred caves or an underground stream that have shaped the landscape. The more adventurous can hire a big tyre tube and a hard hat and cling on whilst being swept through underground cave systems and plummeting over waterfalls, sometimes in pitch darkness on a black water rafting trip. For those who prefer less adrenaline-pumped adventures there is the more tranquil Glow Worm cave trip on a little boat. The Glow Worms got my immediate and unwavering vote and Marc conceded gracefully and came with me without much protest. After leaving the warmth of the day at the mouth of the cave we walked downwards to the top level and the chamber known as the Catacombs, home to stunning limestone stalactites and stalagmites. Long, narrow passageways carved out by water led us down to the next level known as the Banquet Chamber and the amazing sight at the foot of the Pipe Organ - huge gleaming pillar formations hundreds of thousands of years old. Down we went again on very green and slippery steps to the third and final level and the magnificent Cathedral Cave. At twenty metres high this cavern has excellent acoustics and has hosted many concerts (and a verse of Bread of Heaven). The three levels are linked by a vertical limestone shaft called The Tomo which marks the course of an ancient waterfall. At the bottom of The Tomo was the Waitomo River where our little boat was moored on a quay, waiting to take us to see the little critters.
The glow worm is the glamorous name for the larvae of the less attractive-sounding fungus gnat. They emit a soft blue-green light to attract unsuspecting insects towards the sticky threads they have dangling from their rear-ends, which they simply reel in when they've trapped lunch. The hungrier the gnat, the brighter the light. We made up a dozen as we climbed into the boat, then our guide, standing on the bow, silently pulled us away and around the corner into the shadows using a network of fixed ropes running down the middle of the cave. As our eyes adjusted to the gloom, tiny dots of light started to appear on the ceiling and within no-time a milky way glowed overhead and I could just picture our twelve craned necks and wide-open mouths as the boat slid through the darkness without a sound. The best bit was saved until last as the cave roof dipped low and it looked just as if the night sky had fallen down to within touching distance. It was magical.
Our second cave experience was very different. Ruakuri Cave reopened only a few years ago after the old steep and slippery entrance had claimed one too many casualties, having had a new entrance and a complete makeover in the meantime. Part of a small tour group, we were driven out to the cave and entered via a sliding steel door in the rock face. We were instructed to walk forwards through the darkness, until we reached the end of a semi-circular handrail. We did as we were told and suddenly a circle of lights appeared below us, then another and another below that, and that, until a spiral staircase twisting down the sides of a huge drum-like shaft was fully lit. Round and round and down we walked until we reached another sliding door leading into a link corridor which closed behind us before the door at the far end had opened - ooh! But open it did into a glittering cavern. The shapes here were different from the first cave - there were threadlike 'straw' stalactites hanging from the ceiling and for me, the most dramatic of all - the 'sheet' stalactites which hung down like massive folding curtains. The pathways here were also different - it often narrowed quite a bit and sometimes involved crouching to get through. I've never considered myself to be a claustrophobic but decided that this was exactly the kind of place that would push me out of the closet. We peered down from a high platform into a black chasm at the bottom of which a river sweeps along 'black water rafters' on tyre-tubes. I shuddered at the thought.
As only small guided groups are permitted into the cave, as part of the 'refurbishment' which included new boardwalks and viewing decks, a new lighting system was installed. The whole place is now beautifully and dramatically lit by a system which works on a series of timers operated by the group leader along the way. All very nice but no one considered that the leader may be called back to help push a lady in a wheelchair whose friend had grown too weary to carry on. I was at the front of the group and went on with another three as far as the next control panel with instructions to press the next light button while he went back to push. Meanwhile, about a hundred metres further back down the tunnel in another 'light-zone', someone who will remain nameless but said after coming home that it was worth it, was still snapping away trying to get the perfect shot when the lights went out. He made his way back to the middle group by a combination of feeling the walls and taking the occasional flash photo to show the way. By the time the leading pack had reached the control panel, the wheelchair party had also been plunged into darkness and there were no labels on any of the identical six buttons. We umm'd and ahh'd and decided to leave well alone as we could just as easily have turned off the last remaining light as turn on the next. We had the bright idea that two would make a run for the steel door and try some buttons there while the other two would wait by the panel and just press everything if it went completely dark. I've never been so glad to see daylight. Where's a glow worm when you need one ...
Back in his minibus, he gave us a potted history of the region. King Country is named after the Maori King Movement which developed here in the 1850's. Legend has it that after King Tawhiao and his people were forced to move south after being defeated by British troops during the Waikato Land Wars, he placed his hat on a large map of New Zealand and declared that all land covered by it would be under his authority. He meant business as it was only at the end of the 19th century that white persons were permitted into the district and it still retains a powerful Maori influence under Tuheitia - the present Maori King. He is the seventh in the line of succession and is descended from the first settlers that arrived on the Tainui ancestral canoe many centuries ago. Bill made sure that we were paying attention as he would slip in the occasional question and we sat nervously at the back of the minibus wondering if we were nearly there yet. It turns out that he was a retired teacher.
It is not advisable to go wandering about aimlessly off the beaten track around Waitomo as you are likely to fall into one of numerous shafts dotted across the countryside and land in one of at least three hundred caves or an underground stream that have shaped the landscape. The more adventurous can hire a big tyre tube and a hard hat and cling on whilst being swept through underground cave systems and plummeting over waterfalls, sometimes in pitch darkness on a black water rafting trip. For those who prefer less adrenaline-pumped adventures there is the more tranquil Glow Worm cave trip on a little boat. The Glow Worms got my immediate and unwavering vote and Marc conceded gracefully and came with me without much protest. After leaving the warmth of the day at the mouth of the cave we walked downwards to the top level and the chamber known as the Catacombs, home to stunning limestone stalactites and stalagmites. Long, narrow passageways carved out by water led us down to the next level known as the Banquet Chamber and the amazing sight at the foot of the Pipe Organ - huge gleaming pillar formations hundreds of thousands of years old. Down we went again on very green and slippery steps to the third and final level and the magnificent Cathedral Cave. At twenty metres high this cavern has excellent acoustics and has hosted many concerts (and a verse of Bread of Heaven). The three levels are linked by a vertical limestone shaft called The Tomo which marks the course of an ancient waterfall. At the bottom of The Tomo was the Waitomo River where our little boat was moored on a quay, waiting to take us to see the little critters.
The glow worm is the glamorous name for the larvae of the less attractive-sounding fungus gnat. They emit a soft blue-green light to attract unsuspecting insects towards the sticky threads they have dangling from their rear-ends, which they simply reel in when they've trapped lunch. The hungrier the gnat, the brighter the light. We made up a dozen as we climbed into the boat, then our guide, standing on the bow, silently pulled us away and around the corner into the shadows using a network of fixed ropes running down the middle of the cave. As our eyes adjusted to the gloom, tiny dots of light started to appear on the ceiling and within no-time a milky way glowed overhead and I could just picture our twelve craned necks and wide-open mouths as the boat slid through the darkness without a sound. The best bit was saved until last as the cave roof dipped low and it looked just as if the night sky had fallen down to within touching distance. It was magical.
Our second cave experience was very different. Ruakuri Cave reopened only a few years ago after the old steep and slippery entrance had claimed one too many casualties, having had a new entrance and a complete makeover in the meantime. Part of a small tour group, we were driven out to the cave and entered via a sliding steel door in the rock face. We were instructed to walk forwards through the darkness, until we reached the end of a semi-circular handrail. We did as we were told and suddenly a circle of lights appeared below us, then another and another below that, and that, until a spiral staircase twisting down the sides of a huge drum-like shaft was fully lit. Round and round and down we walked until we reached another sliding door leading into a link corridor which closed behind us before the door at the far end had opened - ooh! But open it did into a glittering cavern. The shapes here were different from the first cave - there were threadlike 'straw' stalactites hanging from the ceiling and for me, the most dramatic of all - the 'sheet' stalactites which hung down like massive folding curtains. The pathways here were also different - it often narrowed quite a bit and sometimes involved crouching to get through. I've never considered myself to be a claustrophobic but decided that this was exactly the kind of place that would push me out of the closet. We peered down from a high platform into a black chasm at the bottom of which a river sweeps along 'black water rafters' on tyre-tubes. I shuddered at the thought.
As only small guided groups are permitted into the cave, as part of the 'refurbishment' which included new boardwalks and viewing decks, a new lighting system was installed. The whole place is now beautifully and dramatically lit by a system which works on a series of timers operated by the group leader along the way. All very nice but no one considered that the leader may be called back to help push a lady in a wheelchair whose friend had grown too weary to carry on. I was at the front of the group and went on with another three as far as the next control panel with instructions to press the next light button while he went back to push. Meanwhile, about a hundred metres further back down the tunnel in another 'light-zone', someone who will remain nameless but said after coming home that it was worth it, was still snapping away trying to get the perfect shot when the lights went out. He made his way back to the middle group by a combination of feeling the walls and taking the occasional flash photo to show the way. By the time the leading pack had reached the control panel, the wheelchair party had also been plunged into darkness and there were no labels on any of the identical six buttons. We umm'd and ahh'd and decided to leave well alone as we could just as easily have turned off the last remaining light as turn on the next. We had the bright idea that two would make a run for the steel door and try some buttons there while the other two would wait by the panel and just press everything if it went completely dark. I've never been so glad to see daylight. Where's a glow worm when you need one ...
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