RAGLAN - I See a Pale Moon Rising

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.