Whanga What?

Okay, it’s Whangamata…that came after Opoutere, Whangapoua, Whenuakite, Kauaeranga…and we never made it to Maunganui today….I ran out of energy having to try and figure out where we were based on Carol’s map reading and my limited understanding of vowels. But, it was well worth the time and effort to get here. We picked up the rental car and after lots of “are you sure you want to go without insurance,” conversations with the agency, we headed out in our Hundai Getz….I’m calling it “Stan,” in honor of one of the great saxophone players of this or any other world…it’s said that when God tried to learn how to play the sax, the angels told him to listen to Stan Getz, but when he did so, God gave it up because he had heard perfection. But that’s another story…our Stan is a simple beast…no guts, no remote, no cruise, and no insurance. But, lest you think I’m being even more foolish than usual, my Visa card covers me, and the price of insurance was more than the rental of Stan for the month. I’ve driven on the “wrong” side of the road often enough that it doesn’t bother me..of course, I still occasionally get into the car on the left side and then sit there trying to wrap my head around the fact that things don’t look right..THERE’S NO STEERING WHEEL. Then it finally dawns on me and I sheepishly get out of the car much to the guffaws of locals who have witnessed my personal humiliation. NZ roads are more narrow than US versions…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it as Carol gets nervous about the perilously close world outside her window. The roads twisted and wove and as we headed up/down the Coromandel peninsula with the ocean on the left…Carol’s side with no guard rail and the road seriously sloping towards the water…better drainage, I suppose, but Stan has to be kept in line or he will drift off into a realm for which he’s not prepared. 100 kms (62 mph) per hour is the maximum on any road in NZ, and if anybody can actually do that speed on these roads, I don’t want to be in front of them. We talked to a lady driving a campervan (small RV) and she said that on the 35 kph curves, she thought she was going airborne with the cabover sleeping compartment catching air. Carol tried to enjoy the incredible scenery, but her white knuckles gave her away…for me, I just tried to look confident and appear to be in control. One thing about the Kiwis and road signs,….they try to stay positive…no signs saying: “Stop this stupid stuff or you will die,” sort of thing…rather they try to appeal to man’s better nature: “Skillful drivers pay attention to road conditions”…This country has been too long removed from the reality of the world and therefore, has remained somewhat innocent to the ways of western/eastern/central Asian driving habits…but I do love some of the warnings…”Give way,” “slow vehicle bay,” “plan your curves, leave breathing room.” I thought that the slow vehicle bay was where somebody not gripping the wheel with all 10 digits wound up being sucked into the water by the prop wash of the aforementioned airborne campervan, but it’s a turnout for slow cars…I found them very useful. Mussel chowder and a horribly bitter arugula salad (does anybody really like that stuff?”) was delicious, different, and filling, even more so for Carol who ate the salad. Down the road some fresh oysters just plucked from the bay polished off a nice lunch. After another couple of hours drive an ice cream made everything complete…”Incredibly exquisite ice cream,” it was billed as, and it was good, but my cynicism always says that they say this so they can jack up the price

It’s toward the end of “the season,” as they say, and everybody is taking advantage of the great weather. The real winners are the motorcyclists who can really enjoy the twisting roads. Looks like great fun. Little towns dot the way and all seem to be having a season ending boom….it hasn’t always been this way…at the ice cream shop, they had photos of the “city” in the 1950’s and it looked like an entirely different world, so quaint and unspoiled…but, somebody always discovers hidden gold mines and the charm of the past is taken over by the souvenir shops, the tattoo parlors, the surf board, stores , and yes, the incredibly exquisite ice cream shops. But get off the main street and to the water and it all changes…little islands dot the water like they were strategically placed there for maximum effect and the water is a mystical blend of Lake Louise glacial milk and South Pacific atoll blue…talk about incredibly exquisite. Here in Whangamata, it is low tide and people scour the beach for the abundant shell fish that lie on the tidal flats. Our landlady said she was going to get some puppies for dinner…I looked “somewhat” quizzical and so she said…you know, “cockles and mussels.” ….I added the “alive, alive ho.” It’s Saturday and with the summer quickly slipping away, finding accommodation became a situation where we decided we needed to find a room early and not wait until we finally stopped for the evening…finding a room for two with a private bathroom proved a little difficult, but the lady at the tourist office finally found us one on an estuary here at Whangamata…and what a find it was. Situated right on the water…well, across the street, this lovely inlet was perfect for Carol’s white knuckles and my mental exhaustion….we walked the beach, watched a “small” six-foot marlin being off-loaded onto the dock, and Carol kept her nose to the ground as she always does looking for perfect shells.

After our hole in the wall room in Auckland, we have a mansion…separate bedroom and bathroom large living room, fully equipped kitchen and we’re making the most of it. I was almost tempted to fix a large dinner simply because I could. But I resisted……however, it’s bangers (sausages) and eggs for breakfast.

And now, to Hobbiton…