Crapping on a yak.....overland to the other side of the world and the rest: Day 263 – 21 April 2010: The Pebble Beach of New Zealand

After another rainy night, the morning is surprisingly pleasant, and I discover why this place is really called ‘Broken Hills’. Overlooking the campsite is an eroded mountain that looks as if it has been sliced, and it hangs over the valley like a great ragged wall.

I go for a walk along the stream and then follow the Broken Hills Battery Walk, which follows the path of the old tramway that operated when the mine was active in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I am not sure what a ‘battery’ is in this context, but at the high point of the walk there is a clutter of old mining equipment which has now been encased by trees and bush. One part is some parallel blocks with thick bolts facing out of them, which I guess is the winch for the lift of a mine shaft. In neighbouring areas are great iron cylinders which cover mine holes. This site must have been quite industrialised when it was active, but has now sunk right back into the forest, with these rusting remnants being the only hint of what once occurred here.

The drive along the Coromandel Peninsula coast reveals a wealthier New Zealand than we have so far seen. Our Lonely Planet claims that Pauanui is a weekend base for jet set Aucklanders who fly in for a round of golf while neighbouring Tairua ‘knows how to keep it real’. We drive through Pauanui and pass by Tairua, and from what we can see, they both look equally jet set to me – Auckland is NZ$140 one way, for which you can just about fly to Australia from one of the international airports. In fact much of the coast is lined with homes with idyllic views and the roads are occupied by vehicles trailing speed boats.

We arrive at Hot Water Beach (that is its official name) just before midday. On this beach if you dig in the sand you are supposed to find the holes filling with water from a hot water spring at the back of the beach and, if you dig enough, you can form a natural Jacuzzi to bath in. However, the part of the beach where you can do this is only accessible at low tide. The beaches here are not good for swimming as the sea hits the shore with strong rip tides so, leaving Mary to sit on the beach, Caz and I drive a little further up the coast to see Cathedral Cove to kill time before low tide arrives. This turns out to be one of the highlights of our visit to New Zealand.

It is called Cathedral Cove because of an arch on the edge of the beach that reaches out to connect white cliffs that hang over the beach to a rock that branches out into the tide. The white sand beach can only be reached by wading though the archway. Forest decorates the top of the cliffs, as well as a tree that has planted itself at the bottom, but the most distinguishing feature is a gravitationally improbable white rock tower that stands proudly in the shore like a lonely mythical guard. We could stay here all day, but unfortunately we have Mary’s lunch in the van, and she would be getting quite angsty if we left her on Hot Water Beach without food. We walk back to the van the long way around via a twenty five minute walk through tropical grove.

When we arrive back on hot water beach, the tide hardly seems to have descended at all, and Caz and I’s attempts at digging for hot spring water prove fruitless.

The rest of our drive around Coromandel Peninsula is a beautiful though somewhat queasy tour of winding coastal roads. From the west side, we can see across the Forth of Thames gulf to the land to the south of Auckland.

Caz is driving today and swinging us around the bends. We turn one blind corner to find a car moving out to overtake a 4x4 towing a boat, and Caz has to slam on the brakes, swerving successfully away from the protruding vehicle of the mad man but narrowly avoiding coming off the road and crashing against the cliff side. Despite the general lightness of traffic in New Zealand, there is a lot of news here about road deaths and complaints of reckless driving. Having been on Asian roads, we should be used to it, but they don’t have fast cars in most of Asia, just vehicles that are driven faster than they should be.

We drive onward to Auckland and come across some alien incident that looks like a bunch of vehicles lined up on a road not moving very quickly, despite the road being three lanes on each side, both sights being a first since our arrival in NZ. This is like a different country. It’s like we have suddenly arrived home and are driving from the airport.

We meet up with Joost, fresh from his length of NZ cycle ride, at Freemans B&B, though Breakfast is not included. Also, we are camping in the back garden. Joost greets us looking thin, but muscular and healthy despite the many aches and pains that he has put his body through.

For dinner, there is another pizza test at a restaurant called SPQR. I don’t know what this is supposed to stand for, but there is an air of pretension about the place, and the waiter camply flaps his hand when Joost asks how big the pizzas are, saying only that they are big enough for one. After his travails, Joost is a hungry boy. The food is something of a redemption for antipodean pizza though, with a nice light base. 8/10.