That you haven’t heard from me in a few days is a good thing. It means I’ve been away from wi-fi, out of the city, off the pavement and deaf to the noise that inhabits it. It means I’ve been out in the forests and on beaches, driving the open road and finding my way into the countryside.
I camped the last 3 nights, each in a different place, working my way a little further North each day. Now I’m in the Bay of Islands, staying in a hostel so I can use the internet to check email, upload photos and get out of the van for a night. It’s really nice up here: warm and sunny with stunning, crystal-blue water, white-sand beaches, tropical vegetation and miniature islands sprinkled along the coast. I’ll probably stay a couple days and take a break from the road.
My first night out, I parked the van next to a small brook. Feeling sentimental about the scene, I decided to crack the window of the van so that I could hear the water go by as I went to sleep. Some hours later, I woke up to a mosquito buzzing in my ear. I got up to kill it, figuring it would bite me a hundred times if it could before the night was out, so I sat up, popped on my head lamp and was horrified to find that the car was FULL of mosquitoes – I mean there was a swarm in there. Trying to swat them would have been futile so I did the only thing I could: I opened the big sliding door and the back hatch, strapped everything down that was loose, and drove with my foot on the floor into the darkness. I went about two miles and then re-parked far away from water and sealed up all the windows and went back to sleep. Until about just before 6 in the morning… when I was awakened by a loud THUMP on the roof of the car! It startled me, to be sure. Clearly an animal was on my car, but what? A Tasmanian Devil? Meow. A house cat. Mr. BJ Sox. He wanted to come in. A very friendly cat, I was sure I could have brought him with me on my trip, but he was wearing a tag with a local address, so I gave him some milk and turkey and left him behind.
There are a lot of other travelers in New Zealand: Europeans mostly (Germans, English, French, Danish – in that order, and then a few Irish, Swiss, Italians, and Spanish). No Greeks. There’s also handfuls of Indians, Canadians, Israelis, and Chinese. And Kiwis too. I’ve met a few traveling across the country, staying in hostels and blending in with all the foreign backpackers. And aside from me, no Americans. So far, I am the anomaly.
After mosquito night, I got up and went on a stunning hike through the coastal mountains West of Auckland, near Piha – where I did find a surfboard and a guide to New Zealand surf spots. The Waitekere Reserve is home to a string of dramatic, steep mountains that come right down to a mile wide, entirely bleak, black-sand beach. I did a 3-hour loop into the mountains and back up the hot sand. Had to keep my shoes on, as the sand would melt your feet. I met an old Kiwi on this trail on his way up the mountain who was definitely at least 70 years old, probably older – and he was trucking. Pretty cool.
Then it was back on the road. My nerves have been thoroughly frayed from driving on the left side of the road with a manual transmission in a foreign country that doesn’t require people to have car insurance, so getting past the suburbs out onto the highway and putting the van in 5
th gear was definitely a small victory!
About two hours into the drive, there was an old man on the side of the road with his thumb out so I picked him up. I’d heard it was safe to hitchhike in NZ and he looked harmless enough. His car broke down and he had to leave it in the shop and was looking for a ride home, which was a little further than I had planned to go that day, but it worked out. I needed to put down some miles and it was nice to have someone to talk to. Marco was his name. He invited me to stay with him and his wife, offered dinner, but I passed, wanting to find a campsite before dark and cook some meat that was thawing in the cooler. I drove just a few miles past his place and found a spot on the shore with a view of the sunset, made a fire / BBQ, had dinner and a beer, knocked out and was up at 6 for coffee, breakfast at beautiful Whangarai falls, and more driving. About an hour out, on a search for surf along the coast, I finally hit some dirt roads, got a solid day of sun and my first look at some of the perfect bays and beaches up here in the North.
I stopped for lunch at the remotest of beaches and when I got back in the car to drive on – no power! None. Dead. Got a jump start from a guy named Nick (who was from Westchester, CA of all places, the last neighborhood I lived in LA), and drove straight to a service station to have the battery and the alternator checked. Turns out I just had a loose connection – the cable probably jumped off the terminal while I was driving the dirt road.
From there, it was on to a nice, formal campsite with showers and toilets. I cleaned up and reorganized the van. The next morning, I got up and drove here. On my way around a bend, I came across a small bay with some perfect shoulder-high rights rolling in. There was no one out, so I had my first surf in NZ entirely to myself. I’m still getting over the cold, so I didn’t stay out long, but it was perfect anyway.
More to come, stay posted…
