Our Twelve Days of Christmas – 19th to 30th December with Charly and Tom.
The First Three Days
Four hours in to our first day of Christmas Rob and I were speeding south on Interstate Highway 1 to Auckland Airport to meet Charly and Tom off their South Korean Airlines flight from Seoul, the second half of their arduous 27 hour of flying from London Heathrow. White mist veiled bridal fields of munching cows in the early light of dawn, before the true colours of the flora had escaped the dark shadows of night.
We sat expectantly amongst other excited family members who had not seen their loved ones for months, maybe years. When the female cabin crew appeared in their elegant pale beige and duck egg blue uniforms, their black hair fastened demurely with bamboo bows I began to wonder if they had made the flight. A black labrador and a beagle were sniffing the bags of a few embarrassed travellers as Tom appeared first and then Charly, looking tiny amongst tall, well-built males of the species.
We showed Charly and Tom around town, partly to help them stay awake until their first night’s sleep in our time, reducing their jet lag time and because we wanted a few items of food. Pak and Save supermarket had piles of green lipped muscles for sale so I made moules mariniere followed by Thai tuna curry using some of Kyle and Shelleys’ frozen tuna catch, which I had traded for a bottle of hot tomato sauce. Shelley had arrived earlier with a home-made lemon pound cake and tub of sweetened lemon juice which would come in very useful on our three day sojourn to the centre of North Island.
On our second day of Christmas we walked to Whangarei Falls, as we had done before with Gail and Tony. It had rained recently and the falls were wider and louder this time. Cameras clicked away as we recorded the occasion and a friendly duck insisted Charly fed her with crumbs from her sandwich.
We had heard of another earthquake on the Pacific coast of Ecuador and a few days later quakes occurred in Chile and the South Island of NZ. The earth is constantly on the move everywhere, I wonder when it will next directly affect us.
It was a day of lovely, warm sunshine and we rounded our walk off with ice creams at the little ‘dairy’ shop on the opposite side of the road to the marina run by a friendly young Indian family with their daughter and tiny baby.
After a snack of cheeses and biscuits on board we wandered over to the Love Mussel restaurant on the Quayside for the long awaited and keenly contested best decked boat awards. I remember the words “In reverse order” and then Zoonie’s name came first as the boat with the best presented flags, and we were rewarded with, yep you got it, a Tshirt. So my efforts making the code flags which read Merry Christmas, paid off!
Kyle and Shelley had joined us and said they were off to the Risque Bingo evening at the Butter Factory, would we like to join them? Well why on earth not. This time we sat on the stage while the provocatively clad lady caller, whom we recognised from the Burlesque Evening we had previously enjoyed at the same venue, was set up by the main doors with her friendly disco lady belting out the music in the corner behind her.
Crossing the numbers off as the buxom and colourful caller yelled the likes of, ‘legs eleven, I’m in heaven’ ‘Number nine you are mine!’ and ‘Oooh number eight, I can’t wait’ etc being the more repeatable calls when suddenly Tom said, “Oh no, I didn’t want this one,” bless him he had won not the spa night nor the basket of Christmas goodies, but a ticket to the male stripper night in February, and had the embarrassment of having to go up and collect it.
It was a fun and lively end to their first full day with us.
On our third day of Christmas we re-visited the young kiwi pair in their cosy dark home while it rained outside. There just are no crowds in NZ except at Stadiums and the like. We thought it would be packed with the children on their Christmas holidays but no, the four of us were the only humans in with the kiwis. As a result and because we stood very still, both birds fed constantly, poking their long beaks into the leaf litter just the other side of the glass and no more than a foot or two from us. It was too dark to photograph them so I took a picture of the 100 year old specimen in reception.
They are too young to breed as yet and the female is the dominant one, often bossing the male around. They both emerged from the shadows in the same spot at one stage and nearly knocked into each other leaping a foot in the air in surprise. Such odd and cute creatures, they have useless wings and no chest muscles which means they are easy prey for dogs to catch and kill by crushing the kiwi’s lungs with a light squeeze of their gripping jaws.
These two will eventually be released into a kiwi reserve as part of the programme to raise their numbers in the wild. But with predators in the wild including possums and rats it is a hard job.
Part of Zoonie’s extensive and never ending maintenance regime is the annual emptying and cleaning of her two water tanks, located under each settee berth in the main saloon. We had done one while still on the pile mooring. We emptied the tank with natural usage then Rob used the stainless steel key he had had fabricated to undo the round inspection hatches on the top of the tank with ease. I scraped off as much of the black pimples of mildew as I could reach, then Rob did the rest. We then filled the tank and because we were well through the contents of the other tank Zoonie took on a decided heel to starboard.
Well on this afternoon the taps gurgled away when we opened them signifying the second tank was empty and could be cleaned. So while Rob stripped off for the job Charly and Tom went off to explore and I started to get together the food we would need for our three day excursion to Hobbiton, Tongariro National Park and Rotorua.
The 22nd 23rd and 24th December
Another early start and we were moving towards the south central area of the North Island, a land of lakes, mountains and geo thermal activity. On route we passed paddocks filled to the edges with glossy, well fed dairy cows and woodland edges necklaced with bee-hives; a land of milk and honey indeed.
Matamata is the closest town to Hobbiton and referred to its younger, wealthier friend with just a few commercial references in the form of the I-Site (tourist information) made to look like a Hobbit hole, complete with a bronze, life size crouching statue of Gollam, just as I imagined him.
Our tour bus took us the short distance through bucolic countryside to the Alexanders’ 1250 acre beef and sheep farm which was spotted in 1997 from the crew on a film location helicopter as it flew over the emerald green hills and valleys dotted with white sheep.
East Farthing, Northmarch, Gandalf’s Cutting, Sackville’s Apple Orchard, Ferny’s Fen, Bag End and Bagshot Row to name but a few of the locations created by J.R.R.Tolkein in his Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit are there to be thoroughly explored up close and personal.
In 1998 they were built of perishable materials, green timber, plywood and polystyrene for the 39 hobbit holes with the addition of scaffolding poles in the construction of the double arched bridge with its water mill, located near the Green Dragon Pub.
The varying sizes of the hobbit holes meant Sir Peter Jackson, the director who was by now firm friends with Mr Alexander the farmer, could experiment with the scale and size of the characters in relation to each-other and their surroundings.
The filming of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy started at the end of 1999 and took three months to complete using the ‘temporary’ site. We know many of the stars who would have walked those pretty grassy lanes and be seen to enter their homes through the round painted doors; Ian Holm and Martin Freeman as the old and young Bilbo, Sir Ian McKellen the tall Gandalf with his wooden staff, whom we met in his Limehouse Pub, The Grapes in London, where his staff now stands behind the bar watching the comings and goings, Elijah Wood who played Frodo and Sean Austin as Sam.
After the filming had finished, the cast and crew of over 400 left and the white faced sheep were allowed once more to graze the area; they had been banned as they were too white and big and Sir Peter wanted the smaller, black faced Cumbrian sheep. The noisy frogs, who had halted filming because of their amorous croaking, were allowed back into the village pond and the site was dismantled without thought to the possible commercial benefit of running tours in the area.
Naturally, over the next ten years many people visited the area asking where fictitious re-incarnation of the village might be, so that when in 2009 Sir Peter once again approached Mr Alexander with a view to rebuilding Hobbiton to film’ The Hobbit’ he was welcomed with open arms on the proviso it was constructed of long lasting materials so Mr Alexander could run it as a visitor venue and keep the magic of the Shire alive for the dedicated followers.
The building of the ‘new’ Hobbiton, using wood, steel and other durables, took two years followed by a mere 12 days filming ‘The Hobbit’.
Today visitors are herded in small, manageable groups around the winding site as dedicated gardeners manicure the ‘Hole’ gardens and tend the healthy vegetable plot, enjoying the products in their own homes. The climate of NZ keeps things watered and growing while the plentiful sunshine brings out the best in the rich floral colours. It is a finely tuned organisation that allows 2500 visitors through daily while each groups gets the feeling there are only a few other folks on the pristine site at any one time.
The contrast between the massive, well organised nature of the visitor business and the tiny, homely scale of the village locked in a time of isolated rural innocence was well maintained by our Glaswegian guide Julia, who clearly had loved the stories from childhood and was only too pleased to regale us with all she knew on the subject, at the same time ensuring we kept to the paths and took plenty of photos and not mementoes home with us so future generations will have the same delightful experience we had.
The four of us sat outside The Green Dragon Pub, by the working watermill, its wheel clanking and swooshing around and around, and supped our earthenware beakers of frothy ale, taking in the atmosphere for one last time before Sir Peter Jackson told us from the TV screen at the front of the coach that he would actually consider retiring there when his filming days are done. He might have rather more personal callers than he would like!
Our accommodation that night was at the Opal Springs Holiday Park where we sat in the lounge-diner of the two bedroomed apartment enjoying fine views of the distant hill range, covered in dark green fir trees.
Next morning, our fifth day of Christmas, we headed south and so did the temperature, (plummeting to 7’) towards Turangi, Lake Taupo and Tongariro National Park. A chill wind blew over the wide fetch of the lake covering the surface with white foals on foot high waves, but the hardy New Zealanders were making for the water in their little aluminium boats regardless.
Every now and then we would pass through a frontier town, not so unlike the North American equivalent, with artificial ‘grand’ facades that fooled no one and quirky unique creations like shops and bars fashioned out of corrugated iron sheets into animals! Mail boxes made from an old outboard motor or microwave oven are not considered eccentric here.
Vineyards, or wineries thrive in this area and Rob and I plan to sample a few on our camping trek to the South Island later on.
From Whakapapa Village, the hiking, information and accommodation hub of this two season resort (Skiing in Winter and trekking in Summer), we drove to the chair lift car park through lava fields that brought back to mind Charly and Tom’s last visit on board while we were in Lanzarote, with its own volcanic terrain.
We had come higher to around 2000 metres with a view to taking the chair lift to the summit of Mt Ruapehu at 2797 metres, but the top section of the lift was on hold as it was snowing on the summit. The photos you will see on the webcam show the conditions at the top. We sat in the café enjoying drinking chocolate and cake watching the rain outside turn from rain to sleet and then snow and later – sunshine. Four seasons in one day here is also quite normal.
Unperturbed we descended to the village once more to trek the short distance to Taranaki Falls through pretty woodland and moorland of heathers, Manuka, Kanuka bushes and gorse. Rob has since informed me that when we embark on our figure of eight camping trip around the North and South Islands we will trek the Tongariro Traverse; six to eight hours (10 hours in my case!) of moderate/easy terrain a distance of 20km. over lava fields, around volcanoes, up and down and located near to where we were at the time. Ah well its only for a day, unlike Machu Picchu which was four days.
Our accommodation that night at the National Park Tavern took us back 40 plus years in its décor and fittings with seemingly no refurbishments since the place was first built. Walking into our bedroom we were greeted with a bright blue tubular steel three person bed, a double beneath the single bed on top and a single on the opposite wall. The sink in the corner and the radiator beneath the sash windows reminded me of my childhood home and the pink collared white goat in the tree outside the window munching leaves at our eye level just completed the mood of charming decadence.
Tom immediately plugged in the tiny modern free-standing radiator since the temperature was arctic. Rob was amazed by the fleece sheets on the beds which along with our warming bodies and the little radiator created a nice snug fug in the room for the night. The gentle enquiries the next morning on who owned the various snores just added to the homeliness of the place.
Standing in the well-appointed kitchen preparing our breakfast the next morning we could see our breath. German Lars was determined to have a solitary Christmas in one of the mountain huts and joined us for a quick breakfast spooning some of our honey onto his crispbread while keenly awaiting the lift to take him to the start of his hike. The weather was still dangerous at the top so he was having to make amendments to which hut he would reach safely before nightfall.
Before we left we chatted to the new lady owner of the Tavern who said she was responsible for the whereabouts of the trekkers who left from her Tavern and she was awaiting news of two young girls who had spent the snowy night high up in one of the huts.
24th December, Christmas Eve, our sixth day of Christmas.
After the fresh air blowing across Lake Taupo, the stinking hydrogen sulphuric gas was quite a shock, but at least it was much warmer at Wai-O-Tapu as the crowd gathered around The Lady Knox Geyser while she prepared to shoot upwards with a little help from the lady guide. I was reminded of Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park in the US which erupts over part of the super volcano area in North America which is well overdue for its next big bang. God help us all when that happens!
Vast lakes of steaming water and boiling bubbling mud cover the 18sq.km, of the Taupo Volcanic Zone. The guide book describes the Rainbow Mountain, Mt Maungakakaramea, as forming part of the Northern Boundary, I just like the name. Also we are told, DO NOT SMOKE IN THE PARK, the earth is doing plenty of that already I thought.
We took a walk around this dramatic area, across a boardwalk over boiling water and gravel paths fenced around pits of bubbling mud and steam. Manuka (famed for its health giving honey) and Kanuka bushes seemed to thrive in the chemical rich atmosphere. They are both similar in leaf shape but the Manuka leaves feel harder than the soft foliage of the Kanuka. In the shop Manuka honey was for sale in small 1lb jars, guess how much? You’d best sit down. $78, around £40 (I’m not sure of the exchange rate at the moment). I won’t be buying any at that price anyway.
The best thing I thought about the Te Puia Cultural and Historical Centre was the recognition of the hard work in promoting the amazing area and Maori culture in the form of a wall of fame in the shop showing hundreds of photos of past guides. This is a site just outside Rotorua which is designed to show mass tourism, many from cruise liners moored in Auckland Harbour, a snapshot of NZ Maori pre-European life and the topography of the land.
In trying to cover so much some displays were a disappointment, especially the living Maori Village that was deserted and looked as if the ‘tribe’ had left months before. There were no people or other living things to give the village life as we had experienced in a ‘village’ on the shores of the Amazon in Ecuador with the Kitchwa Indians. The modern Maori way of life is one of western integration and their past ways are history, this seemed a sad reminder of the fact.
On our way home we did a quick final food shop at Countdown and then back to Zoonie, home, warmth, comforts, a light supper and to bed with Santa on the foredeck waving to passers-by in readiness for the ‘big day’.
Christmas Day 2016. Our seventh day of Christmas.
Charly and Tom like my porridge made with oats, water and milk, guesswork and love, so that is how we started the day.
There is much choice here in how to spend the uncharacteristically warm day, for us English anyway. The locals often picnic and barbecue in the country or by the sea on a beach somewhere, but the sky was grey and the wind blowing so we relaxed on the settees in the saloon and opened our presents at leisure, recovering in a most enjoyable way from the strenuous past three days in the best company.
Kyle and Shelley called at midday for drinks and mincepies. Pak and Save mince pies, strawberry and rhubarb pies and gingerbread pastry pies are really tasty and to fill the gap created by baking I had levered off the lids and fed in a little of Sandra’s (from Deep Blue) homemade mincemeat, that she had given us last Christmas while we were in Mindelo Cape Verdes together.
Lunch was ready mid-afternoon and later Charly and Tom went ashore for some free WiFi while Rob and I did the dishes.
The weather had taken a turn for the better on Boxing Day so we set off as a foursome on the Hatea Loop Walk; an hour of fresh air and exercise and numerous friendly greetings and good tidings for the season.
New Zealanders have a very nice gastronomic tradition on Boxing Day; that of the fruit filled Pavlova. Having completed our health giving promenade we slipped into Pak and Save where a tower of soft fluffy pavlova meringue awaited the final magical touch of strawberries and kiwi fruit, plus a few mint leaves. Accompanied with cream the four generous quarters did not last long!
The long golden sands of Breams Bay Beach called in the afternoon and we all felt the lack of our four legged friends to enjoy them with us as we paddled and picked up a few pretty shells to inspect before returning them to the water.
Boxing Day, day 8, was by way of a restful interlude in an otherwise busy few days of excursions.
On the 27th December, day 9, we went on our keenly awaited trip out to the Poor Knights Islands. These have been rated amongst the top 10 diving sites and places to view wildlife in the World if you want to take any notice of such opinions.
One story of how they got their name and the one I think is likely because our own Captain Cook named thousands of places in his travels, was that while he was passing the islands he was tucking into a bowl full with Poor Knight’s Pudding, which is basically traditional bread and butter pudding spread with raspberry jam. Our guide thought it a sad recipe but I decided to try adding the raspberry jam next time!
What Rob and I made sure we understood was that this experience would indeed have been amazing for the other participants who knew nothing of the cruiser sailing life that we enjoyed, who instead came from land based lives and limited travel and it was fun to see them enjoying themselves.
We were each supplied with wet suits, snorkel and mask and flippers. I didn’t use the latter because although they were the right size they were so tight around my toes I knew I would get cramp in my feet, I have bunions you see.
Ready and keen we stood on the dive platform at the stern of the boat and in we went. Jeeez it was cold, and of course this meant we would not see the beautiful tropical fish we were used to. However the fish we did see were bigger than in the tropics and there were lots of different types of flowing sea-weeds including green and luscious kelp.
Poor Rob suffered with suncream washing into his eyes so had to come out pretty soon and resorted to staying on the surface in one of the kayaks while Tom and Charly explored a sea cave and I headed for the sun light shining into the depths from the other side of a limestone tunnel. The current was quite strong and for a moment I thought I was going to be dashed up against the limestone cliff, so I pushed out away from what would be a very solid and unforgiving surface.
A shoal of fish clung to the rock walls but the water was full of plankton so the photos were disappointing. After I don’t know how long as I’d lost track of time I made it back to the boat, teeth chattering and laid out on the comfy sun cushions in my bikini just to let the sun warm me up again! A surprising number of folk were novice or new to snorkelling and the crew had their hands full showing them what to do.
Warmed up and well fed we motored into the world’s largest sea cave and had some fun making noise and sounding the ear-piercing ship’s horn. The colours on the rock walls were beautiful and varied from blues to greens and reds, quite lovely.
On our way back, having seen dolphins on the way out, we came across the biggest manta ray I have ever seen. A good 12 to 14 feet across it barely broke the surface except with its wing tips but turned head over heels many times, white belly then black back, to capture and trap its food as it rolled. Now that was a fabulous and rare treat! The highlight of the trip for me.
We had excellent weather for the day which was a relief as Charly and Tom had travelled so far, we really wanted it to be a winner. The company quite rightly lived up to their name for us, giving us a ‘Perfect Day Ocean Cruise’.
All good things…………
After so many days ‘off’ it was time for me to do some cooking on day ten of Our Twelve Days… An elderly, softening banana found itself chopped up in pride of place inside a banana cake made using an ordinary sponge mix of 4:4:4 and two eggs. (Butter:sugar:flour in ounces and eggs) As we were having fish for supper I prepared a white sauce ready for having the egg yolks added at the final stage of cooking and since blueberries are plentiful here and not so in the UK a crumble was called for.
I have taken to making the crumble mix separate to the fruit content of this dessert as the soggy uncooked underneath layer of crumble I find neither appealing nor digestible. Also the crumble mix can be baked to crunchy dryness the day before, reducing the labour time on the day of a special meal.
So while stirring, mixing, rubbing in and beating I reflected on the rich days we had spent with Charly and Tom. The pink collared goat in the tree, Julia’s Glaswegian dialect telling stories of little people and a wizard on a New Zealand hillside and the wet-suited, masked couple in the water around one Poor Knights Island whom Charly addressed thinking they were Rob and me, “Say cheese,” she asked and to their kind credit they repeated,
“Cheese” before she realised her mistake and they all laughed.
Rob and family returned from their town exploration in time for a drink before we all went into town for a sushi lunch. Another new experience for us to try. It is an opportunity to narrow down one’s future choices and decide on favourites of the little uncooked fishy delights. I don’t think I’d go for uncooked seaweed again as it is ‘bouncy’ and quite hard to chew, but some of the fish mixes and the prawns on skewers and quick fried in tempura batter were delish.
Pictures taken witnessed us at work over our plates, lest there is any future reluctance to take part in this type of cuisine. In fact there are lots of sushi bars here that are open most of the time and very busy with visitors and local customers; a healthy trend and option.
On our penultimate day, day eleven we packed a picnic and headed for the hills, the pretty and windswept hills around Busby Head and Smugglers Bay to be precise. It wasn’t a long trek, like the one Rob has threatened me with across the Tongariro National Park I told you about, (nightmares!) but it was as picturesque as everywhere else around here. We looked across to Marsden Cove, New Zealand’s only oil refinery, where Zoonie had sailed into the marina next door for the Customs clearance and first few windy days here. Seems ages ago now.
Offshore are dotted numerous islands making nice targets for the many local day sailors and their craft to head for. Second World War batteries that were once armed lay witness to times when fear of invasion was the mood, but on this day a young family sat in one, the children making monkey sounds so they could hear their echoes.
We had hoped for a swim before lunch as we thought with the bay facing Eastish we would be protected from the SW wind, but ‘no’ it powered in, chilling the air so that although the water would be pleasant enough, coming out of it into the breeze was goosebump temperature. The clothes stayed on and the sandwiches came out.
Walking back over the neck of the peninsular that we had previously walked around brought us to a very windy top. Posing for pictures while sitting on a little wooden bench clinging on to our partners in the full force of the wind we looked like Wallace of Wallace and Grommit with our face skin flattened back by the wind giving us broad, shiny teeth smiles!
You may remember that back in 2011 Christchurch on the South Island had a severe earthquake and one of the many buildings raised to the ground was called The Suk Jai Thai. The family came north to Whangarei and have been producing fine Thai meals ever since. Gail and Tony introduced us to the place after the Quarry ‘A Choired Taste’ performance so we took Charly and Tom there.
They were busy, busy, busy, rushed off their feet in fact. Isn’t it always nice eating in a place that is popular for obvious reasons instead of being the only customers and wondering why? Our rice waitress was new and in training, for which she got our complete sympathy, “You’re doing a great job” as she flicked another spoonful of sticky rice onto our plates.
Tom loves rice so she kept flicking from her elaborately engraved aluminium pot to our delight. I loved the barely cooked crisp vegetables in a tamarind sauce with prawns. It took longer to choose our dishes than eat them as all dishes were in the usual beef, chicken, prawn or vegetarian options with many house sauces.
All good things come to an end don’t they. My granny used to say, as we left her after our regular yummy Wednesday after school tea of cream cheese and castor sugar brown bread sandwiches, wagon wheels, freshly squeezed orange juice or cold milk and the rest, “If you don’t go dears, you can’t come back.”
On our twelfth day we were off just after 4.30am once more with the dawn still just an idea over the horizon as we sped south on empty roads, veils of mist floating ghostly over fields and in the valleys, my keeping the windscreen clear by playing with the knobs and dials. Another bulb gone somewhere judging by the orange warning light on the dashboard. “Repco” I said to Rob, for a replacement bulb later.
Charly and Tom were off back home to prepare for moving into their new house once the building company finished it off and stopped messing them about. Likely their next visit will be when we are in South Africa at some time in the vague future.
Back in the car park Rob fitted the new bulb and checked to see why one of the rear seat belts would not house the buckle. Pulling the seats forward he found a lot of broken window glass and one of the fragments had lodged itself in the slit of the seat belt housing. It wouldn’t come out, like a fish down a pelican’s throat, so he rammed it further in, beyond the reach of the buckle and bingo one working belt.
On New Year’s Eve we wandered slowly around the Hatea Loop chatting with Wayne and Barry in the Artisan Market on the Canopy Bridge before scratching the ears of a piglet, with the longest random eyelashes, in the small animal enclosure. The evening of the dying year we chose to spend munching popcorn while watching the last six hours ever of Downton Abbey, taking us through a spectacular burst ulcer, blood flying everywhere over guests at a rich dinner table, a wedding and birth, (but no deaths,) in short order and so engrossing we forgot the bottle of bubbly that had been cooling in the fridge.
The magnificent series finished and it was past 2.00am here that’s 1.00pm back home in the UK.
A Happy New Year Dear Readers.