Tagged: Maori
the coolest hot spot around, part 2
It seems I left you hanging on the edge of your seats a few days ago, having tantalized you with some of Rotorua’s wonders before coolly ditching you for brevity’s sake. What a flirt! But you know I can’t stay away for too long – not when there is still so much to tell you about!
I left off having told you about the Bath House building being reinvented as a popular Rotorua nightclub for 25 (often crazy) years, until 1990 when the lease expired, ending another era in the building’s history. Yet, the Bath House was far from dead. 1969 saw the south wing become home to the City of Rotorua Museum, joined 8 years later by the Rotorua Art Gallery moving into the north wing. Growing it into the must-see attraction it is today was a slow transition involving many expansions, additions, and upgrades over the last 45 years, but the result has been very worth it. I was there for over 4 hours (including the free 1-hour guided tour) and didn’t come close to seeing everything.
A big part of that might be because I spent so much time in the “Beating Hearts of Te Arawa” exhibit. It dove into the stories, customs, and taonga (treasures) of the Te Arawa Māori tribe, the first people to inhabit the area – following their mythological Hawaiki origins to their roots in the Rotorua area today.
One of the stories the exhibit dove into was the June 10, 1886 volcanic eruption of Tarawera Mountain, the most destructive volcanic event in New Zealand’s recorded history. In the early-morning hours of that day the explosion killed 153+ people, buried what many called the “Eighth Wonder of the World”, and generated a 17km long zipper of ripped-open rock along the top of the Tarawera mountain range, spewing fire and black smoke 9km into the atmosphere and re-creating Lake Rotomahana into a basin seven times its original size. The blast, reports say, was felt as far as Christchurch, almost 700km away.
The “Eighth Wonder of the World” refers to the Pink and White Terraces of Rotomahana – dazzlingly beautiful steps cascading down the mountain like ornamental fountains, the largest silica terraces the world had ever seen. By the second half of the 19th century, they had become a popular destination for the wealthy (despite the arduous efforts it took to reach them) as news their grandeur spread. However, all that changed overnight with the violence of the Tarawera eruption. The terraces, directly in the fault zone, were buried under 60m of basalt and water when the bed of Lake Rotomohana gave way. Initially they were thought to have miraculously survived, but 5 days later, a telegram sent by the Rotorua postmaster announced the devastating news that it was “quite a decided fact that the terraces exist no longer.” It wasn’t until 2011, when scientists sent robotic submarines deep into the lake basin, that they found remnants of the terraces thought lost forever, a discovery of such significance that it has been dubbed New Zealand’s version of the discovery of the “Titanic”.
The Pink and White Terraces were close to each other (800m apart), having been formed over the years by boiling hot geysers, rich with silica, waterfalling down the hillsides and crystallizing as the water cooled, in time creating a beauty said to have been without equal.
“Set in a basin of pure white silica, delicately carved and fretted, lay a pool of pale blue water so pure in colour, so opaque in substance, I wish I could convey to the sight of those who read this the merest reflection of that heavenly colour, that pale tint found nowhere else on earth.” – Mrs. Howard Vincent
“To convey an idea of its beauty on paper is impossible.” – Lt. Herbert Meade, 1870.
The White Terrace (Te Tarata = “the tattoed rock”) was the larger and prettier of the two terraces, measuring 15 stories high and 2 football fields wide at the bottom.
The Pink Terrace (Otukapuarangi = “fountain of the clouded sky”) was where most people went to bathe due to the more moderate water temperatures. Hues ranged from pale pink at the 23m-wide bottom to smoked salmon at the top.
For more information on the re-discovery of the terraces, including photos of what they found, check out this blog by a man with ties to the 2011 scientific expedition.
One area of the Museum I didn’t get enough time to take in as deeply as I would have liked was “Ake! Ake! – the story of B Company 28 Māori Battalion“, the unit of Māori soldiers whose World War II exploits in Greece, Crete, N. Africa, and Italy have become legendary. Known as a fierce and fearless, their determination to serve took them to the frontlines of some of the war’s worst fighting. One in six men was killed in active service.
“We’ll fight right to the end. For God! For King! And for Country! Ake, ake, kia kaha e!” – WWII marching song written for the 28th Māori Battalion
In a bit of a personal spin on this story, one of the British tourists in the guided tour group I was in told how her father’s best friend witnessed the B Company in action. When faced by an approaching unit of German soldiers, they broke out in the Haka (Māori war dance), intimidating the Germans so badly they fled their positions. That’s the stuff that makes legends.
It was a good thing that the Museum closing time came when it did, because I had just enough time to race back to the hostel to meet the driver from the Mitai Māori Village where I had signed up for (at the recommendation of a friend) a staged evening of entertainment focusing on Māori stories, songs, dances, and kai (food). I must admit, I usually avoid the more costly, “slick brochure” touristy stuff – especially when it costs more than an average dinner out with friends – but Mitai?… worth. every. penny. What a fantastic evening! It entertained, it informed, it fed – incredibly well on all 3 fronts.
After being welcomed by our hilarious host – who during the “where is everybody from?” time incredibly managed to exchange a few words of greeting with the guests from each nation in their native language (even the more obscure Lithuanian, Belgian, and Danish ones) – we were taken on a walk into the bush to meet the Māori warriors coming down the stream in an ancient waka (canoe). From there it was on to the open theatre for the show where the “tribe” put on a superb performance of traditional songs and dances, including a haka, followed by an engaging and often humorous lesson in Māori history, customs, and culture by the chief.
And then there was the hāngi dinner, a delicious and plentiful meal slow-cooked over heated rocks buried in a pit in the ground. I should have taken a photo of that. You wouldn’t have believed the spread!
The evening ended with a night walk through the indigenous flora and fauna to the glowworm pool before being taken back to the hostel for one last sleep before heading back to Napier the next morning. What a memorable way to end my visit there. And at the risk of sounding like an informercial, if you’re ever in Rotorua, check out what the Mitai family has put together. You won’t regret it.
I could have easily spent a few more days in the city discovering its many offerings – simply the unique geothermal experiences the area supplies could have made for a couple of happy days of exploring – but with the seaside magic of Napier calling me back, I can’t say I was particularly sad to leave Rotorua behind… at least not its sulphuric odor which hadn’t lifted in the few days I was there. However, its odd perfume aside, Rotorua itself should be a mandatory destination for anyone who comes to New Zealand. You have to see it to believe it.
Until next time!
Extra photo credits:
White Terrace painting
White Terrace photo
Pink Terrace photo
B Company 28 Māori Battalion
Rotorua – geothermal
the coolest hot spot around, part 1
This past Tuesday was 6 months since I arrived here in New Zealand with no clue of where exactly I was going or how this adventure would shape up. That’s amazing to me! – a bare blink of an eye ago I was facing down this crazy idea of packing up my Canadian life for 9 months, wondering how on earth it could possibly work; and now my pendulum has swung and I look at my return north with similar questions, clueless as to what awaits me on the other side of the 21 hour flight back.
If nothing else, my dwindling time has made me aware of all the things I hope to still do and experience while I’m here. Admittedly, the list is short, as my purpose was never to travel and see the country, opting rather to plant my feet deeply in one place and soak up the offerings of life there. On that front I have definitely succeeded. Napier has proven to be a place of uncommon magic, beauty, warmth, and welcome. The bigger hand that pointed me here chose very, very well.
Two weeks ago, I decided to venture outside of Hawke’s Bay for only the second time since landing here, this time to Rotorua, about halfway between Napier and Auckland in an area world-famous for its extraordinary geothermal activity thanks to the volcanoes that dot the terrain. The field trip was prompted by the visit of some dear friends from back home – Craig and Alison H. and their 3 phenom kids – in Rotorua for a family reunion, but I was tantalized further by the chance to see what some consider to be the vibrant heart of Māori culture.
The 3 1/2 hour bus trip from Napier got me into town at noon, Tuesday (10th), where the first thing one notices upon arrival is the distinct-and-unavoidable rotten egg sulphuric aroma that knocks on your nostrils and announces it’s moving in for a spell. And no, you don’t get used to it… not in 3 days, at least. Nose slightly rumpled but choosing not to focus on it, I booked myself into the YHA Rotorua hostel for 3 nights, armed myself with a stack of brochures for an afternoon of sightseeing… and promptly fell asleep. I guess I needed it? (The trip had been preceded by a string of late nights and early mornings.) So, even though that afternoon was a touristy write-off, it freshened me up for a lovely, late-summer evening in the countryside with the H family and a small handful of their relatives, the smash barbecue dinner they prepared, and an after-dinner visit to Eat Streat, a cobblestoned, geothermally-heated city block of al fresco dining in the heart of Rotorua’s entertainment district, popular with tourists and locals alike.
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After a night of being tickled by the scent of sulphur in my dreams, I woke up on my second day in Rotorua (Wednesday, 11th) with more H family time to look forward to.
First stop: Kuirau Park, conveniently located across the street from the hostel and a rich source of the gases I’d been smelling. Even better, it was a free(!) excursion to see some of the bubbling mud pools, volcanic fumaroles, and hot springs that the area is known for.
If you’re into geothermal activity, Rotorua is Disneyland. You name it, it’s here – geysers that spout 80+ feet in the air, boiling whirl pools, multi-coloured lakes, scalding steam that seems to seep through any crack in the ground that it can find, hot pools popping up in people’s backyards… What we saw at Kuirau Park may not have been anywhere as extensive or flash as what you’d get at the privately owned geothermal attractions, but it was, by all accounts, a respectable representation.
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One bonus to the Kuirau Park outing? Getting to soak our tender tootsies in one of several hot foot pools. Think a nice, relaxing, hot bath that never goes cold. All that was missing was bubbles, some wine, and a good book.
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Next stop: Te Hahi O Te Whakapono (The Church of the Faith) in Ohinemutu, a modern Māori village located a short walk from Rotorua’s downtown core. St. Faith’s Anglican Church is as historically recognized for its Tudor-style architecture as it is for being where the first Christian church service in Rotorua was held on October 30, 1831…
… while culturally, St. Faith’s has retained its Māori heartbeat despite the shifts of time and influence, visible in the ornate carvings (whakairo) and woven wall panels (tukutuku) that fill the sanctuary. Bilingual services are still conducted each Sunday, open to anyone who would like to attend. Most visually arresting is the Galilee Chapel Window where, when you kneel down to pray at the altar, an etching of Jesus wearing a korowai (Māori cloak) appears to be walking on the waters of Lake Rotorua. Finally, the B&W photo below is Ohinemutu, looking onto the St. Faith’s Church and Mokoia Island, circa 1915.
Even with all that interesting stuff to see around St. Faith’s, an extra treat still awaited us. As we were about to exit the church, Rotorua boy gone Hollywood, Temuera Morrison, walked in. Admittedly, I had no idea who he was, but I’m told that he is one of New Zealand’s most famous faces, having been launched into New Zealand fame by his role as Jake the Muss, a violent and abusive husband in the 1994 movie “Once Were Warriors”, and then international fame by his appearance in “Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones”. I’ve seen neither, but judging by the starstruck buzz he created, his fame definitely precedes him. Notice Craig’s mom’s smile 🙂
The rest of the afternoon was spent back at the relative’s home, enjoying the slow pace of a warm summer day and watching the kids ride horses before heading back to the hostel for an early evening. While I did get to briefly see part of the H family again a few days later in Napier when they were visiting Craig’s brother, Aaron, getting the quality time with them in Rotorua was like a breath of pure BC mountain air, and a reminder that I have some amazing people in my world. So much to be thankful for!
Day 3 in Rotorua (Thursday, 12th) had been marked and claimed as a tourist day – one where I would take in as many of the city’s points of interest as possible in a marathon sightseeing spree before head backing to Napier the next morning. Yet, despite my tacky tourist intentions, all plans were curbed by dark skies and rain to match, which went far in convincing all but the ducks to stay indoors while the heavens poured themselves out. So it became a quiet morning at the hostel for me instead, bowing to the cocoony-ness of the day to get some work done. Even this Vancouver girl didn’t want to go out in that kind of wet.
Thankfully, by midday the rains abated and I headed over to the Rotorua Museum, a few minutes walk from the hostel. The historic 1908 building cuts an imposing figure as you walk through the perfect green of the Government Gardens, suggesting former glory days and noble dreams that materialized differently from what was hoped.
Back in its original days, what you see above was known as The Bath House, promoted far and wide by the New Zealand government as the “Great South Seas Spa”, an international tourist destination that offered a variety of therapeutic treatments made possible by Rotorua’s curative waters and volcanic muds. The vision was of it being a global mecca for health- and pleasure-seekers alike, capitalizing on the healing powers of the area’s hot mineral waters.
“Nowhere else in the wide world does Nature work more kindly for humanity than at Rotorua – a truth admitted by grateful sufferers from all parts of the world, folks who ceased to suffer after taking the waters and treatments at Rotorua… free from racking pain and dread.” – from ‘Better Health – a Better Holiday – Rotorua Railways Publicity Branch, c.1933,
Men and women were treated for rheumatoid arthritis, gout, sciatica, lumbago, insomnia and nervous irritability, chronic dyspepsia, obesity, stiff joints or limbs, colitis, some forms of “kidney mischief”, and most types of skin ailments (among other illnesses). In its heyday, Rotorua’s “Cureland gave 60,000-80,000 baths annually, and approximately 30,000 special treatments.
That was until the sulphuric and acidic properties in the mud and waters corroded everything, blackening walls, rusting metals, pealing the paint… The dream of a great “Cureland” had literally crumbled by 1966. Yet, even though the Bath House era was ending, the building managed to escape destruction by being revived as a very popular restaurant, then cabaret, and finally nightclub known as Tudor Towers. From 1965-1990, influential musical acts cut their teeth at the Towers. Kiri Te Kanawa sang there in 1966, the eve before she left to go to Europe where she went on to become an international superstar. The museum tour guide I had recounted her own fond memories of the Towers, dancing the night away to Cairo (the club’s house band in the 80’s), and clumsily attempting to navigate her way down the grand spiral staircases in stilettos after a few too many drinks… It was a miracle, she said, that people didn’t break their necks. She, apparently, isn’t the only one with happy memories of those days – the affection for those golden years seems to still run deep in this city.
“It was the place to be. The dance floor pumped.” – Phil Sullivan, Tudor Towers bouncer (1984 to 1986)
This is where I leave off for today. Rotorua, part 2 will follow shortly. There’s simply too much to tell, and this post is already getting too long to comfortably read in one sitting. So, take a breather, and I’ll post again shortly. Until then!
Extra photo credits:
St. Faith’s Church exterior
The Bath House, 1913
Tudor Towers, c.1977
all’s balmy in palmy
Palmerston North. Beautiful land of the Ngāti Rangitāne and the winding Manawatū River, it’s the country’s 7th largest city, a thriving university town, and the New Zealand mecca for fertilizer conferences? At least it was two weeks ago as delegates from all over the North Island descended on the city to, quite literally (pardon the french), talk sh*t. I don’t even want to imagine their lunchtime conversation.
As most of you might surmise, the fertilizer conference was of no interest to me, but it was to Forestry friend, James, who kindly invited me along for my first foot outside of Hawke’s Bay since I first landed in Napier on Sept.26, five months ago today (EGADS! – time is a-flyin’!). I had heard things about “Palmy”, as the city has been affectionately dubbed, usually followed by barely supressed snickers and wry smirks, leaving me with the vague impression that the place wasn’t exactly high on people’s list of exciting destination cities. So, this chance to find out for myself was just too good to pass up.
The 3 hour drive south-west of Napier, out of Hawke’s Bay and into the Manawatu-Wanganui region, flew by quickly as we drove through the usual farmland scenery as well as a few smaller communities that fell along our State Hwy. 2 route (Dannevirke, Woodville, Ashhurst), seeing little variation from the golden, rolling hills I’ve become familiar with up Napier way… until we got close to Palmerston North, that is, and drove through the Manawatu Gorge at the southern end of the rugged Ruahine Range, and were greeted on the other side by miles of windmills. But more on that later.
Palmy itself, contrary to cynical opinion, was a pleasant surprise – at least the downtown core where I hung out for the day was, where everything that’s architectural, cultural, and cool about the city seems to converge around a central square, much in the vein of Central Park in Manhattan, only smaller. (Much, MUCH smaller. And less trees.)
My first stop – after grabbing a bite to eat at the Café Cuba, where Che still hangs out on the dining room wall – was the Te Manawa Museum of Art, Science, and History, a modern building that encompasses the heart, mind, and spirit of what makes the Manawatu region what it is.
The name “Te Manawa”, I learned, comes from the Māori word for “heart”. It also refers to “Manawatū” – as in “manawa/heart”, plus “tū”, which means “to stop, or to stand”. Legend has it that when the Māori ancestor Haunui first came upon the Manawatū River, its awe- and fear-inspiring greatness made his heart stand still.
I spent several leisurely hours exploring all the free museum had to offer. It was time well spent with exhibits worth lingering over, but most interesting to me was the generational history of the Rangitāne iwi (tribe) that has its ancestry in that area. As one of the first people to this region, the “Te Rangi Whenua” exhibit documented the iwi’s lineage of leadership, from the early 1800’s until the late 1900’s – one of the most influential of those being Te Peeti Te Awe Awe (1820-1884) whose memorial statue has stood in the central square since 1907.
Te Peeti Te Awe Awe.
Hare Rakena Te Awe Awe using the whalebone “kotiate” during the welcoming ceremony at the unveiling of his brother’s statue in 1907.
The memorial honouring Te Peeti in the Palmerston North Square.
The exhibit was far more extensive than what I describe here, but getting a glimpse into the stories, relationships, and heritage that gives the Rangitāne their identity was to better understand their special connection to this land.
Leaving the museum, I headed to the Square in the heart of the business district. It’s an impressive open space, perfect for impromptu meetings, people-watching, losing yourself for a few minutes on your lunch break…
I didn’t stay long though, heading back to Café Cuba instead for a late lunch and to get a bit of necessary work done before meeting James for the trip home, which included an inspired detour. Earlier, I mentioned windmills. In fact, hills full of them, responding with ballerina-like elegance to the winds that funnel in from the west through the Tararua and Ruahine ranges. They’re part of the Te Apiti Wind Farm, near the Manawatu Gorge we had to drive through. A short jaunt up into the hills got us to the gate of the wind farm, but no further as we missed the entry times by minutes. Still, to stand at the base of these 70m giants with their 35m blades cutting almost silently through the buffeting winds was a spectacle to remember.
Naturally, my blip of time in Palmy didn’t even scratch the surface of seeing what the city has to offer, but the chance to explore somewhere new always feels enriching, so I loved the opportunity – it was a great time! 😉
I’m bursting to tell you about the Art Deco event Napier put on this past weekend! It will have to wait until next post though as (4 days later) I’m still sorting through all the photos I took, keeping my fingers crossed for some good ones. Can’t wait to show you! Until next time.
Extra photo credits:
Palmerston North Square banner
Manawatu Gorge
Te Peeti Te Awe Awe memorial
Clock Tower
nothing to do with tangos
In a world where little is hidden anymore, knowledge abounds, and mysteries are few, it’s good to know that miracles still exist… like how on earth my camera suddenly started working again yesterday with zero fiddling on my part. (My last attempts with it were over a week ago at which time I put myself on a necessary time out, just long enough to take a step back from the mounting tech frustration I was feeling.) Despite having synced my camera/iPod almost daily (often more than once) in the last 2½ weeks, last night it decided to snap out of its crabby mood and grace me again with the ability to import my photos. Needless to say, it’s been a busy few hours getting caught up on all my photo editing so I have something to show you.
The Treaty of Waitangi signatures close-up.
Where do I start? How about going back a ways, to Friday, February 6, 2015 which marked the 175th anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi). Signed in 1840 by representatives of the British Crown and about 540 Māori chiefs, this written agreement established New Zealand as a colony of England and has become known as the country’s founding document. However, problems started arising when it was discovered that the English version and the Māori version of the Treaty differed in small, but significant wording, ultimately confusing people’s understanding of what they had agreed to. This discrepancy continues to spark disagreement decades later, although there has been a slow shift as efforts to honour the Treaty continue. Since 1974, Waitangi Day (formerly known as New Zealand Day) is a national holiday.
Now, I’ve gotten to experience some pretty seriously awesome national holiday celebrations in my lifetime – spanning Canada, USA, Mexico, and Europe – that drowned us in lively, patriotic sprees of impassioned proportions.
This one underwhelmed. Completely.
I haven’t figured this out about Kiwis yet. Barring anything that celebrates rugby (especially their beloved All Blacks), I haven’t seen much national fervor. Parades? Nope. Fireworks? Barely. How about a good old carnival? Don’t be ridiculous!
Similar to us Canadians who live in the shadow of America (them being the poster child for enthusiastic patriotism), Kiwis, dwarfed by Australia, seem to adopt a more laid back attitude when it comes to national pride. They know they’re cool – they just don’t feel a particular need to remind each other about it. Yet, ask a Kiwi where in Australia they’re from (because they have, you know, that “funny accent”), and you know the response ain’t gonna be pretty. Alright, that’s a blatant exaggeration, but you Canucks know the feeling all too well. Nothing awakens the patriotic sleeper more than having the credit for our awesomeness go to someone else. 🙂
That said, there were a few Waitangi Day events on the local calendar, although the pickings were slim and it didn’t help that the weather decided to not cooperate, giving us the only day of cold and rain within a 12 day stretch of sun. After taking in a bit of the dampened celebrations in Clive (normally a packed out event, I’m told), my friend and I decided to drive out to Clifton, a tiny seashore community nestled alongside other equally tiny communities, for a hot drink and a bite to eat at the beautifully situated Clifton Café. The car, however, screeched to a halt before we could get there, having been disarmed from its goal by a previously unnoticed building with “So Vintage” emblazoned across its forehead. For both friend and I, being suckers for anything re-purposed, upcycled, or thrifted, this was an exploration we couldn’t pass up. Let the fun begin!
In the entrance way we passed a lady talking on her phone. After taking in the cheery brightness of her jacket, I noticed, much to my astonishment, she was wearing the same jacket I had on! – the MEC Uplink. MEC, or Mountain Equipment Co-op, is an exclusively Canadian outdoors store, so what choice did I have but to introduce myself with the hopes of bantering around some “ehs” and “oot and aboots” with a fellow co-op member who shares my exquisite taste for outdoor fashion.
As it turns out, my MEC compatriote wasn’t Canadian at all. She’s Lyn, from Taupo (pronounced, oddly enough, Toe-paw), which lies 2 hours north-east of Napier. So, how did she come by her jacket? Her son met a girl from Vancouver some years back, and he now runs a successful RMT practice down on W.29th and Dunbar. The jacket was from one of her trips to see him. We ended up having a long and lovely chat, in between some re-finished tables and distressed metal chairs, 
exchanging email addresses and phone numbers in the hopes of crossing paths again.
But that wasn’t the only highlight of the unexpected “So Vintage” stop. The store itself is something to write home about, although it really needs to be experienced to do it proper justice. Owned by Mehdi and Korreen (he French, she a New Zealander), the former mechanic’s shop-come-private museum-come-showroom now houses an eclectic trove of industrial-style antiques that has you mentally redecorating your home the second you walk through the door. Hand-chosen and brought over from France by the shipping container-full several times a year, these authentically aged lamps, tables, chairs, signage, cutlery, crockery, bikes, toys (and so so much more) are the kind of salvage that designers and stylish homeowners drool for, even more so because you won’t find a knock-off anywhere. It’s “l’original or nothing”, as Mehdi and Korreen like to say. If antiques could talk, I’m sure they would say the same.
So, in a nutshell, that was my Waitangi Day – celebrated with a few hundred French antiques. The lunch at the Clifton Café never materialized. It turns out they were closed for the holiday, but the vintage discovery alone was still so very worth the drive.
That’s all for today. Just a warning to expect some more silence on my end. The much-touted, long-awaited, world-famous Art Deco weekend started here today, so please excuse me while I party it up Gatsby-style for the next few days. By the end of it, I’m betting I’ll have some fun stuff to share with you. Until then!
Extra photo credits:
Treaty of Waitangi
So Vintage – Z on table
So Vintage – red chairs
So Vintage – hat stand
oh my, mahia
Yesterday (Thursday) saw me climb into a forestry truck of another kind – this one belonging to the Department of Forestry and Land Management. The day held another road-trip away from the Napier city limits for a drive along the dramatic Hawke’s Bay coastline to the Mahia (Ma-hee-ah) Peninsula. I was joining James (owner of one of the rooms I’d looked at renting) as he drove the 3 hours north for a work meeting with a Maori community involved in an ecological project he helps oversee. Just another one of those cool, unvarnished opportunities to see this land. 
Mahia (full name: Te Mahia mai Tawhiti), I read, translates into “murmur” or “indistinct sound”. More specifically, “the murmuring of home”. Its name evokes the romance of this isolated stretch of land, lulled by the constant whisper of the waves against the shore. The Peninsula itself marks the upper end of what defines Hawke’s Bay, its little winglet stretching off the North Island’s torso into waters so clear and blue you have to wonder if it hasn’t been seeded with Kool-Aid Berry Blue crystals in some massive promotional gimmick, it looks like that much of a lie. It’s the magic of Mahia.
The day was a near perfect one as far as Spring days go, a tad on the windy side, but still pleasant. James’s meeting was on the north curve of the wing looking up towards Gisborne (Mar, I gave a mental wave at your brother 🙂 ), offering me the opportunity (while James met) to stroll the white sandy beach before settling on an outcropping of rock where I basked, headphones on, book perched on my belly, for a blissful stretch of bone-warming laziness. I can’t imagine anyone feeling sorry for me right now (lol), nor should you. It was heaven! and the minutes passed far too quickly before it was time to meet up with James and the Mahia 
crew for a spot of tea. From my brief conversations, they seem to be a passionate bunch, whole-heartedly invested in their little corner of paradise. It’s easy to see why this tiny settlement thrives while others crumble into memory.
After the meeting, James still needed to check on some land in the central hills of the peninsula. He had had a few hectares of trees planted there last year as part of another conservation project and wanted to see how his babies were doing. So up into the mountains we drove, down gravel roads, past vistas that would boggle your eyes, through multiple gates, alongside free-roaming herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and wild goats (and even peacock), all to reach this basin of green:
The panorama is taken from what is thought to be a former Maori settlement on top of one of the hills, looking down onto James’s conservational domain. The plantings cover most of what you see here and I’m glad to report that the sprouts are doing really well, already over 2 metres high and expected to more than double within the next year. If holes in the Ozone (like the one hanging out over New Zealand) are good for one thing, it’s growing things fast. No wonder the New Zealand logging industry is booming!! However, why the people here aren’t all 12 foot giants? – that I can only chalk up to good use of sunscreen 🙂
It’s Halloween here tonight – a celebration I, to be honest, never really look forward to (even with the discounted bags of candy left up for grabs the next day). The tiny Globe movie theatrette in Ahuriri, on the back side of Bluff Hill, is showing “The 100-Year Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared” tonight, so despite what will most likely be a sparse onslaught of ghosts & ghouls knocking at my door, I’ll still head down there in an attempt to avoid any visitors. Trickortreat hasn’t taken over here yet the way it has in N.America. In fact, the bags of candy I mentioned above? I haven’t even seen any in the stores. I may be spared a few cavities this year ha ha.
As much as the day of Scare hasn’t caught on here, the Maori’s seem to have a carved out a corner for themselves as far as ghastly faces are concerned. So, I leave you with this ugly one from a Marae (a Maori meeting place) we passed yesterday – appropriately frightening and bound to disturb some dreams with visions of bogeymen. Mwa ha haaaaa!
(And if that didn’t frighten you away for good, I’ll see you next time. 🙂 )
learning to kiwi 