Whangarei & Paihia

Whangarei

We come north to Whangarei through the rain. North of Auckland, the landscape turns swampy, with reedy wetlands and mangrove pools giving way to sticky inlets and muddy beaches. From my seat, the landscape seems to roll by. Rainwater runs in little rivers over the coach windows. We ascend the mountains, and the bus circles as it climbs, like a Roadrunner cartoon, and then rushes down the other side so fast I feel my stomach lift. On either side of us, thick rain forest crowds the road. Waxy-leaved palm trees tower over dripping deciduous. Low clouds lay in recesses in the hills. It reminds me of home.

Gradually, the forested hills give way to rolling countryside pastures. Bright and overlapping hills are stepped like rice fields, as if the sheep are inclined to eat their grass in rows. Pockets of trees cluster, like shadows, in huddled copses. I see small homes with cozy smokestacks, and livestock grazing in the rain.Calla lilies stand crowded under trees, catching drips.

Strange, in a flash and gone, a forest of totems, each tall staff bearing a stoic carved face. John and I glance at each other and shrug, bewildered. We plug in our ear-buds and watch the greenery for awhile. He plays backgammon against the computer; I read my book in snatches.

It is still raining when we arrive. Whangarei is a truck-stop town, dominated by car lots and box stores, like Liquorking and Pak-n-Save. We see a lineup almost down the block at the local KFC. Somehow, this doesn't seem promising.

Peter, the hostel owner, picks us up from the bus stop and takes us to his rambling Victorian house outside of town. It's got floral wallpaper, epic ceilings, and a confusing array of hallways and hidden doors. Also an ancient, toothless retriever with hairy paws, named after some herb or other. Our apartment is at the furthest end of the house. It is cold and the windows are open. There is no heating.

But then the sun comes out, and we sit happily on wicker furniture on the back porch and warm up, reading until we are hungry. There is an aviary in the garden. A black-and-white kitten watches the birds with calculation.

Eventually, we wander into town and find a pretty Victorian quarter with shops and restaurants. We walk further to the grocery store, which is enormous! There are no hand baskets here; only industrial-sized carts. We want to buy, at most, two days' worth of vegetables and a bit of tea. We negotiate the tedious crowds, our cart nearly empty, and at the checkout, realize that we have forgotten to buy a lemon.

We spot a cheese cart in the parking lot, climb aboard, and taste every goat cheese on offer.

Next day, the sun is hot. We hike 15 or 20 km to Whangarei Falls and back. It's a gorgeous, shady track that winds beside a river, through tree ferns, over suspension bridges. The waterfall is impressive. It sends mist out in rolling clouds one hundred metres down the river.

That night we venture out to hear live music in a dark little Irish pub. There is a lady harmonica player wailing out CCR covers. I am really impressed and want to tell her so. Middle-aged people are dancing and drinking pints of Guiness by the fireplace. We talk to some locals and wander around town, looking into other bars, of which there are a surprising amount. 

It is past midnight when we get in.

Paikia

We roll through more countryside on our way north to Paihia, a pretty seaside town in the Bay of Islands. The wind blows cloud-shadows across the hills. I see a cow scratching herself on a low tree-branch, liquid eyes bright and tongue lolling. Hawks glide overhead. Islands of hairy trees shift in the wind, the forest somewhere between palm and pine. We pass wide muddy rivers, tire-track rutted driveways, and orchards blooming.

The bus drops us off beside the wharf in the center of town. The ocean lays all to one side, with a long boardwalk, shops, and sailboats. It reminds me of the Oregon coast. Tourists mill about barefoot, eating ice cream, tossing footballs on the beach, and sitting on patios. I kick off my shoes and feel the freedom of summer. Our hostel offers free kayaks, so we make plans to paddle to a nearby must-see waterfall in the morning. In the meantime, we get lunch and stroll down to the beach, where John makes friends with a puppy. We dip our feet.

I have made it to the south Pacific.