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Pacific Journal New Zealand

Harvey ’s Pacific Journal ~ 2007

6.  Rarotonga to Auckland , New Zealand   Depart 10.15;  Arrive 13.35
     Air New Zealand Flight NZ023.  Flying time 4 hours.  Distance 3010 km

Monday 5 March
I have set the alarm for 7.00am and requested a wake-up call, but we are out of bed before either.  We leave the hotel at 8.15 and the plane leaves on time.  We leave Rarotonga on the morning of the health inspection.  Every household is checked to weed out breeding grounds for dengue-carrying mosquitoes.  Empty coconut shells lying around in the backyard collecting puddles of rainwater are not allowed.

We are given a snack, and we read.  I finish Morris West’s The Navigator, a Polynesian journey into the Pacific and into the human condition.  Some experts believe that the Polynesian explorers couldn’t navigate, that they simply drifted until they happened upon an island.  Reading this novel I have no doubt that they could navigate.  We cross the international date line, and suddenly it’s tomorrow.

Tuesday 6 March
It takes a while to clear customs in Auckland .  I mention cricket to the immigration officer (the world cup is just about to start in the West Indies ) but he follows football and is a Tottenham fan.  We collect the car we hired back in the UK and off we go, roadmaps at the ready.

Mercure Hotel, Customs Street , Auckland , New Zealand
Locataion: 36:53:00S 174.45.00E (GMT +13)  NZ$2.80 = £1

The roads are wide and well signed, the suburbs are green and spacious, and we don’t notice any slums or shanties.  The shopping streets downtown look affluent.  We lose our way once, but we’re soon checking into the hotel, where we have glimpses of the harbour from our room on the seventeenth floor.  We have a drink and then Sue is ready to sample the shops and I want to look at the harbour.  We do both, in bright sunshine, and the waterfront reminds me of Portsmouth , albeit on a grander scale.  Across the water are lots of trees and what looks like more suburbs, but we can’t tell whether there are islands or this is the other side of the bay.  We go back to the hotel to get changed, and then choose a waterfront restaurant at random.  Earlier it had been hot, but now we are sitting outdoors in the shade and the breeze feels cold.  We both enjoy the meal (I have a fish called terrakihi) but we are glad to forego our dessert and leave our windy table.

Wednesday 7 March
Sue has a disturbed night, but on the whole she is sleeping more hours than she has for years.  Breakfast is on the 12^th floor, with splendid views over the city and harbour.  As we eat we watch the ferries coming and going, and the rain clouds scudding across the bay.  Sue makes a waffle, and feels rather pleased with herself.  We check out at 9.30 and within a few minutes we pick up Highway 1 heading north over the harbour bridge.  Again, the suburbs are attractive, gradually giving way to green, undulating countryside.  In parts it is not unlike Britain , except for the profusion of tree ferns.  We even see a herd of Belted Galloways, more cows together than we have ever seen in Dumfries and Galloway .  The rain is intermittent, but one shower is torrential.  We stop for lunch at Whangarei.  We drive round the industrial areas for a while before we find the town centre, but when we do it’s very pleasant.  I am struck by the notices in several shops informing would-be truants that the police or the truant officer will be called if students are loitering during school hours.  We don’t know how effective the system might be, but it seems more sensible than the latest approach adopted in the UK , whereby mothers of truants are threatened with imprisonment. 

Duke of Marlborough Hotel, Russell, Bay of Islands , New Zealand

We continue north.  Knowing that we don’t have much further to go, I decide we’ll take the Old Russell Road by the coast rather than queue for the car ferry at Opua.  It’s a bad choice.  The road is pretty, but narrow, twisting and up and down.  It is slow going and seems to take forever, and by now the sun is out and it’s hot.  We alternate between the heat and the aircon.  It’s a long time before we start to have glimpses of the sea, but when we do the views are stunning: turquoise bays, sandy beaches, inlets, cliffs, islands; just our kind of coastline.  When we eventually reach Russell it doesn’t quite match some of the views we have passed, but it is very attractive for all that.  The town itself is like a miniature version of Camden , Maine , and the hotel is a grand old building (well, this version was built in 1933 actually) with verandas on the edge of the harbour.  The original Duke of Marlborough, built in 1827, was granted the first liquor licence issued in New Zealand when it became part of the British Empire in 1840: licence No. 1.   Our room is spacious, with a big window looking out on the harbour, but there is no air conditioning and the ceiling fan is not up to the task of countering the heat from the sun all afternoon.  Sue is whacked from the journey and sleeps, notwithstanding the heat.  I start my new book, Great Tales from New Zealand History by Gordon McLauchlan.  It has over 40 short factual stories which I hope will help to clear up my almost-total ignorance of NZ.  When Sue comes round we take a stroll along the waterfront, back through the town, and have dinner at the hotel bistro on the veranda as the sun sets over the Bay of Islands .  We are out of the wind here, and even when the sun disappears the temperature is pleasant.

Thursday 8 March
Sue wants to check her emails and I want to explore, so after breakfast we book a tour for the afternoon and go our separate ways.  I take the walk up 
Telegraph Hill, not far but quite steep.  The views are spectacular: back down to Russell and the harbour; on to the headland of Tapeka; and out into the Bay.  This is where the Union Flag was raised following the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 but, disillusioned with the way things worked out, Hone Heke (first chief to sign the treaty) cut down the flagstaff four times.  The British didn’t see the warning signs and in 1845 found themselves fighting the Maori in the Battle for Kororareka.  Kororareka was the old name for Russell, much more romantic until you discover that it means sweet blue penguin (as in soup).

Back in Russell I bump into Sue (it’s a small town) and we buy a snack for a picnic lunch.  I also buy an Australian bush hat (my panama seems totally inappropriate here) and some ear drops to try to clear up the deafness in my left ear that has persisted since the flight from Tahiti ..  Then we separate again, and I go to see the church, the oldest in New Zealand , with bullet holes in the wooden walls from the Battle of 1845.  The largest memorial in the churchyard is to a Maori chief, Tamati Waka Nene, who worked for peace and unity between the Maori and the Pakeha (the British) for over 30 years.  His portrait is inside the church.  I don’t remember seeing any similar tribute to an Aborigine in Australia , and I start thinking that integration between residents and settlers in New Zealand must have been better than in most countries I have visited.

Sue has had a nap at the hotel, and at 1 o’clock we set off for a cruise round the Bay of Islands .  The boat is a large, fast catamaran, and we move serenely out of Russell Harbour in glorious sunshine, but the man providing the commentary warns of a Pacific swell as we get further out.  Sue and I are tucking into our lunch as he gives instructions on what to do if we are sea sick.  No-one else is eating and we wonder if we are pushing our luck.  But the scenery is stunning: islands, beaches, bays, hills, all bathed in sunshine, the overall effect as beautiful as we have seen anywhere in the world.  There are several large shoals of fish on the surface, some being farmed by sea birds.  We go right out to Cape Brett , where there is a lighthouse, abandoned in the 1970’s.  When it was manned supplies were handed ashore in baskets (boats couldn’t land) and then winched up a steep railway by horse power: one horse walking round and round a capstan.  Near the lighthouse is a small basalt island with an arch just large enough for a boat to pass through.  By now we are in the gentle Pacific swell that we had been promised (although no-one is sick) and as we approach the ‘Hole in the Rock’ I remember how difficult it was to bring my motorboat into its Derwentwater boathouse when there was a lake swell and an onshore breeze.  In fact, when we get into the arch there is clear water on either side, and the manoeuvre was probably easier than my boathouse.  We pass right through the arch, and then as we watch the next boat coming through we get a call from our sister boat: dolphins have been spotted.  They are about twenty minutes away, so off we go, the catamaran moving at speed for the first time.  Sure enough, there are about a dozen dolphins, including one baby.  They swim alongside the boat, under the boat, jump and dive; all in all they put on an amazing impromptu display, but most of our photographs are of disappearing tails.  This is a camcorder activity, and we don’t manage to capture one jump between us.  The crew are excited by the baby, and they tell us that there is a high infant mortality rate for dolphins.  They need to maintain a body temperature similar to ours, but until they have developed a protective layer of blubber they are vulnerable to hypothermia.  They need feeding constantly (up to twenty times an hour) and if one dies it has been known for the mother to keep the dead baby with her for days, balanced on her nose, refusing to abandon it until the body starts to decompose.  When there are babies, boats must not stay too long and no-one is allowed to swim with them.  We are entertained and sobered.

Back at Russell we have a hot drink and then wander round town again.  We book our evening meal at Kamakura , on The Strand near Duke’s.  I have a ( New Zealand ) lamb rack and Sue has vegetarian.  We both enjoy it, but although it’s expensive it’s not very substantial and Sue heads off to buy a bar of chocolate whilst I sit with my coffee.  Whilst we eat the sun falls behind cloud but eventually re-emerges just above the horizon for a somewhat subdued sunset.

Friday 9 March
After breakfast I go to the internet café (actually a charity shop) to check emails, and then we catch the ferry to Paihia.  There is more cloud about today and it’s cooler, but still very pleasant on the water.  We look round the tourist shops and have lunch at a restaurant on the water’s edge.  Sue sees two meals being sent back, and ours aren’t exciting, and too late we realise we are in the wrong place.  We enquire how to get to the Treaty Grounds and discover that it’s a half-hour walk each way.  Sue doesn’t fancy that, but as we head for the taxi rank we notice a rather exotic looking vehicle called the Paihia Tuk Tuk Shuttle Service, and we are taken over the river to Waitangi for $4 each.  We arrive just in time for the 1.30 guided tour, which we share with two other English couples.  One of the Englishmen insists on asking questions which we feel are in poor taste, but our guide displays all the dignity, grace and control that one would expect from a Maori who can trace his ancestry back to the first canoe.  Some Europeans argue that New Zealand was settled by a fleet of canoes, but our guide insists that there never was a “great fleet”.  He tells us that over several centuries a number of canoes made the journey from the legendary (or mythical?) Maori home on the island of Hawaiki .  Each canoe (or waka) was capable of holding up to 200 people, and we are shown one built in modern times.  In fact, our guide’s great-grandfather worked on it.  35 metres long, it consists of three giant Kauri trees, cut into planks and fit together when the wood was still green, so that as the planks season and shrink the waka becomes watertight without the need for caulking.  When the third tree was cut it remained stubbornly standing until prayers were said, whereupon it crashed to the ground and the jubilant workers launched into an impromptu haka.

The waka is in a purpose-built whare (house) near the beach where Captain William Hobson landed in 1840 with instructions to make a treaty with the Maori, and we follow the path he took up to the small house where James Busby lived as “British Resident”.  Busby had been chief representative of the British Government since 1833, charged with maintaining peace but without any of the powers he would have had as Governor.  He acted mainly as mediator, and in 1835 he hosted a gathering of northern chiefs who signed the Declaration of the Independence of New Zealand.  The newly independent state could not maintain law and order, and so many of the chiefs were prepared to relinquish freedom for the protection of the British Empire .  We approach the house across a large lawn, on which the draft treaty had been read to the hundreds of Maori and scores of European.  The document had been drafted by Busby and Hobson and translated by Williams, the missionary, none of them legal or constitutional experts.  The Maori debated it all day and into the night, and 43 chiefs signed an amended version the following day.  Our guide believes that although flawed in detail the treaty still reads well as a whole and resulted in the Maori and Pakeha becaming one people. 

Busby’s house is now known as the Treaty House, although the signing took place where the flagstaff now stands.  Nearby stands the Whare Runanga, a ceremonial meeting house erected to mark the centenary celebrations in 1940.  It is splendid.  The whole of the interior is carved and woven to represent the entire story of the Maori, just as the carved tattoos on the face of a warrior tell his story.  Because it is not an actual meeting house we are allowed to take photographs, but although it might not be the real thing we still find it an emotional experience.  We go back to the visitors’ centre for some traditional dancing and singing, including the haka made famous by the All Blacks.  One of the songs is familiar and beautiful.  Billy Connelly sang it when he came to the Bay of Islands on his World Tour of New Zealand.

We have a drink and then I go back to the Treaty House to look inside.  The House and Grounds were granted to the nation in 1932, in time for the centenary celebrations to be organised, which some 10,000 people attended.  Although forgotten about and neglected for much of the previous 100 years, Waitangi is now regarded as the birthplace of New Zealand .  We walk back into Paihia and take the ferry over to Russell, the erstwhile lawless whaling town (Hell-hole of the Pacific) that the treaty was designed to clean up.  It worked.  Russell today is as genteel as an English spa, spoilt only (for me) by the all-pervading smell of cooking oil from the various cafés and restaurants.  We eat at Dukes and go to our bedroom, situated over the kitchens, and the oily cooking smells drift up and in through our open bathroom window.

Saturday 10 March
We had thought about driving up to 90 Mile Beach , although we know that rental cars are not allowed on the beach itself, but Sue is wilting under the pressure and doesn’t want to spend the day in the car.  She decides she will stay in town and I take a walk up Flagstaff Hill and down the other side to Tapeka, about three miles away near the end of the peninsula.  It’s a lovely little spot, with perhaps 100 houses with well-tended gardens.  There’s a beach on one side, with the calm waters of the bay, and rough water on the other side of the isthmus, with waves breaking on the rocks.  I walk back up the hill and go back to Russell through Kororareka Point Scenic Reserve.  It’s a Kiwi Zone, which means no dogs without leads.  The birds are declining in numbers as their natural habitat shrinks, and being flightless they are particularly vulnerable to dogs.  No sign of Kiwis, or blue penguins.  The path winds through dense forest, with tree ferns much in evidence, and drops down to Watering Bay .  At low tide you can walk into Russell on the rocky beach, but not now, and I have to climb part way up the hill again.

Back at the hotel I sit on the beach and wait for Sue, but instead I get a text message: “Come to the grass square ASAP.”  Mildly alarmed (has she had an accident?) I hurry over to find a small festival taking place.  I have missed the parade but I see Sue and we watch young children in traditional dress and painted tattoos dancing and singing.  We are enchanted, and we have a snack there so we can go on watching the performances.  On the way back to the hotel, but away from the main festival, we see another dance troupe in traditional dress.  They are all white children, and several of the white mothers join in, swinging pom-poms, perhaps familiar with the routines from their own childhood.  It dawns on us that the first set of dancers were mostly coloured.  Maori in one part of town, Pakeha in another.  Hmm.  Perhaps the “One People, One Nation” concept doesn’t quite filter through to suburbia.  Nevertheless, it is good to see Maori traditions being embraced so whole-heartedly. 

Later in the afternoon I go to the amphitheatre by the visitors’ centre to watch the Russell Theatre Group telling the story of the Battle for Kororareka in 1845, which took place following the breaking of the flagstaff on Maiki Hill for the fourth time.  The actors, in costume, read eye-witness accounts of the day.  It doesn’t reflect well on the Pakeha, who withdrew to their ships and watched the victorious Maori burn the houses (but not the church) from a safe distance.  Order was eventually restored but the Maori had made their point, and the British became more circumspect in their dealings.  There are probably a score or so of actors, but only one is Maori.

We have fish & chips on the veranda in front of the hotel and drive over to Tapeka in the evening sunlight.  Then it’s back to the room to pack.  Without air-conditioning it’s hot. 

Sunday 11 March
We wake at 6.30, before the alarm, and after a quick breakfast we’re on the road before 8.00.  It took us a lot longer to get to Russell, but we think it should take us three and a half hours to get to Auckland .  We need to check in by 12.30 so we don’t have much leeway for hold-ups.  It’s Sunday morning, and we’re not sure of the ferry timings at Opua, but a boat is pulling in as we arrive at the terminal and we cross in few minutes.  It’s a good run all the way apart from a couple of heavy showers and we arrive at the airport at 11.00.  There are the usual preliminaries: fill up the car with petrol, return the car, check in, pay the departure tax, have a snack; and then we take off on time at 14.35.

Next leg:
7.  Auckland to Brisbane

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