Posing with the Stray bus at Raglan. Tape artwork courtesy of Canadian Kyle.
Thursday, February 9
We’re greeted by the bright ’n’ shiny red Stray Bus just outside our hostel early this morning. After hopping out and instructing us to toss our bags into the bus’s already overflowing storage compartment, our driver, the lovely Miss P (which, she says, stands for “perfect” - not sure what her real name is and we never find out) takes us to the Stray office so for a quick rundown of how the trip is going to go. At the end of the session, a fellow passenger named Nate strolls up. He tells me I “look like a read a lot,” whatever that means (although he is 100 per cent correct!) - maybe it has something to do with the glasses. When I ask where he’s from, he proudly points to his sweater, which has “Edmonton, Canada” stitched across the front (another Canuck!). Yet another Canadian, Kyle from Vancouver, rolls over and we all have a dandy chat before hopping onto the bus again. (I can tell I’m going to like these two right away).
After playing a “getting to know you” game (where Miss P hands us each a Stray pass, with another passenger’s name on it, and gets us to track down the rightful owner) and a quick pit stop to the grocery store, Miss P expertly maneuvers us along the roads that snake their way deep down into the velvet green valleys of Coromandel Peninsula. The green scene is a sight to behold, such that even those passengers who prior had their noses buried in books sit awestruck, gaping out the windows, while their books remain unread in their hands.
Before hitting up our first stop, the famous Hot Water Beach (where geothermal activity causes natural, underground hot springs to bubble up into the sand), Miss P pulls over by an abandoned meadow to pick up a few shovels so that we can dig our own hot tubs. We sit staring out the window, scratching our heads as to how she knows where to find shovels in this maze of overgrown grass and weeds; but find them she does and before we know it, we’re soaking our feet in the small, sandy pools while the daredevils jump around, seeing just how long they can stand the boiling water.
People soaking at Hot Water Beach. Photo courtesy of Heather S.
After stopping by the campground in Hahei to drop off our bags and choose a bed for the night in one of the several sleepouts, Blair (who runs the local kayaking place) comes by in a small van to bring us salty souls to the sea. After a quick lesson (and after being mooned by two geriatric joggers who were running alongside the beach - again, gotta love those wacky Kiwis!), we hop into our kayaks while one of our guides pushes us out into the open water.
Our awesome Kiwi guides!
Through all the splashing and swearing (I’m not gonna grab the gold at the Regatta anytime soon), I had an awesome time rowing along while our excellent guides shared with us some Maori legends and history.
Jay and I, each trying not to throw the other out of the kayak, haha...Photo courtesy of Heather S.
Shortly after pulling up to Cathedral Cove (so named for the arching rocks that grace the beach), our guides dig through their supplies and whip up coffees, cappuccinos, mochaccinos and other tasty treats of the “cino” variety. I swear, they had everything in those little knapsacks - including little chocolate chip biscuits! Mmmmm….who needs Starbucks when you’ve got your very own private Cathedral Cove cafe?
After exploring all the cove’s nooks, crannies and caves (interesting tidbit: According to Wikipedia, “The cave and beach (at Cathedral Cove) were used as the tunnel through which the Pevensie children first re-enter Narnia in the movie version of ‘The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.’” Cool huh?) we hop back into our kayaks to continue our voyage.
See that little green speck in the middle? That's me. Narnia or bust!
The waves aren’t that big, but in my waterlogged mind they’re the size of tsunamis. I’m sure I’m about to make an epic faceplant right into a stack of rocks (that are jutting out of the sea like sharp, angry claws beckoning me to meet my untimely end) when the guide closest to us yells out, “Smile! This is supposed to be fun!” (or something like that). I guess he can read the fear on my face. At this point, I’m cursing myself (again) for choosing to sit in the front of the kayak. My rowing abilities seem to have improved a wee bit on the way back (part of the reason for this is because I’m rowing along to the rhythm of my new Canadian friend, Nate, who’s calling out a steady beat as he glides along with Kyle). Before I know it we’re back on the beach, no worse for wear (this time, I actually am smiling). We make our way back to our campground where a delicious BBQ (which is like an Olympic sport here in NZ), prepared by Miss P and our fellow travellers, awaits. Everyone sits around picnic tables and stuffs their faces while chatting, laughing and getting to know each other better. (One of the English guys tells us his mom is from Newfoundland - we really are all over the place!) As the food disappears and the moon hangs overhead, we all head to the beach. Most of us hang out on the sand listening to the waves lapping while the more adventurous hop into the ocean for a moonlit swim. A little later, we head back to our cozy sleepout (which we’re sharing with Christa, Heather and the three Italians) and pass out on our bunks, only to be woken around 3 a.m. or so by the drunken revellers. I don’t care, though. The warm breeze blowing through the window lulls me right back to sleep. The perfect end to the perfect day.
Friday, February 10
Today, we made our way to the sleepy surf town of Raglan - but not without stopping into Paeroa along the way for a taste of the famous Kiwi drink L&P (Lemon & Paeroa). Miss P hops off the bus, disappears into a shop and a few minutes later, comes back with several two litre bottles and plastic cups. Soon, we’re all standing around outside enjoying the bubbly bevy (which, around here, are better known as “fizzy drinks”). While L&P is only available in this country, its slogan is: “World famous in New Zealand.” (Again - love the Kiwi humour!) It’s obvious that the town is quite proud of their claim to fame, as proven by this larger than life L&P bottle.
Cheers from me and Canadian Kyle!
As we drive towards Raglan, Miss P tells us that apparently both Ben Harper and Jack Johnson (that guy’s all over the place!) have places in town. She says she hung out with Harper one time, so I think the source is pretty solid. We drive up a dusty dirt road and soon reach our crash pad for the night, Karioi Lodge, which is also the home of the Raglan Surf School. The whole place is shrouded in huge green palm trees and ferns and it’s not long before I start humming the Blue Crush soundtrack in my head.
Jay at the Raglan Surf School.
Once Jay and I are assigned our room, we head straight for it and notice what almost looks a big, decorative stick bug thingy (for lack of a better description) on the wall near the window. “Is that real or fake?” Jay asks. I get a wee bit closer for a better look and the thing begins moving its long, spindly legs. “Yup. It’s real,” I say.
Say hello to my little friend!
Unfortunately, due to my lack of swimming ability (I curse myself, yet again, for waiting so long to finally take lessons!) I decide to forgo the surf lesson. Instead, Jay and I head to Inspiration Point for some, uh, inspiration. Hell - who wouldn’t be inspired by these lovely views?
We head further down to the beach to soak in some more of the spectacular scenery (seems like our Canadian friend Nate and the Swedish girls have the same idea) and watch the surfers for a while. There’s a woman and a young boy doing the same (I assume a mother and son, by the way he has his little arms wrapped around her).
Surf's up at Raglan.
Click the image to see the video.
On the way back up the hill, we stroll around some of the huge houses overlooking the beach, p’raps hoping we might catch a glimpse of a Harper or Johnson (we don’t). Eventually, we make our way back up the dirt road towards the surf school. A dusty van of surfers stops along the way to offer us a lift, but we politely decline and keep on truckin’ (two feet and a heartbeat is the best way to roll, I always say!). After a nice chat with our Canadian pal Nate (to get his attention on the bus, people have taken to yelling out to him “Oh Canadaaaaaa!,” which I think is awesome) in which he entertains us with tales of his intimate and interactive encounter with an elephant in Asia (I won’t say any more!), Jay and I enjoy the small sauna (complete with outdoor shower) with one of our fellow travellers from the Netherlands. A little later, we pump up the Long Shen Dao in the open kitchen area and get cookin’. We enjoy a meal with our Italian friends Mariella, Valeria (rhymes with “malaria,” she jokes) and Luca on the picnic table and we chat so long, we don’t even notice that he sun has dipped down below the trees. Someone asks me if I’m cold, wearing only a t-shirt, shorts and sandals (I wouldn’t exactly call it a sweltering night, but it hardly ever gets this warm in the nighttime in Newfoundland). I just tell them I’m Canadian, and they understand.
Long after the pinkish sky has faded to black, Jay and I follow some of the others, and Miss P, down the gravel path to look at the glowworms. Hundreds of them hang off the trees in the quiet of the night - bright, little lights that look like tiny bulbs on a Christmas tree. It’s truly one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. While we’re all looking around with gaping jowls, one of the English guys puts one on the tip of his finger, points and says in a squeaky voice, “E.T. phone home.” Hey - someone had to do it, right?
The more energetic Strays head to the shed for more late-night partying, while the more sleepy of us shuffle back to our rooms. Before I hit the sack I hang out on the balcony by myself for a while and gawk at the stars and silhouettes of the palm trees, highlighted by the moon, while the sound of the crickets compete with the music and laughter of the revellers down below. As corny as it sounds, there is indeed something magical about this place. Again, I feel so lucky to be here.
Saturday, February 11
Okay, I know I haven’t been in New Zealand that long, but a word of advice - if you do visit one day, and you’re wondering what you should do out of all the ridiculously fun things there are to do here, definitely, absolutely add caving to the list!
This morning we all boarded the Stray bus and bid adieu to Canadian Kyle and the Swiss guy, who decided to stay behind in Raglan to take in some surfing lessons. Before long, we were at Waitomo, signing up for our caving adventure. There were several different options to choose from, but Jay and I (along with Christa and Heather and five of the other Strays) decided to go for “TumuTumu,TOObing,” which combined walking, climbing - and squeezing through insanely small holes! - swimming and black water rafting inside the (you guessed it) TumuTumu Cave, while checking out the stalagmites, stalactites and of course, glowworms! (I just can’t get enough of the lil’ buggers!)
Once we checked in, we hopped into a jeep with our two guides and were off. In true Kiwi fashion, our dreadlocked driver/guide wasn’t wearing anything on his feet as we sped along the dirt road towards the cave’s entrance while listening to today’s best 90s hits (it’s been a while since I’ve heard “Gangssta’s Paradise”). Once we arrived (thankfully in one piece!) we stripped down to our skivvies and swimsuits and slipped into wetsuits, booties and rubber boots. I kinda felt like an astronaut, รก la 60s Star Trek style, wandering through alien landscape as the sheep gawked at us (the caves are actually located on a guy’s farm and the company leases the land from him) stumbling around in our suits, big white boots and miner’s helmets, with the sweltering heat pouring down on us. It was in the mid-twenties, but with all that gear on, if felt more like 30 degrees or more.
As we got closer to the cave, one of the guides told us that if we can manage to squeeze down into the narrow entrance, then the rest of the ride is easy peasy. When we reached the entrance, this is what we saw.
Now you know what I mean by “insanely small holes” right? Well, turns out this little space was nothing compared to some of the others we were to encounter. One by one, we made our way down the ladder (with the rocks rubbing against our bums). When I reached the bottom, I just looked around, gobsmacked. It truly is a whole other world underground. Once everyone was down, we started our stroll, trying not to slip and kill ourselves while climbing over the fang-like rocks that jutted out all over the place, from up above and down below.
I whacked my head off them a few times - good thing I was wearing a helmet! At one point, since we were at the front of the line and was going at a good clip, Jay and I were assigned leaders of the group. I felt all proud and Brendan Fraser-like (hey - it did kinda feel like we were in “Journey to the Center of the Earth” down there!)…but that didn’t last too long.
Jay - follow the leader!
I don't know if it's ever a good idea to follow me!
After Jay and I got a nice little round of applause for our awesome guiding skills, our real guides gathered us together to terrify us with tales of the taniwha (tawn-e-faw) - a cave-dwelling creature that doesn’t usually play nicely with people. To protect us from the potential taniwha, Mr. Dreads orders us to slather our faces with mud so that we can blend into the background. “TANIWHA!” he yells at the top of his lungs, and we all throw ourselves against the side of the cave, flick off our head lamps and don’t move a muscle, as we’ve been instructed. We do this a few more times and as we’re all crouching there, smiling with our mud-caked faces, he laughs and tells us that the “mud” is actually glowworm poo (he’s lying). Next, we play a fun little game of “Let’s see who’s the last to flick off their head lamp.” I’m fumbling, mumbling (and swearing under my breath a little), trying to get this damn light at the front of my head turned off while the others snicker in the dark. I’ll admit it - I pretty much do most things (eating, reading, writing, getting out of bed in the morning, etc.) slowly; but I had trouble with this head lamp thingy from the get go, so it was no surprise that I ended up being the winner, or “loser” as it were, in this case. For my reward, I get to be the first to crawl through the next hole. Before I head off, Mr. Dreads calls me over, turns me around to face the cave wall and tells us about this symbol that will supposedly protect us from the taniwha. He proceeds to use his muddy fingers to paint the symbol on the back of my wetsuit. I can’t see what he’s doing, so I have no idea what he’s really up to. (I find out later that he actually drew a big bullseye on my back.) I head on, thankful for the “protection” and crawl on through the small space, only to have Mr. Dreads jump out at me, screaming and splashing, on the other side. Yup…I kinda saw that comin’!
Don't drown Jay!
But Mr. Dreads isn’t done having fun with us yet. A little further down the cave, he tells us that we’ll get through the next hole by lying on our backs (into the water), crossing our arms over our chests and gently gliding on through. (If we feel anything slimy as we go along, he says, not to worry - it’s just the resident eel.) He will help us out, of course, by going to the other side, grabbing our feet and hauling us along. When it’s my turn I lay on my back, hold my breath and float through the hole. The whole way, I’m staring at the rock above, just mere centimetres from my face. (If I’ve ever wanted an up close and personal encounter with a cave, I’m definitely getting it now!) I can feel Dreads latch onto my boots and tug. Needless to say, I’m more than thrilled when he hauls me on through the tiny space. As soon as I reach the end, before I can get up, Dreads quickly grabs me by the shoulders and good-naturedly dunks my head into the cold, muddy water, as he does with everyone else. I sputter and gasp as I suck back a mouthful of dirty water and reach out and blindly grab the nearest shoulder while I try to catch my breath. (I’m beginning to wonder if this is fun, or torture!) For the next while, I’m crunching on muddy sediment. Some people may think we’re crazy to be actually paying for this - but, truth be told, it’s worth every friggin’ penny!
In a bit, we come to another small space we have to squeeze through. This time, we have to lay sideways, into the water, with our other shoulder facing upwards. Again, I glide on through the tiny opening with the rock above gently scraping my suit as I go. When we reach the deeper water, I get to put my doggy paddling skills to good use (those swimming lessons are sure coming in handy now!). After trudging on through for a while and carefully picking our way through the stalagmites, our other guide informs us that we’ve come to the tubing part of our trip. We can hop on the inner tubes the easy way, he says, or the “fun” way. By this, he means each of us will climb the rock face, stick the tubes to our butts and jump from the rock, backwards, into the water below. Of course, we all opt for the fun way. My lil’ brain feels like it’s jiggling around in my head as I splash into the water.
Totally tubular!
Jay concurs.
Once we’re all in the water we form a line, latch onto the feet of whoever’s behind us and get a little singsong on the go. When we reach the glowworms our guides tell us to flick off our lights and suddenly, everything’s pitch black again. We all lay back quietly in our tubes and stare at the roof of tiny lights above as we glide peacefully along. It’s like gazing into the night sky, but many, many metres underground. This is by far one of the most awesome things I’ve ever experienced.
Ahhhh, glowworms...how do I love thee!
Earlier, the guys laughed, saying we basically paid a bunch of money to look at maggots and poo (since the energy for the glowworm’s light comes from their own waste). Technically, I guess they’re right; but as I said before, it’s worth every cent! Who knew maggots and poo could be so pretty? They hang like jewels from the roof of the cave.
A little while later, after the “peaceful” part of the journey, we come to the craziest, tiniest tunnel of all. I look at the opening, scratching my head as to how the hell we’re supposed to squeeze through there - but, amazingly, we do. The last time I’ve been in a space this small had to be my mom’s womb (not to sound extreme or anything, but it’s true)! Again, I say a silent thank you that I’m not claustrophobic, put my arms in first and plod on through. About half the group is ahead of me while the other half is right behind. The foot of the person in front of me is almost touching my forehead. I use my forearms to push myself forward and try not to kick Jay (who is directly behind me) in the head. After a few minutes, I finally see the end. I manage to curl into a ball, hugging my knees up to my chin and get my feet out through the opening. As I said, even though small spaces don’t really bother me, even this tunnel proved to be a bit of a challenge. But, as they say, it’s all mind over matter (and I definitely had to push all manner of crazy thoughts out of my brain as I crawled through!). After trudging through the cave some more, our guides whipped out a thermos and treated us to a hot, sugary orange drink (kinda like Tang) to help us warm up. They also threw pieces of chocolate to us which, upon their recommendation, we dipped into the warm juice before devouring. It was probably one of the tastiest treats I had in a while - but everything’s pretty damn delicious when you’re down in a cave, cold and exhausted!
Several hours later, we made it out of the cave and greeted the sunshine back up on dry land. After we walked back to the barn/shed (where we whipped off our wetsuits and got nice, hot showers), we all piled into the jeep once again and headed back to the chalet where we checked in to meet up with the others. I treated myself to a well-deserved steak and cheese pie from the small bakery (these little meat pies are as abundant in New Zealand as mosquitoes in Newfoundland in the summertime) as we waited for Miss P to collect us. Once we were all on the bus we rolled into the nearest town for a liquor run. After Jay and I picked up a few bevys for the evening, who did we run into on the street but Mr. Dreads, happily bobbing along, carting a half dozen beer to his car. As soon as he saw us he came over, whipped out a beer from the box and offered it to us. (That’s another think that Kiwis and Newfoundlanders have in common - they’re always ready to shower you with kindness, and alcohol!). Tonight, we will be sleeping at a marae - a sacred, Maori meeting place. And while alcohol isn’t usually allowed at the marae, our host, Uncle Boy, is making an exception for us. More to come!
