An Easterly Sort of Drive

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‘Peacock!’ I said surprised as a pair of kingly birds flew over my car as I traversed the hilly Highway 35, that encircles the hump of the North Island that is the East Cape. Instead of the coastal highway I pictured, the narrow road cuts inwards up, over and around hills with no sea in sight, returning to the coast only to connect the small communities and their attached beaches. The roads on the cape are still more coastal than those in the Wairapa, which I reached by crossing the Rimutaka’s from Wellington. There one main road runs north through the region like a life line with smaller roads protruding from it like fingers until they reach the coast.

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I took the right pinkie south out of Martinborough, a town known for the wineries surrounding it, which that day happened to be packed car up on car like a box of crackers a mile out of town in each direction. When I finally broke free from the town fair traffic, I flew over the empty road through drought scorched earth to make up time. The farther from town, the fewer signs warned you what speed to slow to even on the increasing tight curves hugging the coast. At Ngaio, the last ‘town’ on the road, I still couldn’t see the lighthouse marking Cape Palliser. After a few more kilometers on now gravel road (this will be a theme on this trip), the red and white stripped warning sign came into view. It sat dormant, the stormy overcast weather not dark enough to require the light to shine from its cliff-topped tower. Despite the steepness of the stairs climbing to the top, it felt like walking up an escalator, stepping forward not just up. From the top, the stairs were more interesting than the lighthouse or the view. I had an inexplicable urge, rather than my normal physical cowardice, to go sliding down what, from the top, looked like a giant ramp. Thankfully, I had nothing to ride down so I walked like a normal person instead.

I walked across the top of the brown sugar sand that rejected the footprints my sandals wanted to leave like they were an insult to its isolation.

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I stuck to the main arterial heading back north out of the Wairapa towards Hawkes Bay, another wine and fruit region further along the coast. I was impatient because the winery I had been invited to visit closed at 5:00. I know it’s a universal truth that when you’re in a hurry you get stuck in traffic, but I have found this especially true in New Zealand. The roads are small, rarely more than two lanes with passing being difficult. Even more than the roads, the drivers routinely go below the speed limit. I was driving the limited 100 kilometers per hour or 50 mph on the straight bits, but I routinely caught a car doing 80 or 90. There’s an bill board that says ‘100 is not a target’ (it looks better pictorially) which is actually wise words on many New Zealand roads, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t drive 100 when you can. Of course, I still couldn’t find the winery at 5 minutes ‘til 5:00pm so I called for better directions only to be cut off by lack of credit on my phone. I found it myself a few minutes later and hoped the hostess would stay late so I didn’t have to come back the next day.

Thankfully she did, giving me a sneak peek behind the tasting room, to where the ‘magic’ happens (scientifically known as fermentation). I was surprised to find that Matariki Wines grow mostly reds; not exactly what New Zealand is known for. The owner, John Matariki, an ex-rugby player who I met through work, bought an old river bed that everyone else considered worthless enough to be a garbage dump. Because the rocky soil holds the heat, they’re able to grow Italian style reds alongside a few classic New Zealand whites on the siltier soil. The store room, reached by a sliding wooden barn door, held wooden casks still bearing the logos of their original creature. One barrel, think pirate movie if you need an image, holds 300 bottles of aging wine waiting to be bottled. The barrels were stacked halfway to the ceiling. Another inner chamber was filled with metal tanks that would fit 10 or more barrels in each as well. One of the vats was covered in insulation to maintain the correct temperature, but I was assured it wasn’t to make a fake ice wine like some wineries now do. When I tried their late harvest Riesling I knew it wasn’t necessary. My guide explained that in time heat, like a frost, will condense the sugars in the grapes turning a normal Riesling into one of the most beautiful wines I’ve ever tasted. Considering I paid nearly twice as much for a bottle than its alternatives, it should be, but it did make for a memorable farewell on my last night.

The next morning I spent in Napier, the Hawkes Bay capital. The town itself is known for its art deco buildings, but I preferred my view of the gray blue ocean with the sculptures, fountains, and tourist attractions found on the palm lined waterfront. From there I headed north to Gisborne, but took a detour to Mahia along the way. Once on an island, it’s now a peninsula filled in naturally by silt and sand. The view over the water onto the land was beautiful, but the cliffside where I stood was sadly strewn with all other manner of garbage including an exercise bike. I drove out onto the peninsula past bachs (beach houses) of all shapes and sizes, fishermen, sail boats and up the gravel road that looked back onto the town. I was chasing a better view of the golden hills that folded in on themselves with a single row of trees growing in its bosom. I partially succeeded before the road turned inland, where only views of cows were available.

Back on my ‘coastal’ road, I headed past the rubber clad surfers bobbing on the waves just outside Gisborne. I slowly made my way onto the hump that is the East Cape. There were single specimens of sheep, goat, horse, cow, and ram, all common Kiwi sights, sitting outside their fences instead of in alongside a few rarer turkeys, the afore mentioned peackocks and several pukehoe, which are a dark blue chested birds with a bright red face that strut on long webbed feet.

The next morning I fought to get up for sunrise at the most easterly lighthouse in the world, the first to see the morning’s light. My inability to be a morning person and storm clouds won out, sending me crawling back to bed. In the end it was actually a good thing because I couldn’t find the path to the top of the thickly forested hill in day light let alone in the pre-dawn hours. The half paved, half gravel road returning to town ran past a beach without a soul on it. I climbed down through the green entanglement of tall grass that gave way under my weight, with no way to tell how far I’d fall. After a bit of scrambling, a few close calls with thistles, my feet found their way to the sand. Rocky fingers rise out of the shallow waters like a dinosaur bone half unearthed. Large flat rocks worn into strips, line the shore. They reminded me of the pancake rocks in Punakaiki, on the west coast of the south island, where small flat rocks are stacked on top of each other like a leaning tower of flapjacks without the maple syrup. I decided these were French toast rocks instead. I walked across the top of the brown sugar sand that rejected the footprints my sandals wanted to leave like they were an insult to its isolation. Sprinkles started for the third straight day so I returned to the shelter of my car leaving the beach to its peace.

Once you reach the halfway point of the East Cape the road really does start to follow the coast, passing beach after beach, cove after cove and the small towns abutting them. Some were tourist towns with bachs and little else. For some the marae, the Maori meeting place, was still the heart of the town. For Raukokore, the center piece was the white washed wooden church just feet from the waves rolling in. If its history and view onto the Pacific wasn’t enough to make it memorable, the sign apologizing for the fish smell emanating from a family of blue penguins nesting underneath the baptismal fount was. Farther up the coast, Whanarua Bay looks like just another town at first glance, but it is a sub-tropical enclave hidden in its small picturesque cove. In case the casual traveler needs proof that the place is different from its neighbors, a macadamia farm sits just off the road with a café that serves a decent cup of coffee with a piece of macadamia candy to sweeten the deal. Its view overlooking the bay is worth stopping for but make sure you bring your bug spray because two minutes after sitting down my ankles were once again covered in little angry red welts.

I finally exited the area known as the East Cape, deciding to drive the rest of the way to Auckland that night quietly skimming past the tourist throngs at Tauranga and Whakatane. I had already seen the Coromandel Peninsula’s Cathedral Cove and Hot Springs Beach early that year so although that drive would have made my East Coast tour complete, there was too much to do to go back. I think New Zealand will be one of those places where there’s always more to see.