Europe beckons

If truth be told, it's a strange kind of feeling when you're flying to Europe for a break, rather than returning ''home''. Of course, to us, Holland and England will always hold a special place in our hearts, ahhhh, but for the time being, anyway, Auckland and New Zealand are home. So, after nearly 15 months on the road, we readied ourselves for a tail-chasing fortnight, catching up with family and friends, the likes of which we'd never undertaken before.

First off, Holland. A great few days with the Halls and Robens in Lekkum, Friesland, home of Ina and Bernard. Zoe and Mark, fresh from their Christmas engagement, tagged along for the ride, eager to taste England's North Sea neighbour for the first time. As you'd imagine, it was an emotional time. Yet, not once did the past intervene, for all it seemed as though we'd never been away. Oh, and how good was it to tuck into bitterballen, Heineken and boerenkool met worst - all resoundly missed during our many months away.

It was fantastic to see everyone, and for the Halls to visit Leeuwaarden for the first time. Ina and Bernard, as always, were super hosts, Jane, at times, lost when told to sit down and relax. Time was spread evenly over meals out and in, wine glasses over-flowed and beer bottled were drained. Joreen and Martijn hooked up for a few days, adding further fun to a great break for all. It was such a shame it had to come to an end, as is always the case when you're running amock abroad.

Bernard couldn't wait to dust off his Land Rover, piling us all in the back for a trip to windy Harlingen, a small fishing town where we got stuck into raw Herring and came face-to-face with the ''lucky'' little lad who, before English slang ruined the fabel, saved Holland from flooding by sticking his finger in the dyke. It's where we bid farewell to Zo and Mark who, eager to sample the delights on offer in Amsterdam, disappeared into the sunset with Joreen and Martijn.

It's raining wine!

We'd heard all about this festival, aptly described by one mate as ''my Christmas Day''. He ain't wrong about that. In it's 19th year, North Shore's premier gathering, in Devonport, is everything a wine, food and music festival should be - wine, food and music!

It's difficult to know where to turn next, the beautiful beaches and parks home to 20-odd wineries from all over New Zealand flouting their best vintages. The booze is supplemented by some cracking bites: everything from locally caught seafood to delicious danishes and spicy Indian dishes. Of course, as is always the case when one armed with a glass and the option of 300+ wines, food comes second to sampling as many of the vines as is humanly possible!

The day started with an ''am'' beer on the balcony before we ambled down to the pier and jumped one of Fullers' crammed boats - everyone with the same idea: get there as early as poss, find a piece of shade and drink yourself into oblivion. By mid-afternoon, even the wine buffs could be seen teetering about on their haunches, trying desperately to get one over on gravity!

We teamed up with Lee and Serena for our day in the sun. The $40 entry fee wiped thanks to Kris' ability to score press passes in advance, despite openly informing the organisers he had ''no plans whatsoever'' to follow-up the event with published copy. After all, when are you going to get a chance to interview someone when you're brief the day is to drink your way around the south island's vineyards!? So, press passes in hand, we ambled through the gate and set about finding that shady spot from which to attack the grapes!


Some of New Zealand's finest vineyards were there for the taking, namely Three Miners and Rockburn, both from Central Otagao (south of the south island), which boast some fantastic whites and reds. Rockburn boasts some wonderful Pinot Noirs, while Three Miners produce, as far as we're concerned, some of the country's finest Gewürztraminer - a German grape that seems to flourish here. Boundary wines, too, should be proud of their Pinot's, carrying the taste of strawberry, cherry and rasberry. Hmmm.

Then, as was always going to be the case, things got a little crazy. Tastings (well, you get a 300ml glass and it's filled every time) from Hawkes Bay, Malborough, Waiheke Island, Kumeu and West
Auckland were all thrown back like they were going out of fashion.
Soon the legs started to wobble, the palate became dry and every vino started tasting the same. Kris tried to sober himself by stripping off and running into the sea, Marit meanwhile joined the girls for a spot of Sangria, a decision they all regreted Sunday morning!

Beautiful Northland

Kiwi generosity is probably best typified, for us, by an afternoon jaunt up the side of an impregnable peak. No name, just a big challenge. Managed to flag down a boatie after a few minutes of frantic waving. The short five minute trip across the estuary ended with our stand-in captain off-loading bottles of Corona for us – and we’d asked for the lift?!

We left them to cool in a trickling stream and started our ascent through the bush – tramping, the kiwis like to call this. Not so much hard as pain-staking. Every few steps we were forced to stop and rethink the route.

It seemed we were the first to undertake this foolish stunt, though on summiting, an hour or so later, we discovered a handful had beaten us to it, their names scrawled on a large plaque marking the top.

The long stretch south west to Bayley’s Beach – NZ’s longest drivable stretch of sand, some 80ks – was one of the most enjoyable drives we’ve ever experienced.

Host to so little traffic, Northland’s roads afford the driver the rare opportunity to experience everything, from towering tree topped forests to slow winding streams.

The landscapes are majestic. 90 mile beach – actually it’s nearer 56 miles – is a wonderful sight, laced with dunes so offering sanctuary from the strong Tasman breeze. Silence is punctured, every now and then, by gas guzzling coaches, fitted with industrial strength tyres, filled to bursting point with package tourists – big shame.










One of Northland’s largest townships is Kaitaia, a dusty mismatch of flat-packed builds and fast food outlets. For some reason kiwis seem to live for KFC, especially the Pacific Islanders, and Maccy Ds. All that wonderful red meat and fresh seafood, and yet, queues of vastly over-weight natives spill out onto the street. Stopped long enough to top up on supplies and quickly got the hell out. After all, where’s the attraction in watching a load of obese islanders wipe mayonnaise from their greasy chops?

A few beach pit-stops broke up the beautiful trip south to Opononi, where the road turns inland and weaves through the majestic Waipoua Forest and hugs the Kauri coastline, home to Tane Mahuta, 1250 years old still stands and grows, the country’s oldest, not to mention widest, tree. Worth a stop and a picture, of course, but at the end of the day it’s a tree, albeit a big one. We’ve never seen roads like these, so driver friendly, yet so few cars. In a seven hour stretch we passed less than a dozen fellow motorists – imagine that in England or Holland?

Never happen. Steaming along at 120kph, you get to throw your car into bends with little thought for oncoming traffic. After all, there is none! The only obstacles are sleepy lambs, obviously bearing some kind of death wish, but with 60 million of the woolly fuckers the fields aren’t going to miss one or two.

North to the Cape

North of the Bay of Islands everything gets quieter as few tourists make it this far. Next up was Doubtless Bay, named so by Captain Cook who, in 1769, sailed by and wrote: ‘’doubtless, a bay’’. Clever guy that Cook! On Marit’s suggestion, wait for it, we stopped in picturesque Mangonui for fish n’ chips. Never thought it would happen, the pair of us sharing newspaper wrapped Hoki and chips. Another stop in Cable Bay – terminus of the 1902 trans-Pacific cable - where we kicked back in the sunshine and swam in the turquoise water.
Jutting out east into the Pacific is the Karikari Peninsula, a crooked arm of unspoiled white sand beaches with barely a soul on them. This place is fantastic, just a case of pull over and pick your spot. After several stops we opted for the aptly named Karikari Peninsula Estate, the country’s most northern vineyard. Here we endured a timeless hour tasting Syrahs, Pinots and Cab Savs, was the sun called it a day over the distant Tasman. Surely there are few vineyards in the world that afford such amazing views – the wine ain’t bad either!

With a bottle of the excellent 06 Syrah tucked under my arm we hit the road for one final push north, to Houhora, a fishing village (if you can even call it that) in Great Exhibition Bay, half way up 90 Mile Beach, on the opposite side. Read about this place in a booklet and carefully played the guilt card when trying to secure a spot of land for a few nights – from where we planned to hit Cape Reinga.

Pitched camp, yards from the Pacific, cracked open the vino and cooked up a feast of venison sausages and steaks before gate-crashing locals for a spot of late night, Corona induced, revelry, the likes of which we’re damn good at these days!

Up early and on the road for the final 100ks leg north to the Cape (Te Rerenga Wairua: the ‘’leaping place of the spirits’’.) Unfortunately the drive offers little insight into what to expect, weaving low through the hills and dunes, before riding high to reveal awesome seascapes where the two seas meet.

Some 60ks north, out in the ocean, sits Three Kings Islands, named by Dutch explorer Abel Tasman, who first came upon them on the eve of Epiphany 1643. Sandwiched between Reinga and Cape Maria van Diemen is a bustling swell, the only indication that the two seas meet. Pretty spectacular.

Mind you, nothing beats the final 20km drive, where the Tarmac becomes loose gravel and the real fun begins. Little did we know our old Honda was four wheel drive. The moment this was pointed out the style of driving changed, almost as dramatically as the scenery. That was until, nearing 100kph, I lost control, skidded this way, then that, and came to a grinding halt in a nearby ditch. Bugger! Not to worry, no harm done. Still alive and the motor still works!

Time for a road trip

Six months into New Zealand and time for a road trip. Our mission, see as much of Northland, the staunchly Maori province spanning 350km north out of Auckland, as possible. Described by some as the “winterless north”, the area boasts towering forests, golden beaches and some of the most spectacular scenery the country has to offer ­- rather predictably, the south island attracts the main bulk of tourists – splitting the Tasman and Pacific before toppling into the ocean in Cape Reinga, the country’s most northern tip.

Given that most kiwis live for the great outdoors, it didn’t take long for a flow of freebies to start flooding in. An old, but reliable, Honda was handed to us by Rae, one of Marit’s colleagues, while boxes stuffed full of camping gear were donated by Tamsyn, an ex-London colleague of mine. Got a great little tent at a snip, from one of the countless camping stores, gas for the cooker and spent a festive fortune on beer, wine and meat to last the ten day trip.

Prior to our trip north we ventured out west, to Piha, one of Auckland’s western beaches, about an hour’s drive away. In true traveller style, we’d been hosting a mate we met in India, during our monumental boat trip to the Andaman’s. Jez stayed about a week with us, following a random phone call from Auckland airport (Facebook has a lot to answer for!) before embarking on his own road trip – great to have him! The three of us hit the beach for a spot of body surfing only for us to find we left our swimmers at home – Christ, we looked like retards donning underwear as we charged into the swell!

Rugged Piha, the wrong side of the beautiful Waitakere Ranges, offers pounding surf, but is perhaps best known for its long black sand beaches. Despite being a gorgeous day, the water didn’t take long to render our bits useless – an embarrassing situation when you’re forced to retreat from the water sporting rather empty looking Calvin Klein boxers!

Before setting off there was still time to fill our boots with a smashing crimbo dinner out in Te Atatu, care of Kerry and Christina. As for the seasonal sunshine....great, you can keep the gloomy days and wet nights Europe has to offer, thank you very much! Super feed sat around the table with their family, including Kerry’s parents, not to mention our hosts on arrival to NZ, Fem and Richard. Worth mentioning here that Marit plucked up the courage to try a smoked NZ mussel (there about five times the size of the average mussel) as part of the starter – needless to say she didn’t swallow!

Boxing Day soon came round and we hit the road early. The roads out of Auckland were quiet and progress up the east coast, towards Whangarei, swift, though not without incident. Steaming along at 110ks the driver’s rear tyre (to be fair all four were as bald as a baby’s bonce) gave up the ghost in classic style, disintegrating into pieces as some debris cut through the rubber like a wire through cheese. Once we’d finished breathing into paper bags, to slow our breathing, we set about mounting the spare - a precarious looking thing, little bigger than a mountain bike tyre and littered with Chinese wording (never good) – and continued on our way.

Northland’s east coast is a delightful mix of straggling peninsulas, hidden coves and plunging headlands. Beaches are calm and safe, much the opposite of the west coast, home to enormous dune-backed sprawls pounded, without pause, by the Tasman. Whangarei, on the Bream Bay coastline, offers little in the way of entertainment – yet another under-populated kiwi town, boasting various liquor outlets, butchers, news agents and fast food outlets – but its harbour offers a pleasant lunch stop and a chance to chill over a decent coffee.

North of Whangarei and the coast spawns the Poor Knights Islands, a marine reserve packed full of wrecks and under water caverns dubbed ‘’New Zealand’s prime diving’’ site. Instead of donning scuba gear we headed on north, hugging the coast, towards the Bay of Islands, one of the country’s many tourism money spinners. In truth, the spot is no more spectacular than the rest of Northland’s coastline, but countless sales pitches promising swims with dolphins, not to mention water sports, are the big draw.

In all honesty, to fully appreciate the scenery you need to get airborne and hover above the 150 or so islands flanking the coast – but for that price! After an afternoon stopping here, there and everywhere, we opted to set camp in a beautiful little site, a few minutes outside of Keri Keri, one of the area’s biggest towns. From here we visited Waitangi, where a treaty was signed by the UK and United Tribes of NZ in 1840 to negotiate the transfer of sovereignty. The document remains central to the country’s race relations and remains, arguably, NZ’s most important piece of writing to date. Back in Keri Keri we visited the Mission House, a two-storey Georgian affair that remains the country’s oldest European style build.

More important to us was the need for a new rear tyre – the police had let us off with a stern warning after explaining the Chinese scrawl meant “don’t drive further than 50ks and no faster than 80ks’’. Apparently we’d broken both rules. Fixed up with a reliable rubber, and with the bike tyre back in the boot, we continued north, stopping in the delightful Whangaroa Harbour for a cold beer. This is game fishing central, where small boats head out through small inlets into the Pacific to do battle with some enormous fish. The biggest we saw, given it had been dead since 1963, was a 1400kg shark – a record that still stands, or hangs, today!