A Time to Rest and Reflect – Saying Goodbye to New Zealand

The Airbnb gods are looking out for me

I’ve always enjoyed an outdoor shower, but I’ve got to say, an indoor walk-in shower-with-a-view is far superior. It’s not everyday your bathing routine includes waterfront entertainment. Kite surfers dancing on waves. A jet skier zooming by. Kayakers paddling along. I think this is the only time in my life I’ve ever let the conditioner sit in my hair the recommended time. I’m in no hurry. Gosh, this is cool, I think as I watch people out on the water. And then it hits me, Dang, do you think they can see up here, are they watching me too?

Not to worry. Alistair (Al) planned and built this wooden cabin on the side of a hill with care and expertise. And privacy. In 1970, he bought this large property in Waiwera, north of Auckland, New Zealand when he was just 20 years old. He began by clearing the trees to shape a half mile driveway, then set about milling the wood to build the main house. A decade later, he cleared some more trees and the built this cabin, a self contained studio perched high over Whangaparāoa Bay. Way ahead of the times, he had the idea of situating the shower bay side, in a secluded corner and installed full length glass panels. It was a great idea. There’s also a wraparound deck, a full kitchen and a stylish wooden-blade ceiling fan that keeps it cool. I can’t believe this is my home for a week. 

Bonus is I’m back in Te Araroa’s trail corridor. I had to skip this section last November because of a days-long rain storm and the fact that it can only be hiked at low tide. The TA is routed through Wenderholm Park to the north of me, drops down on the coast line, and bends south to Orewa Beach. All told, about three miles of solid trail, then a lot of winding miles around tiny bays. Some sandy parts, and tons of rock hopping. 

The week of doing nothing

My intention of booking this getaway was just that: to get away from hiking and traveling. To just sit for a week and relax. I mostly relax. Who would call beach strolling stressful? Every day at low tide, I walk the few steps down to the beach and am back on Te Araroa. I cover the miles I had missed back in November, but that certainly isn’t my goal. I spend about two hours exploring caves, collecting a treasure trove of sea glass, sitting and staring at the waves, and soaking up the sun.

I’m isolated up here, far from a bus stop which is a mile and a half away. No stores or restaurants nearby. But I don’t get bored.  I have the foresight to buy a week of groceries as soon as I get into town. Al is gracious to pick me up and drive me up here. Thank goodness, because I have gotten used to hauling my heavyass backpack around, but add in all these groceries, and I’m overloaded.

I start my day waking up around 6:45, watch the sunrise, go back to sleep, and get up whenever I feel like it. Then I make some coffee, eggs and toast, watch TVNZ news, hang out until low tide, then hit the beach. Come back, eat, read, people-watch from the shower, and listen to music. Cook dinner, watch the local news, listen to more music, watch the sun go down, stream some Netflix, read, and go to sleep. Every night, through the open windows, I hear the crashing waves. I get up in the middle of the night, like most of us older folks do, and before I climb back into bed, I step outside on the deck and check out the stars. I use my star identifying skills I learned last month in Lake Tekapo to spot the Southern Cross, still shining bright. I see the constellation Orion, and Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, and of course, the bright moon. At some point, the mozzies get the best of me and I go back inside to bed. 

I lose track of time and the day. Sometimes I catch myself asking what is it that I’m supposed to be doing? But then I remember I don’t have anything on my To do list, other than just whatever I feel like doing, which is, nothing much. Yeah, it’s a tough life, but someone’s gotta do it. Don’t hate.

My last day and I still have the urge to hike more TA miles, I hitchhike to Wenderholm Park and hit the trail. Most of the track is well graded and maintained but as soon as I reach the less traveled back country path, TA standards resurface. Muddy, rocky, rooty, slippery, sketchy. Well, I’ve had enough, so I divert off trail and bus it to town. Eat an unremarkable and unhealthy lunch at MacDonalds (it’s sometimes referred to as Maccas here) and Uber back to my little sanctuary on the hill. 

A time to build up, a time to breakdown 

It’s time to leave my little slice of heaven, so on February 12, I get up early and hitch to the bus stop. Shirley, on her way to work, picks me up. “You look harmless enough.” I laugh and cram my backpack over the baby car seat in the back. “Grandma?” I ask. “Yes, the best job in the world,” she says. She tells me about her life. I tell her about mine. 

Christine picks me up at Mel’s house, a lovely Trail Angel who stored my extra hiking gear and miscellaneous stuff after I left TA to bus travel around the South Island. We head to Te Kuiti, a two hour drive south of Auckland. Christine is a transplanted Jafa (Just another f**ing Aucklander) I prefer “fabulous.” We met back in November when I hiked through. She hosted me. We kept in touch and in January, she came down and backpacked the Queen Charlotte Track with me. I blogged about that experience, read about it New Year, New Attitude on NZ South Island. 

Life is peaceful in Te Kuiti. I do normal stuff. Help out in the garden, assist Christine in choosing laminates and flooring for her kitchen renovation. Haul some junk to the landfill. Try to find the source of the annoying rattling in the trunk of her car. And we talk. I attempt to sort out my feelings about the recent death of a fellow TA hiker. See Coming to Terms With a Death on Te Araroa. (Btw, her name was Claire.)

Christine fills me in about the challenges her kids are having navigating life’s twists and turns. I remind her that we, as mothers, are only as happy as our saddest child. We sit out on her deck after she finishes her work-from-home job with air New Zealand, and we solve world problems, but struggle with our own. Talking helps.

It’s exactly what I need to try to get my head straight. I don’t want to leave and I can’t stay.  Four months is a long time and I feel grateful that I have the opportunity and means to experience this awesome country and amazing people of New Zealand. I’ve already written all the words and posted all the pictures. There is not much more I can do to convey how much this trip has shaped me. Has touched me. Has grabbed and shaken me. Made me laugh and made me cry. Opened my and mind changed it. There’s nothing left to do now. But go home.