I slept well last night. I get up late, pack my bag, have a long shower, get dressed and have a light breakfast. Apex car hire is just behind the hotel, so I take my bags with me to collect my chariot for the next few days. They're intrigued by the length of the number on UK driving licences, but the processing goes smoothly and I leave Wellington in a new silver Ford Focus.
I have no particular plan, other than heading South. In the next couple of days I want to see Taupo and Rotorua, but I have no real preference about which order I see them in, or where I'll stay each night. Free as a bird, I'll go where the mood takes me, and try to find somewhere to stay. But I do know my first stop - I'm going to Hamilton to have lunch with the only person I know in New Zealand.
I met Gary when we worked together in Newcastle. We worked together again in Nottingham. We have similar thoughts on project work, mistakes that seem to happen everywhere, and what to do about it. But generally, we just get on well. It's a while since I've seen him, so it will be good to meet today, if only for a lunch hour.
I head out of Auckland on State Highway 1. The air con is gratifyingly icy, against the heat outside. Getting acquainted with New Zealand radio, I find that it's both better and worse than UK radio. The music, generally, is more limited and is a mixture of older music from the UK & US, and music from New Zealand & Oz. To my ear, the Southern hemisphere music just lacks something that I can't put my finger on. It doesn't feel exciting like the best music from the UK & US. On the plus side, the DJs have a noticeably different style from the UK. Too many Radio 1 DJs give the impression that the music is an unfortunate interlude, distracting the listener from the pleasure of hearing the DJ talking drivel. NZ DJs seem a bit more humble but still have a good time in the studio. They play more music, which means they speak less, which means they're not constantly scraping the bottom of the conversational barrel. They also get away with saying things that would get them in trouble in the UK. Nothing explicit, but certainly some of their chats and jokes are much more adult and would have UK puritans reaching for their pens and emails. Not me. I enjoy the DJs, quite enjoy the music, don't enjoy the adverts, but certainly I welcome the distraction from the tedium of the journey.
Highway 1 is one of the main motorways that criss-cross the country but, once I've left Auckland, it turns into single carriageway, like a UK A-road. I've noticed that Kiwis talk about journeys in terms of how long it takes to get from A to B, rather than the distance between A and B. It seems strange, because the journey time depends on how fast you drive, whereas the distance is the same for everyone. But, once I'm on the road, I realise why Kiwis talk this way. The speed limits are a lethargic 100kph, and almost every vehicle can achieve that. So, with every car going along in formation at 100kph, talking about journey times makes a lot more sense. It doesn't help my mood though. Repeatedly stuck in long lines of vehicles, and with very few passing opportunities, it's a frustrating experience.
It's made more bearable by some of the scenery. None of the dramatic mountains that I hope to see further south, but there's quite a stretch where the road runs alongside a river to the right. Wide, with deep slow-running waters, it's certainly not majestic, but it does have a feeling of quiet dignity. Then there are the towns along the way. It's interesting to see how some things look slightly different compared with the UK. Most shop fronts have a slightly different feel. There are lots more shops etc for various types of farm machinery. And the towns are so much smaller. It's my first introduction to non-urban New Zealand, and it's a strange experience - very similar to the UK, but also quite different. I can see why people say it's like the UK 30 years ago, although that exaggerates the difference quite a lot.
When I finally arrive at the sign saying I've arrived in Hamilton, I start casting my eyes around for the city centre. I don't see it, and after a while, uncertainty is setting in. In the past hour, I've grown accustomed to towns being quite small. But I've been driving through Hamilton for 15 minutes, and still haven't seen the centre. It feels like an enormous succession of retail parks, industrial areas, car showrooms and fast food outlets. In the brilliant sunshine, there's something almost hypnotic about it. I'm just about to pull over and ring Gary, when I see the signs for the city centre, just ahead. At last! The next 15 minutes is spent trying to find a parking space - they seem to be in short supply. But, car parked, I ring Gary and 5 minutes later we meet for the first time in over a year.
We go to a cafe / restaurant nearby and Gary recommends one of the pasta dishes. We talk about old times, my experiences and frustrations in Australia, the work situation in New Zealand, Gary's experiences over the last four years in New Zealand etc. When the spaghetti arrives, it's a good choice. Pungently dressed in a green and garlicky dressing, and with a light dusting of parmesan, it perks me up for the rest of the drive ahead. Gary suggests a few options, and I decide to go to Taupo tonight, Rotorua tomorrow, and back to Auckland on Friday, ready for my early flight back to Brisbane on Saturday morning.
Back at the car park, we say our goodbyes, and I get back into the car which now feels like a blast furnace. As I drive through the afternoon, I watch the scenery turn into something like the northern end of the Yorkshire Dales. It feels very familiar. But the journey times feel strange. With such a small population, and so few towns along the way, the journey feels even longer. I feel like I've been driving for hours without seeing any settlements. Just the backs of various cars in front, until I work my way through each queue and progress to the next one.
When I see the signs telling me I'm approaching Taupo, it's quite a relief. I don't feel particularly tired, but I'll be glad of the chance for a break. Finally arriving at Taupo itself, all thoughts of a coffee are blown away by the sight of Lake Taupo and, at the far end (a very long way away) picked out by the late afternoon light, some snow-capped summits. This is the New Zealand I've heard about! This is what I've wanted to see!
There's a parking area and viewpoint on the left, at the top of the hill just before it drops down into the town of Taupo. I pull over and stare at the view. I want to get my camera from the boot of the car, but I really need a toilet break and I don't know where I'll find it. Photos will have to wait until tomorrow. I start the car and go down into town, where a petrol station allows me to fill the car and heave a sigh of relief.
Still feeling fresh, I decide (preposterously) to try and get as far South as possible, so I can get to Wellington tomorrow. So I'm back on the road, heading South out of Taupo, and onto the Desert Highway. After another 40 minutes of driving, I see some of the snow-capped mountains on my right. There's cloud obscuring the very tops, which is a disappointment, but I check my maps and find that I'm looking at the snow-covered slopes of Mount Ruapehu - the largest volcano in New Zealand, and one of the world's most active! It's the first volcano I've ever seen, and I wish it could have been on a clear day, against a blue sky, but I'm chuffed nevertheless.
The map has told me another thing too - after 40 minutes driving, I've hardly gone anywhere. I realise now that Wellington isn't a practical ambition for this trip, so I turn the car around and drive back to Taupo. There's no shortage of motels, all with vacancies, so finding somewhere to stay is easy. Unfortunately, having found one, checked in and cheerily paid in advance, I get to the room and it's freezing. A freezing cold Southerly wind has been blowing up from the Antarctic, but I expected the rooms to be warm. Ringing the reception desk, the manager explains that it's summertime so they've turned off the underfloor heating. It would cost $300 to turn it on again, and take a couple of hours to heat up. Strange that they hadn't mentioned this before I checked in and paid in advance. With my payment already taken, he doesn't sound very sympathetic or apologetic and, although I understand the hard economics of it, I'm annoyed. He does say there's an electric heater in each apartment. He forgets to mention that the bed has electric blankets, but I find these too. So I turn everything on maximum, partly to get some heat in the place, and partly a gesture of defiance against his dismissive attitude. In a cold (but warming) room, I climb into a nice warm bed, and am asleep almost immediately.
