Part three -  Coromandel and The South. 

    Thames, they had told us, is the gateway to the Coromandel, but after travelling down from Maungaturoto via motorways and main roads we were just glad to have got there and found our motel, the first one we had stayed in since arriving in New Zealand.
    We were not in any way disappointed, as the proprietor’s wife was such a very hospitable lady. She explained the various features of the setup, including the washing machines, so Brenda soon had the washing out on the line.
    The only hitch was that unbeknownst to her it was the wrong line, being the proprietor’s own. That in itself caused no problem to anyone, but the owner’s spaniel took a fancy to various items of the netherwear which had unexpectedly appeared on his own patch, grabbed them and dashed into the owner’s home with them. Mortified, Brenda rushed to retrieve them from him and was informed with much amusement that “he loves knickers and bras!”
    The moral was one which was repeated everywhere we went – for true put-you-at-your-ease hospitality – go to New Zealand! 

Thames is a place with a past, a past of goldrush, logging, and gambling hotels redolent of the Wild West of the 1870’s and 80’s. You can still pan for gold and shop at the liquor stores, or swagger along the canopied footpaths imagining a 10 gallon hat on your head and a Peacemaker’s deadly weight strapped to your thigh.. as you go for a quite outstanding Chinese takeaway, cooked in a wok from crisply fresh ingredients in front of your very eyes.

        Next day the weather had turned chilly and windy again, as we started off to the north, with the Firth of Thames on our left and steep hills to our right. Having reached Tapu  we turned left onto an unsealed road, built in the 1890’s for the loggers who had felled so many Kauri trees. It was a novelty to drive along over timber bridges over a surface that was free of potholes and tarmac yet quite comfortable so long as sensible speeds were maintained, through steep hills lushly forested with ponga tree ferns.
    We stopped to pay our respects to the Square Kauri tree, whose existence was apparently due to a gentleman’s agreement to preserve it due to its unique square cross section. Some of the old loggers have to be given their due.
    We hit tarmac again at Coroglen and went on to visit Hot Water Beach, where thermal springs seep up through the sand to find a small friendly crowd of children of all ages busy at the edge of the tide, digging away at the sand like the true prospectors (for hot water, not gold) that they were. The atmosphere was delightful,  with folk enjoying the contrast between lolling around in the warmth of the water yet surrounded by chilly sea and weather...
    Soon it was time to plunge on south to our next stop, at Katikati on the Bay of Plenty. We wondered if the town’s murals would be as interesting as the guide book had indicated, but when we got there we were fascinated by them, particularly with those which illustrated local history and personalities.
    On a bench in the town centre sat a man reading his newspaper- a quick double take at his bronzed complexion – ah! he IS bronze – he’s a life size  facsimile of an NZ’er! So, Brenda sat with him for a few minutes and watched the world go by.
    Next day‘s itinerary included journeying to Rotorua, where the geysers spurted, the hot water swashed and gurgled like a twin tub washing machine, liquid mud burped and spluddered and the air bore a sulphurous tang.
    The Maoris performed their rituals and dances for us, and we stared impressed at a Maori war canoe. There were quantities of huge trout to admire and a fascinating kiwi conservation unit at Rainbow Springs. 

For a long time Brenda had very much wanted to try white water rafting, and it was at the Kaituna Falls, Lake Rotorua, that her hour of triumph at last arrived. After thorough instruction and practice on dry land, two inflatable rafts set sail, one of them containing all the boys, the other containing all the girls.

    The Kaituna run is noteworthy for the fact that, at 20 ft high, it contains the highest waterfall you can negotiate on a commercial white water rafting run. Meanwhile, Marcus’ need for excitement was satisfied by taking a video of the rafters from a variety of handy viewpoints. The girls’ raft negotiated all obstacles, including the big waterfall, with complete aplomb, but the boys were not so lucky – their raft overturned twice with all the attendant thrills and spills. Brenda eventually emerged soaked through and deliciously happy.
    A day later we found a thermal stream running through the bush and it was heavenly to soak up the heat as we wallowed together with only the birds calling from the ferns and trees all around us…..
    Soon we headed on south, where one of Marcus’ cousins, whom we had never  met  before, now lives with his wife at Palmerston North. Until only a year or two before, we had not known of any relations in New Zealand, until Marcus’ father, a nonagenarian silver surfer, had found them via the internet, spurred on by a faint memory of  his uncle and aunt who had emigrated prior to World War I.
    We immediately felt completely at home with these lovely people, who showed us around the area and took us to meet one of their sons and his family at a nearby town in the too short time available to us………

  -- MARCUS WEBB

                 More to come - Ed