Wednesday, April 29, 2009
View Efate, Vanuatu in a larger map
Made it to Australia and spent a couple of days in Brisbane, endured the heavy rains of a tropical storm in Cairns, and decided at the last minute to visit a friend in Vanuatu. It was this time that hindsight and the actualization of a decision agreed.
Mele Village, Efate, Vanuatu
I arrived at the airport in Port Vila and met my friend Katie and we hit the ground running. Life in the islands is relaxed, but there is always something to do. Katie was teaching a reef awareness class to local secondary school students and I got to be the photographer. The problem was that I was more interested in the fish than photographing the group. My attention span is even shorter when surrounded by hundreds of fish. We then joined her co-workers from the fishery department for a game of beach soccer. I was megged twice, but eventually got my footings.
No matter, a shell of kava can fix anything. At least that's what several of the local fellas at the dock told me. "It cures illness, crime, everything. No one steals things here cause of the kava. We just sit and story." This isn't a literal translation from any one fella but a compilation of everyone's thoughts.
Anyway, to give you a little backstory, my friend Katie is a Peace Corp Volunteer and coordinates a program called Reef Check. The organization measures reef degradation in an effort to promote awareness and eventually help establish village volunteers to monitor and create Marine Protected Areas (MPA's). Check out the
website.
That night I was introduced to Akuma, Bella, and George, Katie's island family. They fed me a feast of island proportions. It was incredible and so, I ate. The food in general is straight from the garden. We ate alot of starches, including yams, manioc, and rice. Island cabbage was always along for the ride as well as bananas. Starvation isn't generally a problem, but proper nutrition is sometimes an issue. A friend of Katie's was teaching a class to local students called "three kind kakae." It was an effort to curb protein deficiencies amongst children by educating them on nutritional value. Below is a video of a traditional island cuisine called laplap.
The next day, George, the youngest of her brothers took me on a tour. We went to the garden, harvested yams, ate fruit, dug up manioc, and got eaten alive by mosquitoes. Later, we met the chief and all of George's friends. George treated me to a Coca-Cola and we had a few laughs. We even got to go to the Obama Shopping Center - a village store supporting the recently inaugurated president. It's very interesting to see how the face of one man can inspire many.
Mangalilu Village, Efate, Vanuatu
Hanging on the back of a local truck with welded steel bars for handles, we bounced over ditches, rocks, and potholes. I had a nice conversation with a gentlemen from the village who worked in town and actually owned the truck. We arrived a little late but were treated to some laplap. By candlelight we watched a card game that was being played by some boys from Santo. They were just passing through on their way to New Zealand to work as seasonal laborers.
The village doesn't have any electricity or running water, except for a pipe that runs from the top of the hill. After dinner we were off to sleep in a building that at one time functioned as a village store. A peace core requirement is that all volunteers have their own living quarters. It was cozy, and the cool concrete floors were nice.
The next day, Sharon, our host, introduced us to some locals and then Katie took me to meet her friends. Katie had lived in the village and on the island of Lelepa for a year during her training. Mangaliliu is considered a training village for Peace Corps Volunteers in Vanuatu and after meeting Chief MurMur I can understand why.
An afternoon snorkel had us hunting for some giant clams, fish, and some pretty cool coral. We spent the remainder of the day storying with the chief. He told me about a crazy Frenchmen who free-dove for tuna in the deep waters off Hat Island. He said, "I told him he couldn't do it, but he did. He made a video and I used to have it, but it's gone. Really a crazy guy." We sat there discussing the recent addition of "Hat Island" as a World Heritage Site and how Survivor Vanuatu was filmed just up the beach on some of the village land. The chief's huge smile and his easy-going demeanor instantly made me a fan.
A few minutes later his boys came in from fishing in his boat. They only caught a couple fish and he immediately said they had too much money with them. Local lore says that if you have alot of money in the boat you won't catch much. Just as quickly as he quipped with the young boys, he presented his idea for the afternoon. We would get into the boat and head up the shore to his newphew's nakamal - a kava bar. Me being a novice to kava, I agreed reluctantly knowing how my stomach felt the first time I tried it. Why not, a little nausea shouldn't stop such a rare opportunity.
They said I was the guest and showed me how to produce the kava. We then sat by the water on a tranquil, isolated beach facing westward as the sun dipped below the horizon. The water was warm and the relaxing effect of the kava lulled everyone into a very peaceful, quiet presence. After an hour or two we got into the boat and raced back to Mangaliliu. Dodging reefs with a bow-mounted boy and flashlight we carved our way home through the cool, damp evening air. I couldn't stop smiling - even as I was puking later that night.
Click on the link below to see the website for the Vanuatu Cultural Center.
There is information about the recent World Heritage Site, Mangaliliu village, and even some pictures.
Nguna-Pele Protected Area, Vanuatu
Katie had to go out of town for a couple of days so I was left to fend for myself. She sat me up with a couple of phone numbers and suggestions and a book with basic Bislama translations. I knew there was a Peace Corp volunteer on Pele and started to work that way. I caught a local transport from town and took the bumpy, hour and a half ride to the dock. Since I was getting there so late, I was the only one to catch the boat across. We took our time and trolled for fish while simultaneously scooping water from the floor.
I realized about half-way across that I was coming in relatively unannounced and incredibly unprepared. Landing on shore everyone assumed I was looking for the Peace Corp Volunteer on the island, and in fact I was, but first things first. I was just looking for a place to stay. By the grace of the heavens one of the guys that greeted me in this village of 50 people happened to be a teacher - he spoke English. We sat and talked for a long time on the beach and were joined by several other fellas. Lazily laying in the shade of palms on the white sand I learned what it is to share your story. We came from very different lives, but it was this action of exchange, sharing details of lives only dreamt about, where a connection was formed. I learned of a local optometrist's vision to collect used and discarded pairs of glasses and have them shipped, sorted, and then prescribed to villagers all throughout Vanuatu. Sometimes a simple introduction can really open you eyes.
The local Peace Corp Volunteer walked up awhile later and was just as surprised to see me. I apologized for dropping in somewhat unannounced and possibly cutting his time short on Nguna. He said, "no worries" and showed me around the village. We joined the fellas for kava, and of course, the process of making the drink. The mud colored liquid with a taste resembling pepper seasoned potters clay took everyone to a familiar place. A couple of shells, conversation and we were off to a late kakae and sleep.
The next day we were snorkeling in the Nguna-Pele MPA with a local guide. We floated over tremendous table top reefs and saw massive groupers. Watching the ease at which the guide free-dove was amazing, but not nearly as impressive as watching him sneak up on a sea turtle and grab hold. We noted the tag, took measurement, and then I was given the honor of releasing her. It was really cool.
Check out the video I found on YouTube to give you an idea of what kind of conservation work is being conducted. If you aren't interested in the conservation work, then just look for the on-location filming. Also, if you are interested in the specific project you can find more information
here.
That afternoon, we went for a bush walk to the top of the island. Hacking our way though chest high grass yielded 360 degree panoramic views of the neighboring islands. We chilled out and watched the sunset behind the gentle curve of the earth. Back a little late for kava we found the bucket was empty. We had dinner with the volunteer's island family and then I tucked myself into my hammock and lit the mosquito candle.
Time Well Spent...Mele village was my home for the majority of my two weeks in Vanuatu. I learned about local cuisine, local gardening practices, how to climb coconut trees and a little Bislama. My host family was incredible. They included me on everything they did and were always around to show me the best of Vanuatu. George and I worked on school assignments and occasionally would play a little basketball. I attended a Sunday Church Service and even participated in a crazy cyclonic circle dance. In the village you can always expect the unexpected. Whether you are just walking to the road or headed home, there is always someone or a group of someones wanting to see you off. Even a late afternoon swim at the beach isn't often done in solitude.
The rivers were a fresh reprieve from afternoon swelter and at sunset the lights of the local nakamals let everyone know it was time to story. For an outsider, the open attitude and friendliness is something that often gets overlooked in the U.S. We tend to be a little reclusive with no time to share in the simpler aspects of our lives. While many of the stories were discounted or told to be exaggerations, it was the act of community that was most impressive.
I enjoyed my time so much I actually missed my first flight. Myself and Watson, a local boy from the village and passionate golfer/caddie, were sitting at the airport. Unintentionally, I glanced at the ticket and saw the arrival time, but thought it was the boarding time. To make a long story short, I watched my plane board as Watson and I were discussing basic supply and demand economics with relation to fuel prices. The plane left and upon realizing my mistake I went to the counter to find out I would pay a fee and be unable to leave the island until Wednesday.
Watson looked and me and said, "You've got to be the stupidest person." I agreed and chuckled at what Sherlock Holmes would have said in the same situation. An expensive mistake, but when I turned up at Bella's for dinner I couldn't have felt more welcome. I forgot about the money and we talked well into the evening.
Monday, March 2, 2009
As expected this trip has taken on a whole new style. My first two weeks were aboard a luxury ship called the Clipper Odyssey. It was an experience not to be forgotten and certainly cherished for the rest of my life. Since disembarkation in Auckland I have had a little over a month to explore the exploits of New Zealand. Meeting people, eating food, and ultimately returning to the role of a backpacker.
Despite my most incredible experiences on the North Island, it
has always been my intention to return to the South Island. Wild, untamed, and a bit more dramatic - it's suits my pursuits. So, what better way to travel than in the same fashion. As mentioned in previous posts, hitchhiking was the preferred method of getting around.
The above map plots most of the places I covered in two weeks and describes in brief detail a few of my experiences. It is incomplete, but more of a method to help me remember this time. Things were moving very fast and people were coming and going by the hour. It was so easy to get attached, but so hard to remember the details. So, here is a quick glimpse.
Late to the ferry, running, conversation, lowered gang plank, no tickets, no problem. Ten-thirty p.m. disembarkation, WWII ship snoop/tour, walked 8 kms., bed behind park hedge, a literal tree hugger.
A Japanese cultural exchange with couple and 1.5 year old daughter, blown kisses goodbye, bowing, and the sharing of good-will. Walked 17 kms to Richmond, late arrival, talked to a local, a little b&e (actually just trespassing), woke neighbors (security), caught, made friends with dog, conversation, got permission, found Heineken, stinky feet, sleeping at the track. End of day two.
Hugs goodbye, new friend Lou, good advice, shifter on dash, big blisters, lots of chocolate for lunch. Met a German artist who lives in house truck on reclusive psychologists land. Felt like I stiffed a ride share but had no change, felt bad. Met Peter and saw genuine hospitality. Offered water, place to swim, and took me to trail head. Broke tent pole, rigged, and slept by the sea.
See Abel Tasman post.
Planned to camp next to river in Motueka. Met Aussie and Norwegian in park. Joined by crazy Scot/Mongolian healer. Share manuka honey small-batch whisky. Thought I had a ride until it started to rain. Had enough, made run for rock garden shelter. Late, nowhere to crash, bedded down until security guard put foot down. Wandered until I found place to pitch tent. Broke tent pole, tape and half-assed effort. Slept in a puddle.
Checked into a hostel. Did laundry. Bounced with Jake and Amy. Saw vineyards, Westport, lots of rain, sheep shearing, and pink camoflage visors. Shot bb guns at fair and got dropped off. Started walking, met two hitch hikers. Nice, but three's a crowd. Walked about 4 kms then got pissed when car was driving by recklessly. Saw my friends in the back, Amy was driving - awesome. Chilled for three days. Hugs goodbye.
Glaciers, rain. Cards, more rain. Movies, rain. Hiking, rain. Franz Josef Fox Glacier were good, but it rained. Hugs goodbye, walked towards Fox Glacier, met Henrick. Debated the taste of kina, talked politics, music and walked. Grabbed ride to Wanaka. Henrick knows friend of mine from S. America that lives in Australia. Camped, hugs goodbye.
Started walking to Queenstown. Met Steve, off-duty cabbie, ride gratis. Personal tour, great convo. Steve rode Harley in U.S.A. Six kms. into town, hoofed, warp speed. Visited friend in Crowne Plaza, no shower. Bought pad, got cheap supermarket lasangna, met dude at outdoor store, found best camp site in town. $250 a night view, gratis. Slept under stars overlooking Queenstown.
Six kms. out, met Swiss girl on road. Hitch-Buddy. No-luck, started walking due South. English couple and 12 year old daughter pick-up. A lot of fun. Third degree from little girl. Hugs good-bye. Had coffee at cross-roads, desolate, made card-board sign. Logger pick-up, Winton drop-off. Walked a couple kms, bought new knife, Alan pickup. "Where to?" Invers. "I'll take you to the museum, good place to start." Great convo. Handshakes goodbye. Cool town, great garden, ok museum. Walked through town, stopped Pak-n-Save, bought supplies. Germans, a little odd, but friendly. Were off to Bluff, pictures at southernmost point. No camp, roadside it is. Broke tent pole. Tape.
German eggs, toast, cheese. Sunrise over beautiful waterway and alumnimum smelter. Hugs goodbye. Walking, ride with Contractor. Business slow, can't pour slab without more boards. "Dunedin 150 miles that-a-way, good luck!" Not much traffic, bad idea? Walked 10 kms., crazy Wisconsin pickup. Great couple, nice, drove me all through Catlins, 10 kms. to DOC campsite. Rock-hopping, wet feet, keep the tape. Hugs goodbye. Frenchmen, friendly. Best sleep. Beautiful waves, breeze.
Ride to road with Frenchman. "Maybe our paths will cross. Chau." Walked 10 kms. to Okawa. Mist, rain, but pleasant. Passed friends from day before. They were backtracking. Ian, ex equity trader pickup. Ride to Dunedin. "Gotta love those Dutch water polo players you meat in Thailand." Coffee, Internet, Michael pickup. Shower, proper dinner, conversation. Good to be off road.
Rain, laundry, Cadbury factory, stories, etc. out to eat, good fun. A day to rest, awesome roast. A round at the links, couldn't putt. Met family, friends, toured Otago University, cricket match rained out. Fine wine and laughs. Booked trip to Aus., compiled notes, cleaned out food in bag. Hugs good-bye. Off to Brisbane.
As you can see, describing the events of the previous two weeks in detail would take longer than the two weeks it took to actually live. I can't count how many times I said hello but I can count the hugs goodbye. To sum things up, the people are incredible, genuine and willing to help. The roads are good, and the parks are awesome. Milk is cheap and folks love to share how they live with whoever is interested.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
E and I seperated at the road crossing in Richmond. I was headed north to Able Tasman and she was headed to Westport to find work on a fishing boat. About 10 kms. outside of Richmond I thumbed a ride with Lou who was returning to Motueka after getting his boat fixed. He was a lovely old man driving a rusted out pickup with the shifter on the dash. He and his son-in-law were going floundering that afternoon, but he had time to give me a little advice about Abel Tasman and New Zealand in general.
He dropped me off about 4 kms outsitde of Motueka and I hoofed it to town. There, I stocked up on supplies and continued another 6 kms north to try and get to the trailhead by dark. Rides were sparse, but luckily a nice German woman stopped to help a brother out. We drove to Takaka and talked the whole way. She lost her husband a few years earlier and decided to start over in New Zealand. She was living in a house truck and painting and writing. It was a life she felt she couldn't have in the hustle and bustle of Berlin.
Two hitches later, one from an U.S. expat from L.A. and the other from a local vintner named Peter landed me in an incredible stealth campsite. My front portch faced northeast across the estuary and the setting sun illuminated feeding Oyster Catchers. I sat and contemplated the next couple of days while repairing the second snapped tent pole of the trip.
The next a.m. I packed up and slung my shoes over my shoulders and wadded through the slimy mud recently exposed by the falling tide. Arriving on the other side, I prepared myself and set off into the woods. It was a great walk and I would have loved to have more time to explore and rest on the immaculate white sand beaches and temperate turquoise waters. However, a cold front was moving through and was expected to settle in for a couple of days. So, I said goodbye to my new friends from University of Auckland and made haste for the tidal crossings - several sections of the trail that are impassible except within several hours of eitherside of low tide.
At the first crossing I changed clothes to get dry, keep warm, and keep the insatiable sand flies at bay. Myself and three German counterparts waited as the tide slowly receeded revealing glass-like layer of water that reflected the magnificant sky from the setting sun. The surrounding mountains were sillouetted black as the sky exploded with fireworks of particulate pollution - it was awsome. What was not awsome was crossing this tidal stream in the dark. After several failed attempts we finally found the shallow sections and truddged toward someone's headlamp (beacon) on the far side.
The Germans were spent but I was hell-bent to make the last tide so I strapped my pack on tight, chugged some water, and set-out. My headlamp illuminated lots of forest eyes, but it wasn't until a startled rabbit hurled itself at my stomach from the dense, dark forest that I actually let out a yelp. Let's be honest, it wasn't a yelp at all - it was one of those instances where you discover how flexible the F-word is. Noun, verb, adjective, all was on the table and at a decible level that made other nocturnal animals begin to move. I am sure I wasn't what the rabbit had in mind either. We both ran screaming in opposite directions until the suprise had subsided.
After a few missteps from inability to see trail blazes I finally made it to the crossing. Tired, hungry, and cold I just wanted a little comfort. The well-fed and arrogantly disobedient possum who joined me on a rock was not what I wanted at all. Nevertheless, he was someone to talk to.
I sat thinking about where to camp as I obviously hadn't found the campsite and needed a few hours of sleep. Looking around I noticed a little trail magic. Someone, possibly overpacking or over estimating their abilities, or just someone being the gracious person they are had left a can of baked beans and potatoes on the rock. I grubbed in my warm clothes.
Life is funny like that. It gives you a hand when you really need it. To rely on others and the world around you is a really incredible experience. To accept the grace of others, and for that matter nature, is quite humbling. It likely won't be what you want, but what you need.
Recharged, I sat out for the camp and found a cave. Underwater during high tide, it was now revealed and had footprints leading up to the entrance. I assumed this was the way, but soon found myself on hands and knees without my pack, crawling towards what I hoped was a campsite. Disheartened, I came to the end and began to turn around but noticed something glowing. Clicking off my headlamp I looked upwards to find thousands of glow worms canvassing the ceiling. It was awsome. Like the night sky within reach. I had heard about these little things but hadn't yet seen them in New Zealand. My little late night walk wasn't such a bad idea after all. I found the camp shortly thereafter and settled in for a night under the real stars. .
Day two came all too early, but I felt energetic. It was 26 kms to the trail end and I wanted to get there in reasonable time so that I might hitch back to Motueka. The walk was easy and beautiful. I am sure it was easier because it was beautiful, but by no means beautiful because it was easy. My reward was a massive newspaper sack of fish and chips and a ride back with a couple of guys in their campervan. The reccomended four days for the 50 kms walk would have been a nice, easy stroll, but the weather would have been crap. Abel Tasman is definately worth the visit and time.
As the adventure with George continued, so did the laughs. E and I tried to help her with her "salty" mouth by imposing a one-minute penalty for each word said. I was ostracized immediately for referring to them as "cuss" words. Apparently this a funny Americanism. However, revenge was sweet as George racked up a 10-minute timeout just over dinner. If you know George this was an eternity of silence.
The next day we were off to work on the farm - my first time milking cows. It was so evident that the owner asked me, "would it be easier to find the nipples if I turned the lights off." He continued, saying that he was only kidding and sympathized, "it's hard when there are four, you're only used to dealing with two." The banter continued for 240 cows, many "phantom shitter" close calls, and my realization that I was literally up shit creek. A reference to the stable design that funnels nervous cow excrement down the drains.
Don't mistake my above sentiments for distaste for the job. I truly thought it was awesome. I didn't fault the cows at all as I was cleaning crap out of my moustache and beard. I would be terrified as well if someone were trying to attach the equivalent of four vacuum cleaners to my nipples.
Like my previous adventures in South America, I set some unofficial goals before setting out. Unlike South America, here I speak the language, albeit different and sometimes with jest, I can get my point across without having to literally point.
I have been searching for unique situations, under normal or in the relative stateside context of normal, that I wouldn't encounter. Several examples include working for accommodation/food, hitchhiking, and further self-exploration through places rarely seen. More or less I was trying to get the most bang for my buck or assuming absolute minimalist travel without being completely down-on-my-luck (i.e. homeless).
Porirua was just what I imagined. Upon my arrival George put me to work, at first sizing up her roommates then with her co-workers at the scrap-yard. But before I continue let me provide a little background. George is a kiwi friend of mine from South America. We worked many projects together with Burners Without Borders in Peru. Our conversations always render healthy debate or discussion and we seemingly always pick up where we left off.
George works at a place called the Trash Palace, a non-profit scrap yard that prevents metal from entering the tip (landfill) and employs the borderline unemployable. Her co-workers are recovering drug addicts and patients receiving treatment for psychological disorders. Not a day goes by where a delusional adventure or outburst doesn't seamlessly join the work-day banter. "To laugh and sympathize is the best medicine."
I spent a week with these guys and gals and truly found their company different, but refreshing. I was made tea and given pies on my first day! I have had other first days in more aspiring positions where I haven't felt nearly as welcome. Strong, capable people, given a chance to work and provide a valuable service to society. As refreshing is the rain, so is allowing someone to achieve things through his/her given abilities.
At the end of several days I learned about the innards of microwaves, sledgehammered a cast iron bathtub, been on tour with Bob Marley, and seen a half-dozen things to make me smile for quite a while.
Speaking candidly with George allowed me, a part-time volunteer, to understand the difficulties that she, the management and her staff face. I gained an understanding of the real strength of man, or in this case woman - humanity. It's mental strength to accomplish great things. To have patience, temperance, and the desire to persevere - to get the job done.
Why isn't the mind considered the stongest muscle in the human body?
Regardless, we shouldn't be so fast to dismiss those who are viewed to be less able. They may not be able to understand the environmental impacts of scrap metal recyling, but they sure understand the feeling of hard work and a job well-done.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Great food, good drinks, and extraordinary hospitality. The gold standard has been set. It's was by complete accident, or at least my ignorance of signage that our paths even crossed. Aforementioned in the previous post, most of the land surrounding Uruti Point is private. As an outsider it was very difficult to tell where you could and where you couldn't go. So, when in doubt I just kept driving.
I pulled into a small gated area with a trailer and a few tents assuming people were camping illegally. A few minutes later it was obvious I was the one in error. I spoke with a nice young kiwi woman and she explained it was private land and they worked on the farm. I told her I would only be a few pictures worth and would she mind if parked there for a bit. "No problem at all," she said. " We are down here surfing and hanging on the beach, come join us."
I snapped a few photos and decided not to bother them any more. In my haste I forgot about the soft sand and didn't get the speed necessary to carry the hazard. William and John were quick to my rescue and a few minutes later were inviting me to stay and camp. I said, "sure, but I wanted to get a little more driving while I had light." Knowing good and well that I wasn't going to return I set off. I drove about halfway in the direction I came and realized this offer was too good. I had no water, very little food, nowhere to sleep, and was a long drive from home.
I was well to make do with my sandwich, chips, cookies, and water, but to my new friends this was out of the question. John and Tom were just baiting the crayfish pots and loading the boat. Before I knew it we were tearing through the sand, three people to a four-wheeler, towing John's boat. Jenny, the lovable canine was along for the chase.
We arrived at this little cove around the corner and dropped the boat. John said, "Sam, you can help Tom set the pots." I got in the boat and Tom said, "row like F&$@." Realizing I had never rowed a boat with two oars I began what must have been considered the worst, most unorthodox example of jackassmanship imaginable. Luckily Tom had given us a solid push and my efforts weren't necessary and a bit more embarrassing as the motor roared to life.
We set the pots and screamed back to shore in time for the fresh mutton chops to hit the grill. Did I mention this was a sheep farm? Oh yes, and they were good! So good that at the end of the evening I was standing over the grill with Jenny devouring the remnants of already picked bones.
After dinner a couple of beers and good conversation capped the evening. As the "who are you and where are you from" questions began I realized how small the world really is. Turns out one of the campers had a niece that lives not far from where I grew up. Go figure! I slept under the stars with the sound of the ocean as I drifted to sleep. No tent, but completely content.
Before leaving I had nice walk along the isolated coastline wading through tidal pools. Hermit crams, shrimp, fish, snails, and an assortment of other things I can't name made for a very neat viewing experience. By far the coolest aquarium I've seen in awhile.
Of course, upon returning from my walk the food was already on the grill. This time it was paua, or abalone and it was delectable. As for the kina, well, it was best put by the resident kiwi guru when he said, "it tastes like bitter turds." Orange, extremely salty, gooey and flat gross - not to be confused with a flat white. A traditional coffee favorite that is very nice. All-round the experience scores a perfect ten!
"Wairarapa is a region of big skies, wide valleys and small towns, full of character. With three major forest parks and a wild stretch of coast it offers endless possibilities for outdoor adventures or just getting away from it all." ~ http://www.wairarapanz.com/?q=node/2
The above statement is good, but generic. It doesn't sum up the intangible and unexpected. It's like a bad mission statement that doesn't actually sum up what really goes on there. Maybe that's why it was a little less traveled. In fact, I probably would have missed this area all together if not for the recommendation of a few locals. I was told the surf is good and the drive to get there was even better.
From Porirua to Masterston there are a number of quaint towns featuring local wines, fresh produce, and turn of the century settlement architecture. Boutiques and shops often carry local crafts and the area from Featherston to Martinborough to Greytown and Masterston is part of the wine trail. Unlike Napa or Mendoza vineyards are a little harder to spot amongst the many paddocks and grass lands, but if you look they are there.
the dive on the eastern side of Masterston is fantastic, winding its way through and over rolling, but sometimes steep hills. Keep your eyes on the road as distractions, and there are many, could end in wishing you purchased the extra coverage from the rental agency.
Arriving in Castle point you are greeted with a teal blue sea, and rock cliffs or reefs that dive directly in to the ocean. Drive you car directly on the beach and climb the outer reef to take your chances fishing. Be careful because posted signs warn of rouge waves that engulf the area and have killed many people.
If you are looking for surf, just below Castle Point is a small inlet that pushes the water upward creating decent waves in the sheltered cove. To the bystander it was obviously popular as the beach was lined with camper vans and 4X4's.
Further south along a partially paved road is Riverdale Beach. It's very nice, but doesn't have the distinctive coastline of Castle Point. A large development was planned on the hills behind the town with extraordinary views, but looks to have stalled.
About 10 minutes down another dirt road is Uruti Point. It requires venturing into pasture land and opening and closing gates, but once there it is definitely worth the trip. A good surf break, craggy rocks on the shoreline, and beautiful blue water joining the vast paddocks are picturesque. But beware, as most of this land is private, camping is not permitted.
You can continue a little further down the coast via dirt roads, but I choose to head inland on the sealed surfaces and catch the Martinborough Fair. The city center was blocked off and full of local vendors for all over the region. Local vintners had their best vintages available, and street food galore. My favorite was the Old Time Blues Band playing in a miniature stagecoach. A small crowd regaled the sounds of classic American blues as others sought shade.
Continuing on I made my way to Lake Ferry and ultimately Cape Palliser and the Fur Seal Colony at Black Rocks. Both were very enjoyable and worth the drive down. I believe I have more to say if it hadn't been my two intense days of driving. That and I was unofficially borrowing someones car. The kilometer tally for the two day trip was ever-increasing as I proceeded to make u-turn after u-turn.
In my opinion, this area is definitely worth spending sometime exploring. I would have liked to stay a night or two camping in Puntangirua Scenic Reserve. Driving by while trying not to go over the cliffs on narrow roads did not lend much to observation, but it looked nice and appeared popular.
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