Rather than start today’s missive at the beginning, I will begin towards the end.
On arrival at The Duke of Marlborough in Russell I was pleasantly surprised to be allocated the Honeymoon Suite, large and overlooking the bay - I now envy those with quieter rooms towards the rear - a fairly average troubadour whose enthusiasm exceeds his ability is performing for a wedding party, and I wish he were gone. Somehow Jeff lucked into an apartment next door, complete with spa bath and all the mod cons. Another reason to start at this juncture is to celebrate the day - another sublime day on the road, but one that a tourist nearly caused a catastrophe by crossing the centre line (by a car width), and coming within a whisker of skittling your humble scribe and a couple of others who, in deference to those who worry about such things, shall remain anonymous. A reminder at how quickly things can change. Anyway, other than soiled undies and raised heart rates, I took a breath, a moments respite, then decided to enjoy what our erstwhile assassin had nearly taken from us and go for it. So, back to the beginning. The crashing of waves from the ocean below our Motel was a reminder that we were on the rugged west coast, and awesome to wake up to. Ahipara is one of those beautiful spots quite prevalent in Northland, where poverty stricken locals take life for granted and millionaires build holiday mansions close to the waters edge. We were on the road early for the short hop to Kaitaia for breakfast - cheap and cheerful in this poor town where WINZ is almost certainly the biggest employer, and funder of most things. Back on the road, Cape Reigna bound, 120 kms of fairly fast travel, and mostly good roads, although the numerous roadworks, whilst fairly inoffensive, were evidence of Shane Jones billion dollar slush fund. The Cape excelled on this brilliant sunny day and most of us made the pilgrimage to the lighthouse, mindful that the path which meanders downwards seems much steeper on the way back, especially in boots and long pants. Off to Mongonui, Craig as usual keen to find and punish a beer or two, and the historic Harbourside pub proved the perfect spot- by all accounts from those who partook, a wicked chowder and great selection of fish straight off the boats, any variety, deep fried. From there a short hop to the ferry (extended slightly by a missed turn-off) and the ferry from Opua to Russell. Our arrival at the Duke caused a stir, jam packed with well dressed wedding guests intrigued by the parade of Harley’s (and Craig and Garth’s Indians) arriving en mass. The Duke was heaving, and because we had an 8pm slot for dinner there was plenty of time for those with a thirst to put things to rights. We wisely moved from the grandeur of the house bar to a couple of waterfront tables at a cafe outside, where a lovely young waitress with a delightful French accent named Margaritte ran backwards and forwards with drinks. As the sun sank below the horizon we headed the the very insalubrious “tavern” side of the Duke complex - talk about a contrast, a real booze slop house. Dinner was a game of two halves with those who ordered the Ham Hock being as impressed as those who ordered the duck were disappointed, but as usual the wine list proved to be the equaliser, and everyone seemed pretty happy. At various times women from a wedding party who’d obviously been on the fizz since fairly early took a fascination with one or two of our number, with Garth, bearded and long haired, and looking either feral or mistaken for an aged rocker, spinning a yarn or two. Early in the tour Garth was christened “Jesus”, pronounced in the Spanish “He Zeus” to compliment this new persona. More tomorrow Comments are closed.
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Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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