Eastcoast, Baby!

From Wellington onwards, we drive several hundred kilometres every day. Even country roads are a bit different in New Zealand: if you don’t slow down on a bend, you’re guaranteed to take off on the next bump. Part one of the trip takes us to the Art Deco town of Napier. After a five-hour drive, the wind is still blowing over the rough shore break, so the architecture has to wait.

In the evening, the rest of the Bee Gees play in the nearby stadium – presumably also “Staying alive”. At midnight, the old fans stagger drunkenly into the dorm. A granny first pours wine over me, then snores all night, interrupted by worryingly long breathing interruptions. Napier’s last two dormitory beds hardly bring us any sleep either.

The next day we drive another 350 kilometres of country road to the north. The East Cape is the poorhouse of New Zealand. Half of all the shops in Gisborne are for sale. About a quarter of the houses are for sale. Even the wind is lonely. As soon as I set up the kite on the town beach, all three kiters leave due to lack of strength.

We drive on to the remote Anaura Bay and camp right by the sea. The season is over. We are the second tent on the large pitch. The other tent is occupied by a funny Kiwi couple from the Bay of Plenty. Stu is a New Zealand rum distillation master. After a few tastings, I am happy to believe him, but advise him to move his home away from Te Puke. The Bavarian home-brewing champion doesn’t come from Kotzhausen either. The sunset burns the trees from the saddles of the mountains behind the sea.

Tokamaru is the first bay after setting off the next morning. The wind is fine, I go out for a short ride. A lone Maori warrior watches from the beach with his mother. A short time later the wind is gone. In his 40 years, I was the first kiter here. And another virgin. “You did a great job,” says my mother and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Being correctly rewarded for the right things: priceless!

The most easterly lighthouse in the world is just a matter of definition. The beauty of the road to the East Cape is not. Signs ask you to call if you see free-roaming horses and cattle. But calling about caged ones would be a lot less work. Strong gusts of up to 70 km/h chop offshore over the last tip of New Zealand. Kiting is out of the question. The nearest lifeboat is 25 km away, the next mobile phone reception much further.