A dear Belgian joins us for the journey to the Northland. We drive through the Waiketere Ranges to Piha Beach and Karekare. Unfortunately, neither of these fit in with our plan to camp “Into The Wild”. Prohibition signs everywhere and lots of tourists. We decide to switch to the east coast north of Auckland.
On the way we stop in Puhoi, famous for its cheese and the smallest library in the world. We save the goat’s cheese at €8 for 100 grams. A few ducks waddle across the road. Lots of Ferraris, Porsches and hotrods slow down, only the one really bad one among the numerous Harley Davidson bikers drives on. There are now more luxury cars in New Zealand than on Lake Geneva.
Our destination is the DOC campsite in the nature reserve on the Tawharanui peninsula. An automatic kiwi gate guards the entrance. We pay €8 per person for a pitch on a meadow with an outhouse and water. The cheapest option. Everything has become damn expensive. The exchange rate to the euro is only -16% over 5 years. What I didn’t take into account when planning my trip was that inflation in New Zealand has risen by a whopping 20% since my last visit in 1997. Food and accommodation now often cost twice as much, European food easily four times as much. Our plan to get by on €1,500 a month per person can be completely cancelled. New Zealand is now Switzerland squared.
I feel like I’m in a bad dream. I can’t even enjoy the most beautiful pictures, I just want to throw up NZ$ all the time. Everything is beautiful, but travelling in comfort is reserved for millionaires. We need a sign for the car. “We’re just hobos with a car. No precious inside”. Walking on white beaches at sunset, colourful birds everywhere. Barbecued chicken and cheap wine at vodka prices. The twinkling stars and the cool wind are still free. Morning rubbish disposal by wild chickens as well
The tour for the next day is clearly too far. We drive over 100 kilometres of gravel roads and all the small bays northwards in search of our “Into The Wild” campsite. But the only things we see are clouds of dust and pasture fences. The only areas that aren’t fenced in are communal recycling centres – and despite some magnificent views, these are only open until six o’clock in the evening.
We race hour after hour from one impossibility to the next. Shortly before nightfall, we give up after 350 kilometres and head for the Mousetrap Hostel in Pahia in the Bay of Islands. I’ve been here before. A hit! Prices hardly any more expensive, plus a lovely “welcome back” price from the German manager. Everything was clean, big and beautiful with a babecue and a view of the bay. Eat and fall dead into bed. Some things never change.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.