Leaving Rotorua, I was headed for a different kind of vacation, the kind that people usually dream of when ‘leaving it all behind’ at home. Time on the Coromandel Peninsula is best spent lazing around the beach, reading a good novel, and forgetting all cares. In order to relax in paradise, one must first get there, and getting there is often more of an adventure, sometimes changing plans entirely. I started walking out of Rotorua until a car stopped, a Scottish man who was able to take me 10km until our paths diverged and he dropped me off, wishing me luck in the rest of my hitchhiking. I waited for a good 30 minutes with no luck before I walked a kilometre further down the road to find a better spot. I found a small town around the corner, the very slow traffic offering promise, and within 30 minutes a pickup truck had stopped. The driver was a Stihl sales rep returning home from a conference, and he was happy to have some company in the car with him. This is a generally recurring theme amongst drivers; most stop because they want the company in the car. Most of my drivers have been single male travellers who are happy for a bit of conversation and the same (but opposite) was true when travelling with Suzanne, where most of our drivers were single females. I believe that the fundamental benefit of hitchhiking is in the way it connects people. People need not travel alone when the chance exists to meet someone new. There are of course the dangers associated for both parties involved, but that is another matter. This man took me as far as his home town of Tauranga, but decided to give me a tour
of the area as well. I had not planned to stop here, but he made a convincing case for it as we drove by stunning beaches on the peninsula which is also the home to a small hill called simply ‘Mount’, and through his relaxed and well cared for town. He dropped me off in the next town before heading back home. I waited here in Bethlehem (no kidding) for a mere 10 minutes before I was picked up by two twenty something gals local to the area, heading home a bit up the coast. Slowly, I was working my way up the east coast of the Coromandel, hoping to get to my objective of Whitianga (pronounced phu-ti-ang-ga), a small town north on the east coast. Dropped off by the two ladies, I found myself closer, but waiting longer as the local traffic petered off. Not many Kiwis find their way to the north of the Coromandel, and backpackers with their own cars are rare around these parts. A half hour later I was picked up by a man in a van with his five (that’s right, 5) young daughters (4-12) in the back as they returned from a shopping trip in town. They were going to a place called Opoutere (Oh-poo-ter-ee) which was down a side road off of the main #25 highway. He encouraged me to consider Opoutere because of its fine beach, the lack of tourists, and amazing solitude. I agreed to think about it but was dropped off as he turned down the side road. I waited here for 40 minutes, waiting for a ride but also checking out Opoutere in Lonely Planet. It was only big enough to warrant 1/6 of a page, but it was reviewed favourably as “a hidden jewel,” and “an untouched paradise”. Considering it was 3pm and the rides were sparse, 
I figured what the hell and started off down the side road to Opoutere. It was 6km down the road, but after walking only 10 minutes I heard a car approaching and quickly turned around to give them the finger – my thumb that is. The older English gentleman behind the wheel of the Mercedes had quite a posh accent and inquired quite properly as to my ‘business’ in Opoutere. Arriving at his summer home, he said quite abruptly, “and this is as far as I will take you.” Somewhat stunned, I hurried out and walked the rest of the two kilometres down the road to the YHA which sat near the beach.
of the area as well. I had not planned to stop here, but he made a convincing case for it as we drove by stunning beaches on the peninsula which is also the home to a small hill called simply ‘Mount’, and through his relaxed and well cared for town. He dropped me off in the next town before heading back home. I waited here in Bethlehem (no kidding) for a mere 10 minutes before I was picked up by two twenty something gals local to the area, heading home a bit up the coast. Slowly, I was working my way up the east coast of the Coromandel, hoping to get to my objective of Whitianga (pronounced phu-ti-ang-ga), a small town north on the east coast. Dropped off by the two ladies, I found myself closer, but waiting longer as the local traffic petered off. Not many Kiwis find their way to the north of the Coromandel, and backpackers with their own cars are rare around these parts. A half hour later I was picked up by a man in a van with his five (that’s right, 5) young daughters (4-12) in the back as they returned from a shopping trip in town. They were going to a place called Opoutere (Oh-poo-ter-ee) which was down a side road off of the main #25 highway. He encouraged me to consider Opoutere because of its fine beach, the lack of tourists, and amazing solitude. I agreed to think about it but was dropped off as he turned down the side road. I waited here for 40 minutes, waiting for a ride but also checking out Opoutere in Lonely Planet. It was only big enough to warrant 1/6 of a page, but it was reviewed favourably as “a hidden jewel,” and “an untouched paradise”. Considering it was 3pm and the rides were sparse, 
I figured what the hell and started off down the side road to Opoutere. It was 6km down the road, but after walking only 10 minutes I heard a car approaching and quickly turned around to give them the finger – my thumb that is. The older English gentleman behind the wheel of the Mercedes had quite a posh accent and inquired quite properly as to my ‘business’ in Opoutere. Arriving at his summer home, he said quite abruptly, “and this is as far as I will take you.” Somewhat stunned, I hurried out and walked the rest of the two kilometres down the road to the YHA which sat near the beach.As it turned out, the YHA was a collection of buildings built in varying decades with a few sites for tents. As reception was not present, I pitched my tent unobtrusively in a shaded corner, hoping there was vacancy for the 
night. I spoke with an older lady who was staying there four days on a vacation from work and she had nothing but good things to say about the area and its intoxicatingly relaxing qualities. After reception arrived at 5, I paid my $14 for the night, and got some advice on the area. Unfortunately, there was not a store for miles around and so I was stuck eating OSM bars, but I had enough to get by for two nights. There was not a lot to do in Opoutere, but absurd as it felt in the moment, the postcard views and salty ocean air were getting to me and I found myself considering a second night. I kept it in the back of my mind as I set off to find the nearby beach only a 300m walk down the road and a 700m through a wildlife reserve. I soon found myself on the most gorgeous beach I have ever seen, and was only sharing it with around 15 people – oh, I suppose I should mention it was 3-4km long. I instantly knew I would be staying another night here. The sand was soft 
and fluffy, the water warm and inviting, and with few souls to crowd paradise, it was an ideal stop. I went for a quick dip, enjoying the waves, before hiking back to the hostel for a shower and some dinner. The lady I was speaking to earlier noticed my diet of OSM bar and offered me some pasta she had leftover, as well as a bit of salad where the lettuce leaves had frozen and then thawed. I accepted with thanks and chowed down, filled by my OSM but happy to have some real food as well (the salad was decent, if a bit soggy as well). I spent the evening on the deck overlooking the estuary until the mosquitoes came out, and I headed into the main building to do some typing before heading to bed.
night. I spoke with an older lady who was staying there four days on a vacation from work and she had nothing but good things to say about the area and its intoxicatingly relaxing qualities. After reception arrived at 5, I paid my $14 for the night, and got some advice on the area. Unfortunately, there was not a store for miles around and so I was stuck eating OSM bars, but I had enough to get by for two nights. There was not a lot to do in Opoutere, but absurd as it felt in the moment, the postcard views and salty ocean air were getting to me and I found myself considering a second night. I kept it in the back of my mind as I set off to find the nearby beach only a 300m walk down the road and a 700m through a wildlife reserve. I soon found myself on the most gorgeous beach I have ever seen, and was only sharing it with around 15 people – oh, I suppose I should mention it was 3-4km long. I instantly knew I would be staying another night here. The sand was soft 
and fluffy, the water warm and inviting, and with few souls to crowd paradise, it was an ideal stop. I went for a quick dip, enjoying the waves, before hiking back to the hostel for a shower and some dinner. The lady I was speaking to earlier noticed my diet of OSM bar and offered me some pasta she had leftover, as well as a bit of salad where the lettuce leaves had frozen and then thawed. I accepted with thanks and chowed down, filled by my OSM but happy to have some real food as well (the salad was decent, if a bit soggy as well). I spent the evening on the deck overlooking the estuary until the mosquitoes came out, and I headed into the main building to do some typing before heading to bed.No sleeping in for David on the 22nd. Oh no, this was my morning to catch the sun red handed as it rose from the horizon into the sky. I had intended to walk up the rather large hill behind the hostel for the show, but failing to find the entrance to the path up, I went back to the beach instead. 
Planning for an hour walk the hour to the top, I arrived at the beach a bit early around 5:45 and enjoyed the constantly shifting palette of pastels until 7am when the feature presentation first peaked its golden rays over the horizon and the climbed its way into the sky, through some clouds, and finally free into the open air. It was the most magnificent sunrise I have ever seen as the 
solitary setting, picture perfect scenery, and perfect cloud conditions conspired for an ideal experience. I returned to the hostel and to bed until 11am when I awoke, had another OSM and collected a kayak for some fun in the water. The estuary was now at high tide, ideal for the best kayaking, and I made the most of it, paddling from one end to the other. I took my camera along in a handy waterproof bag my mom had sent for Christmas, only taking it out when the water was calm and there were interesting things nearby to shoot. I got up and close with some of the more elusive coastal birds of New Zealand, experienced the tide rushing in, and paddled up a small river which fed into the estuary. It was a wonderful time and made me miss canoeing back home, prompting me to make more than one promise about returning to it in the summer. I brought the kayak back to the hostel and spent the afternoon reading, blogging, and socialising with the small crowd of people staying there. I was talking with an older lady who told me stories of coming to this YHA as a young adult, then bringing her children there, and eventually her grandchildren. She told me about their local fundraising efforts for getting the hostel a reliable and 
clean source of running water, and eventually electricity. The hostel today has all of the above as well as high speed internet. She spoke fondly of activities in the estuary and excursions on the beach, recounting shell fishing quite fondly. She told me that the local variety of Green Mussel were quite delicious though she had not had them for some time. I offered her a deal; I would collect an assortment of shellfish if she would cook them. She eagerly agreed and I grabbed an old onion bag kept for this purpose, and headed off for the estuary once again, now at much lower tide and continuing out. I collected cockles, tui-tui (a local variety of small white shellfish), and eventually very generously sized mussels. There are set limits on each, and I made sure I knew the limits before I collected any. The collecting was easy, the cockles and tui-tui in the tidal zone of the esuary, the mussels proving a bit more of an adventure as I waded out to my waist in the warm ocean water to where waves were breaking on a rock. Standing on top, I easily picked my limit of 25 before returning to the hostel for a shower. By the time I was clean she had them all in a pot and was steaming away. I got chatting with a group of middle aged Canadians and Americans travelling together, and found we all got along quite well. As the buffet of delicious shellfish was served, everyone looked hungrily upon what was apparently seen as my food. I invited everyone to dig in but the Americans and Canadians insisted they trade some salad and wine, an 
offer I gladly accepted. No OSM for me tonight, it was shellfish and salad all the way, with a lovely Sauvignon blanc to accompany. After the food was long gone, we hung around the table talking and drinking wine as it was decided their bottles needed finished, and I was invited to help them out. It was a great evening of amicable conversation and drinks, one I will long remember as the evening where food came from straight from the sea, and the accompaniments from the generosity of fellow travellers.
Planning for an hour walk the hour to the top, I arrived at the beach a bit early around 5:45 and enjoyed the constantly shifting palette of pastels until 7am when the feature presentation first peaked its golden rays over the horizon and the climbed its way into the sky, through some clouds, and finally free into the open air. It was the most magnificent sunrise I have ever seen as the 
solitary setting, picture perfect scenery, and perfect cloud conditions conspired for an ideal experience. I returned to the hostel and to bed until 11am when I awoke, had another OSM and collected a kayak for some fun in the water. The estuary was now at high tide, ideal for the best kayaking, and I made the most of it, paddling from one end to the other. I took my camera along in a handy waterproof bag my mom had sent for Christmas, only taking it out when the water was calm and there were interesting things nearby to shoot. I got up and close with some of the more elusive coastal birds of New Zealand, experienced the tide rushing in, and paddled up a small river which fed into the estuary. It was a wonderful time and made me miss canoeing back home, prompting me to make more than one promise about returning to it in the summer. I brought the kayak back to the hostel and spent the afternoon reading, blogging, and socialising with the small crowd of people staying there. I was talking with an older lady who told me stories of coming to this YHA as a young adult, then bringing her children there, and eventually her grandchildren. She told me about their local fundraising efforts for getting the hostel a reliable and 
clean source of running water, and eventually electricity. The hostel today has all of the above as well as high speed internet. She spoke fondly of activities in the estuary and excursions on the beach, recounting shell fishing quite fondly. She told me that the local variety of Green Mussel were quite delicious though she had not had them for some time. I offered her a deal; I would collect an assortment of shellfish if she would cook them. She eagerly agreed and I grabbed an old onion bag kept for this purpose, and headed off for the estuary once again, now at much lower tide and continuing out. I collected cockles, tui-tui (a local variety of small white shellfish), and eventually very generously sized mussels. There are set limits on each, and I made sure I knew the limits before I collected any. The collecting was easy, the cockles and tui-tui in the tidal zone of the esuary, the mussels proving a bit more of an adventure as I waded out to my waist in the warm ocean water to where waves were breaking on a rock. Standing on top, I easily picked my limit of 25 before returning to the hostel for a shower. By the time I was clean she had them all in a pot and was steaming away. I got chatting with a group of middle aged Canadians and Americans travelling together, and found we all got along quite well. As the buffet of delicious shellfish was served, everyone looked hungrily upon what was apparently seen as my food. I invited everyone to dig in but the Americans and Canadians insisted they trade some salad and wine, an offer I gladly accepted. No OSM for me tonight, it was shellfish and salad all the way, with a lovely Sauvignon blanc to accompany. After the food was long gone, we hung around the table talking and drinking wine as it was decided their bottles needed finished, and I was invited to help them out. It was a great evening of amicable conversation and drinks, one I will long remember as the evening where food came from straight from the sea, and the accompaniments from the generosity of fellow travellers.This was the end of my time in this paradise, but this is not the last time I will visit Opoutere. The next time I find myself in New Zealand, I am going to make a stop in Opoutere part of my itinerary. It truly is a hidden gem. Attempts have been made to develop the area for more tourism and more residential lots. The local council have flatly rejected any such proposals, and have vowed to keep the area a peaceful haven away from the tourist filled beaches to both North and South. I hope the area remains this way for a long time to come, but I invite you to discover this little piece of heaven for yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment