90-Mile Beach and the Top of the North (part 2)

Dream Jobs and Ninety-Mile Beach

During the seventh Christmas season of my life, my mother took me to see The Nutcracker—an experience which revealed to me my first ever idea of a dream job: ballerina, of course! When I reflect on the various phases of my life, my notions of dream jobs cycle—dancer, writer, artist, sailor, dancer, artist, teacher, writer, teacher (could you guess that my favorite subjects in high school were English and art?) . . . and I feel exceedingly blessed that in reality I do have the chance to engage in the labor of a dream job. Even now, though, when people ask me what kind of job I would like to do besides teaching, I still feel drawn towards career paths involving art and writing. Set designer for the stage, cinematographer, film editor, . . . or writer! Yet, while in New Zealand one day in April, I had a fleeting dalliance with the possibility of another sort of dream career: bus driver on 90-Mile Beach!

Robin, our guide and bus driver for our tour “Cape Reinga via 90-Mile Beach,” informed us that the tour companies were looking to hire more “local lads” as driver/guides for this tour route. Obviously, “lad” and “local” would totally negate any application I might put forward, but, as we traveled away a morning along this national highway—90 Mile Beach—I couldn’t help but be seduced by such caprice. How would it be to drive along this achingly beautiful stretch of beach (more accurately speaking, about 65 miles long) every day, 364 days a year—no tours on Christmas Day—whatever the weather. I was enthralled from the instant we surrendered pavement for sand.

Okay, whether the tour starts with the journey along 90-Mile Beach or ends with it depends on the tide; low tide presents the preferred highway conditions. And Robin did admit that in certain weather conditions his most favorite moment of the tour is when he finally reaches the turn off to exit 90-Mile Beach! And, too, a proper driver must become acquainted with what portions of the beach look like when quicksand-ish properties are operational. Driving over such places works, but parking there for any length of time can quickly result in catastrophe. (We did view the rusting appendages of a few vehicles where a parking moment evolved into a more permanent relationship with the beach!)

Nevertheless, I suspect I could be rather easily convinced to learn how to drive a bus if my assigned route could be 90-Mile Beach!





Beth waits to reboard the bus after one of the photo ops on 90-Mile Beach




Other travelers...not in a rental vehicle and not on a tour


Robin locating pipis for us to sample, Robin opening the shell of a pipi to show us how its done, Beth with a pipi in hand, and me ready to consume one

I really liked pipis. A squirt of lemon--and Robin had fresh ones on hand--and they were even more delish!








The island with a hole in it--different views along 90-Mile Beach










At the northern end of 90-Mile Beach, we turn off and head toward the sand dunes to go sand boarding.

British History a la Television

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This last year several friends asked if I’d ever watched Showtime’s series The Tudors. Then, learning that I had not, each suggested that I might like it. In April, I succumbed and visited my Netflix queue, adding the first season of The Tudors to the lineup and sliding it to the top. With unplanned timeliness, the last movie I viewed, courtesy of Netflix, before commencing the foray into the realm of The Tudors was A Man for All Seasons, Sir Thomas More’s story during the very time frame the series begins.

And so I have started season one and am currently about half way through. Unlike my pattern while viewing a season of Lost, one episode per sitting fills me up. Watching Lost is like the adrenaline rush of skiing—amassing the details of slope, snow, skis, body, and speed at the very edges of control. Watching The Tudors is like reading The New York Times—intellectual density requiring focused analysis and critical questioning but often a satisfying endeavor in the end.

As one who has always thought Henry VIII and his world appalling on most levels, I have found it intriguing to watch an actor I like—Jonathan Rhys Meyers—portray him. This production does not attempt to rewrite history (at least with regard to Henry’s ego, ambition, and appetites) and so Henry does not endear himself to much of anyone in the viewing audience, but Meyers’ portrayal, as my friend Molly points out, does capture the charisma Henry must have exerted over so many.

The accepted brutality, social injustices, and unrighteous male dominance of this era often shock me; in fact, the perceived status and worth of women in is chilling. Granted, women learned ways of surviving, even how to achieve certain kinds of power, and in this sexed up production one witnesses first hand the feminine wiles employed at court. Really the only character I like very much so far is Sir Thomas More; one can’t help but admire his humanism, honor, and integrity. The few moments I almost like Henry are when he and More are discussing politics, law, or religion.

However, this last week I have had the boxed set of Lost, season four, in my possession, and Lost continues to sustain its preeminence in my viewing habits. Two more discs to go before I can return to the realm of King Henry VIII—despite the King in the guise of Jonathan Rhys Meyers!

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90-Mile Beach and the Top of the North (part 1)

During the flight’s descent into Auckland, I adjusted my watch to New Zealand time as the flight attendant’s voice announced details perhaps relevant to our arrival—you know, immigration and transit procedures, weather and time particulars. With Saturday, April 4, 10:30am—four hours ahead of Tokyo—established as arrival details, Beth and I wended our way around Auckland in our rental car and then meandered northward up the east coast. Late Saturday afternoon we settled in for the night at Waipu Cove. Sunday we continued our journey north along the east coast until we reached Kaitaia, the northernmost town with multiple retail and municipal structures, that afternoon.



Now, 90-Mile Beach--one incredibly long beach and also one of New Zealand's national highways--ranked at the top of our Northland to-do list with Cape Reinga following right behind. We also knew, though, that we would have to book a 90-Mile Beach and Cape Reinga excursion because rental car companies do not generally allow their vehicles to be driven on 90-Mile Beach; in other words, should you run into trouble on 90-Mile Beach while driving a rental vehicle, you own all costs involved with rescue, recovery and reparation for your own person and for the vehicle!


At our Kaitaia accommodation, we booked a full-day excursion—Cape Reinga via 90-Mile Beach—with a motel pick-up scheduled for 9:00 in the morning. Then we headed to the only serious grocery story in town to purchase picnic sustenance before commencing a wee jaunt, one suggested by the couple who ran our motel, to the southern end of 90-Mile Beach in time for sunset. With Greek salads, cookies, apples, and McDonald’s drinks (Beth indulged me with a drive-through detour on the way out of town) for dining purposes and an expanse of beach, endless sea, and a sky lit by a setting sun for viewing pleasures, what more could one ask for a memorable evening?


Monday morning we shuttled over to the McDonald’s for breakfast and had the establishment all to ourselves with the morning work crew all at our command, not even a vehicle in drive-through to divert their attention from us. Back at our motel, we finished packing our backpacks and moseyed over to the motel entrance to wait for our pick-up. Maybe five minutes or so later, the motel manager walked out. “Ladies, are you waiting for your pick-up already?” We nodded in the affirmative. “But, it’s only about 8:00. Your pick-up isn’t for another hour!”


Come to find out, New Zealand “fell back” to standard time Saturday night while Beth and I just continued to operate on daylight savings time all weekend long. It hadn’t made any difference to us or anyone else all day Sunday, but Monday played out differently. So, Sunday morning when I thought I awoke at 7:00 to begin this glorious run along a seemingly forever stretch of a virtually empty beach at Waipu Cove, I actually finished my run at about 7:00. And Monday morning when we awoke in time to be at McDonald’s by 7:30, we really arrived just after they opened.


After a good laugh with the manager, Beth and I puttered around for another hour in our motel room and bemoaned a missing hour of sleep. Then, at the true 9:00 hour, we had one more laugh with the motel manager when our pick-up arrived and he waved us off on our day’s adventure.






No wonder I had the beach at Waipu Cove all to myself...it was just after 6:00 in the morning!






We actually witnessed more than one vehicle stuck in the sand--usually at the entrance locations to the beach--and, on the Monday excursion, we viewed the remains of some vehicles that got stuck in quicksand on 90-Mile Beach.

New Zealand . . .

“It is a lonely archipelago, remote from the great centres of the earth, but with a character, attractions, and a busy life of its own.” —William Pember Reeves (1908)

Godzone—God’s own country—is a New Zealander term for this land. Indeed, the first time I traveled to New Zealand, in December of 2005, I spent most of my time on the south island, and there I stumbled on a quote by John Travolta. When he arrived in Queenstown his first time ever in New Zealand, he said, “This must be where God lives.” On this second visit to New Zealand, I spent all of my days on the north island. It too is definitely part of the Godzone.

New Zealand ‘s Maori name is Aotearoa—or land of the long white cloud. In New Zealand, all roads lead to the sea. Seas and skies and trees mesmerize me, and New Zealand does all three especially well.

Mangawhai Heads, the first beach we stopped at as we headed north from Auckland

Trees above the beach at Mangawhai Heads

Early morning at Waipu Cove--my view as I stretched out before a beach run

Bay of Islands

North of Paihia

Three views of 90-Mile Beach, the third one at sunset

Cape Reinga, at the top of the North

A silica-sand beach on the Pacific Ocean side at the top of the North

Three views near Raglan

A Small Detour from the Task at Hand . . . Because I Teach Middle School

For a mini-grammar lesson today in my eighth grade English/Language Arts class, we reviewed verbs. We began with the most common concept of a verb—a word that expresses action, and I pointed out that this action could be visible or invisible. Of course, the students had no problem with the meaning of visible action, but when I asked for examples of verbs expressing invisible action, a tangible deceleration in the idea flow ensued. One student offered “think” and then another added “imagine” before a third one suggested “fart” (yes, it was a boy). For a moment we all paused, a brief delay before a nervous titter or an isolated guffaw—to consider an appropriate response, to evaluate the accuracy of the suggestion? And then an explosion of questions: “But is it invisible if you can hear it?” “Or if you can smell it?” Followed by a flood of opinions.

Perhaps only in a middle school classroom would a discussion focus itself on the analysis of function and specifications for the verb “fart.”

A "Jandal" Story

Jandals—as my niece Jalayne has already instructed many of you—is the New Zealand term for flip-flops. To Beth’s dismay, she arrived in New Zealand without hers, a deficiency she became aware of in the airport’s rental car parking lot when I retrieved mine from my luggage so that I could finally ditch the running shoes I’d worn for pretty much 24 hours. Purchasing a pair as soon as possible became an immediate mission. Now, since Beth attended her last year of high school in New Zealand as an exchange student, she already knew the correct terminology to use in any query directed to store personnel. However, we quickly discovered that availability—not communication—would be the real issue. You see, in April, New Zealand is in the midst of autumn; think October in the northern hemisphere . . . albeit a most temperate one. Many stores currently displayed their winter wares. We could always locate hats and gloves, gum boots (although those may be a year-round commodity in New Zealand), and fleece. Not so much the jandal section—or even the jandal shelf or bin.

After multiple disappointments at various locations we finally found some remaining pairs in a summer footwear clearance section. In fact, we landed a windfall: two pairs for the price of one, and the one pair drastically reduced. Beth and I both ended up with new jandals for the price of NZ$4.99. Consider that my pair originally cost NZ$25.99, Beth’s about a dollar less, and you can appreciate our pleasure from a financial angle. In the photo below, Beth’s feet sport the classy pedicure and the “loofah” style jandal in zebra colors. My feet, on the other hand, totally lack the pedicure (just couldn’t squeeze in that appointment before departure) but model for the camera nevertheless . . . in this case, the “wave” style jandal . . . in blue, of course!

A New Zealand Spring Break: An Overview

There has never yet been a place on the planet that I wish I hadn’t visited. Some have absolutely swept me away with the beauty and grace of both landscape and people. Truly I have enjoyed all my travels, which in many ways testifies to me of God’s grandeur. What an amazing world He has created, including his children . . . whom he has endowed as well with the gifts to create.

Throughout my sojourn in Europe, Ireland always provided the most wondrous repose for my soul. In December of 2005 I first witnessed New Zealand. It stole my heart. At the beginning of this month I returned—New Zealand still has my heart.

This year when I learned that my niece Jalayne would do a six-week stint of student teaching in Hamilton, New Zealand, from the end of February through the beginning of April, I began checking out airfare from Tokyo to Auckland. I have always known I wanted to return to New Zealand and what more auspicious circumstance to catalyze such an event than to meet family there. Airfare, however, remained in the realm of outrageous for months. All the way until the last half of February, that is, when it suddenly dropped to an amount conceivable for my financial status. I then checked in with my friend Beth, who lives in Okinawa, to see if she would be up for a New Zealand adventure for our spring break. (Beth and I taught together for awhile in Germany at Sembach Middle School. She transferred to Okinawa in 2000; I transferred to Japan in 2005. Last May we met up again for the first time in eight years when I spent Memorial Day weekend in Okinawa.) Beth said YES. Then Jalayne even said YES she would travel with Beth and me for a few days after she finished teaching on April 9.

So Beth and I met up at Narita, Tokyo’s international airport, late in the afternoon of Friday, April 3. We flew through the night and arrived in Auckland about 10:30 Saturday morning. After securing our rental car, the two of us headed north, journeying all the way to the top of New Zealand’s north island before circling back around and down to Hamilton by Thursday of the week. Jalayne joined us for the rest of our time in New Zealand until we all departed Monday morning, April 12—Jalayne to Sydney and Beth and I back to Japan.

The photos below are an overview of our adventures. I have more tales for some later posts!

After a breakfast of sorts at the airport McDonald's, Beth and our rental car just before we head out from the airport.


My running beach at Waipu Cove--my first morning to actually awaken in New Zealand

Just north of Paihia in Northland



Driving on 90 Mile Beach

Our tour bus turns off of 90 Mile Beach towards the dunes.

Climbing the dunes to go sand boarding

Cape Reinga, at the very top of the north island

New Zealand countryside--Northland

We couldn't have posed them any better ourselves!

Watching the surfers at one of Raglan's beaches--known internationally in the surfer community for its lefthand break

Sunset at Raglan

Jalayne Zorbs in Rotorua

We all do the luge at Rotorua! Beth on the lift heading back up the mountain for another run on the luge.

Jalayne at the bottom of the intermediate luge track--her preparation for the advanced track

Jalayne and Beth at one of piers in Auckland, our last day in New Zealand