Hills and vales of Maui's fish

Kapiti Island

The journey through the North Island is beginning to feel a bit like the ‘road less travelled’. A friend who lived in her van for six months says travelling alone can be lonely; I discover that in just a few days. The night at the motel in Wairoa coincided with Coronation Street, for which I was pathetically grateful. It felt like being home.

My ‘luxury’ item, the bells and whistles pressure cooker, came into play the next morning, schooshing up a lamb stew in 15 minutes. With meaty smells wafting, we drove through Hawkes Bay's hills, hills and more hills of beautiful design on the way to Carterton. The ravine landscape (below) I found exquisite, partly because the dwelling looks so insignificant.

At Napier, I chanced upon a quality Japanese shop called Raku, where I found a five-and-a-half-hour candle to give to our good hosts, Mary and Fred. They were very gracious when I alighted on them at their new home in Carterton just before dinner. It was so good to see our Nina the next day resting on her sofa in Carter Court; she enjoyed my next lamb stew made ever so swiftly in the pressure cooker.

Nina likes to discuss Tama, her cat that other people seldom see. She told me about his visits to other rest home residents and the ginger cat. But as always, Tama was elsewhere - well of course he was - we didn’t see even a whisker. On Saturday night, M, F and I collected fish and chips from the good place in Masterton, with a special piece for Tama; he was watching from the shrubbery until we left.

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It’s amazing how quickly you forget hours of travelling; it’s a bit like childbirth:  the results are worth it. Up and over the Rimutaka ranges brought us to the east coast and Otaki, home to Anna, Raven, Tia, Poppy and Ropati. The last three are chiahuahuas.

Tia

After a beach romp with four tiny dogs, we devoured a scrumptious crockpot curry (I had offered the pressure cooker but the slow curry was on the way) and settled down to watch the secret life of moles with David Attenborough.

Anna and I were so disgusted by the moles' noses that we laughed hysterically.  We weren’t expecting their flaccid pink noses to wobble quite that way.

Paekakariki shops

On the road again the need for a cooked breakfast on the way to Wellington turned into a hunt for the least-newish suburban seaside centre. Paekakariki won: more superb hills, but the cafe's French toast had the consistency of a wetex.