Waiheke Island
The island that time forgot – well, part of the island.
As you are well aware, cities are where the action is. All over the world, people are moving from countryside to city. Cities are growing faster than an angry teenager. Auckland is predicted reach 2.2 million by 2040. By 2060, Melbourne is likely to have 8.5 million!
While the core ingredient for urban growth is trade, cities nonetheless also offer a higher and higher standard of amenity. Life in a city is convenient and fun.
Take this typical urban routine;
Off to gym at 6 – fitness done.
Coffee and the Herald at 7 – breakfast done.
Walk with Rover at 8 – canine networking done.
Lunch at Cafe Le Suave at 1 – low cal nosh done.
Cirque du Soleil early evening – cultural enrichment done.
Asian Fusion & “wow she was so flexible!” at 10 – cultural enrichment, done.
Bed at 11:30, quickie in satin sheets – asleep by midnight – procreation done.
And on it goes – life in an urban playground, fast paced and as exciting as a party where everyone’s invited.
Needless to say, its pretty obvious that this is an awesome way to live, so much so that people are flocking to cities like seagulls on a sardine.
So you can imagine my furrowed reticence when friends recently invited me (and Mrs Alexander) to a weekend on Waiheke Island.
Now, when you live in New Plymouth, going anywhere near Auckland offers the opportunity of urban extravaganza – shopping in boutiques funkier than a black man in flares and nightclubbing till dawn. However, we skipped such city promise and stood instead alongside droopy eyed dogs and crates of spinach on the ferry to Waiheke. Our friends, I will call them David and Wendy (real names David and Wendy) enthused as to the virtues of this “land of the long hooch cloud”. Mrs Alexander and I remained skeptical.
When arriving at Waiheke , the first impression is that this a place for the wealthy. The ‘Mc-bachs’ at Oneroa and Palm Beach are a reminder that some people in this country are richer than Plutus – who, despite his lofty status as God of Wealth and Riches of all of Ancient Greece, would have struggled to afford one of these puppies. However, I must admit, the views that these properties enjoy can only be described as bloody amazing. The coastline is spectacular beyond belief – you really could stare at it all day, only moving your head to pour another ouzo and nonchalantly glance at your share index.
Wow I thought, “if this is Waiheke, then this is for me”. Its just like Auckland, only with better views. The proliferation of nearby posh restaurants testament to the power of capitalism and its ability to provide whatever rich people want.
However, we were not staying amongst these sunbaked wealth muffins. We were heading to southern parts – namely, Rocky Bay, about 30 minutes by car (3 days by Roman sandal) from the main township.
As it happens, during the week our friends live the fast and furious urban life I describe above. Therefore, for weekends they have chosen a quiet corner of Waiheke to relax. Hmm I thought. This is going to interesting.
Upon arrival the first thing I noticed was how dark it was. I’ve seen better street lighting in the third world. However, it was nice. Our towns and cities are grossly over lit (if you don’t believe me visit Australia). I immediately noticed the night. It was warm and enveloping, like a mothers hug. The world was stopping.
Next morning, we woke to the sound of….well, nothing. No revving cars, diesel buses or beeping trucks. Just the urgent twitter of tui. After a leisurely coffee in a bach that was intimate and relaxed like a 1970’s sweater, we headed off with the host’s trusty hound for some good old fashion dog sniffing. As we padded along the road I was struck by the lack of fences and prevalence of vegetation. The place was smothered in Manuka like a lovers embrace. Modest scaled houses with lashings of personality snuggled into the bush, hiding from the real world.
Before you could say “Rover, don’t eat that” we were on a coastal pathway that meandered nonchalantly around headlands dripping with Pohutukawa. The sea below like Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes and a rocky shoreline worthy of Enid Blighton’s Famous Five. There was absolutely no sign of life, just morning mist and tranquil expectation. As we rose to the top of the ridge, in what to me was the middle of nowhere, we tripped upon a wee cafe. With views that even a blind man could enjoy, I was informed that if I ordered my coffee in Maori I would get a discount!
As the chirpy bilingual barista ‘koreroed’ about the virtues of Island life, I couldn’t help feeling that I was somewhere special.
Once back to the bach it was more of the same. I quietly gorged myself on fallen peaches and we chatted about not much. The guitars came out, the dog dozed, and the pizza oven delivered as promised. We went to a food market that unlike most markets I’ve ever visited – had great food. The evening duly arrived without a fuss and before we knew it we were slumped in slumber.
And thats how our weekend went. Quiet, so quiet. Not like a city at all – thank God.
Richard Alexander Bain
Self confessed ‘hey man’ hippie