After the storm of the day before, we’re pleased to wake on Tuesday to blue skies and sunshine. Today, we’re driving into Hamilton to meet up with Wendy and Mark (the owners of this bach) for a chat and to share Turkish meze platters in a cafe called Babaganush. But, before lunch, we visit the wonderfully surprising and utterly unique Hamilton Gardens, set on the banks of the Wakaito River and covering fifty four hectares of land.
The first lovely surprise is that there’s absolutely no charge for the experience. This seems extraordinary considering what’s on offer. We wander in, collect a map, realise just how vast these gardens are and decide firstly to fortify ourselves with coffee. Then, as recommended, we begin with the Enclosed Gardens, a marvellously imaginative collection of individually themed living tableaux, each a discrete entity that, like a film set, draws the wanderer into a particular time and place.
Here, we experience the Italian Renaissance, there we enter the garden of Chinese Scholars. Another turn, another gateway, and we walk into ancient Egypt, or Mughal India, or a garden imagined by Katherine Mansfield, the New Zealand author. Some, such as the Tudor knot garden and the traditional Maori productive garden, are based on research of the known. Some are simply fantastical, mirroring various artistic movements or capturing creations by artists themselves.
It’s a wonderfully inspiring morning and there are far more delightful surprises than I can possibly describe here (or even than we managed to see) but if you’d like to know more, here’s a useful link: https://hamiltongardens.co.nz/collections/ And, I repeat, this magical experience is absolutely free for everyone (with the exception, of course, of the Hamilton rate payers).
Just as we’re thinking it’s time to meet Wendy and Mark, the sky clouds over and rain has us running back to our car. Babaganush is only a few minutes away and the food is delicious. Wendy has spent the morning campaigning for an upcoming bi-election and Mark has been tutoring his post-graduate students. They are also renovating their Hamilton house, doing much of the work themselves, so we’re rather chuffed that they’ve taken time out to spend with us.
From the start, the conversation is easy and interesting. We’re all on the same political wave-length and these two are very bright, well-travelled people. Wendy still consults on social and environmental projects in developing countries and Mark is still actively researching and writing. Until recently, they also had a farm not far from Raglan, where Mark more or less built the house. By comparison, Adrian and I feel like frivolous light-weights.
I suppose it isn’t surprising that Mark and Wendy are as they are, given the histories of their forebears, which could stand as exemplars of New Zealand’s recent past. Such pioneering people, both practical and determined have produced a national culture of cheerful resourcefulness, hardiness and free-thinking innovation. We’re in conversational mid-flow when the cafe closes so the four of us head to Mark and Wendy’s for atomic coffee and Turkish delight.
During the night, a thunder storm erupts. Lightening flashes into our bedroom, the thunder roars out at sea and the wind threatens to blow down the bach, which happily we know to be inviolable. The rain is hurled against the walls like solid objects, but surprisingly, we both manage to turn over and go back to sleep. We’re acclimatising to this wild sweep of New Zealand coastline. In the morning we find that the weather has now quite settled in and feel fortunate when there’s a break that allows us out.
We grab at the opportunities to have a run, or in the afternoon visit the spectacular Bridal veil falls. We walk through the gorgeous forest set on an ancient lava flow, almost taking for granted, by now, the well maintained paths that are a ubiquitous feature of such places. We tramp easily down the two hundred and sixty one steps and, at various levels, pause on the viewing platforms to take in the awesome sight: tons of water thundering down the basalt rock face with a power that is almost frightening. When the blanket of water hits the bottom, the pool sends spray in all directions and it lands on our hair and coats where we stand many metres away. It seems to say: you can build your neat paths and your wooden bridges, but I’m still as wild as ever. In this otherworldly setting, it feels like a metaphor for New Zealand.
