In Which Kat and Destiny are Kidnapped by Gypsies

What follows is the true, unbiased Account of the not-quite-unfortunate Captivity of two certain Young Ladies with their relatively scant amount of Luggage and the Peculiar events and emotions that Proceeded from this Singular experience.

Beginning this post is proving to be difficult. As difficult as trying to write a blog post about two days in a major city followed by four days in a camper van with five girls under the age of 12 and their rather enthusiastic dad. That kind of difficult.

Day 1, Wednesday: we were kidnapped by gypsies, which is to say the two of us and our packs were pulled off the streets of Auckland and into a camper van. We did not refer to it as kidnapping; Craig, our driver and the ringleader of the gypsy band, put it that way. It was rather like being kidnapped, only with better food, more hugs, and occasional petting. After an outing to the zoo (I have no idea whether most kidnappings include zoo outings or not) and a stop for Indian takeaways (which is what they call take-out food here; we were not actually taking away an Indian. That would be real kidnapping), we made our way out of Auckland. After several hours of driving in the dark punctuated by poking, giggling, and odd questions like "are you going to sleep in the bus?", we reached a campsite. Which is to say, we reached a spot on the side of the road where we could pull off and set up a tent while Craig made up beds for himself and the girls in the camper van. He kindly offered us beds in the bus, but we felt we would be a bit happier in the tent. However, this happiness was soon threatened when we pulled out the tent to discover a missing crucial bit: tent poles. In case you've never tried to set up a tent, you should know that a tent without tent poles is a large and rather useless piece of canvas. We managed to tie a piece of rope between two trees and tie the top of our tent to said rope. Our packs were shoved into the corners of the tent to provide a bit more shape, and the rain fly was draped over the rope and tied to either tree. So not the way we would have chosen to spend our first night out of Auckland--but the view in the morning was entirely worth it. Green, rollings hills surrounding pastureland. It was like waking up in Middle Earth. All that was missing was a pointy-eared Orlando Bloom.

Day 2, Thursday: Hot Water Beach is aptly named. Though the water itself is ice cold, if you walk down the shore (keeping one eye on the magnificent horizon and one eye on the massive pockmarked boulders that provide brilliant climbing), you'll come upon a horde of tourists with shovels digging themselves hot tub-sized holes into the sand. These holes are indeed hot tubs, filling automatically with natural hot water. Sadly, we did not have time to splash around, but we have every intention of returning.

Day 3, Friday: In the seemingly unremarkable town of Paeroa, there is a giant bottle of soda by the side of the road. L&P is a delicious NZ soda that slightly resembles Mellow Yellow in taste, only not really. It was invented in Paeroa. As we were still in Tourist Mode, we felt it appropriate to buy a couple of L&Ps at the petrol station and take our picture in front of the giant bottle. Of course, the photo is populated by a couple of gypsy children, as they took an immediate liking to clambering on the bottle. Luckily, they are quite photogenic and having real Kiwis in our photos lends us a bit of authenticity, we feel.

Karangahake Reserve, famous for its gold-mining and battery ruins is dotted with rope bridges and nestled in a river valley that resembles Ocoee territory. With a gypsy child on Destiny's back and various other children in hand, we tramped through a tunnel that led us straight through the mountain. No dwarves were there to greet us, but the atmosphere was perfect for our rendition of "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," by Death Cab for Cutie. The gypsy child between us kindly did not voice her opinion of our spontaneous singing.

In Waihi, there is a ruin atop a hill beside a massive quarry. According to signs, it is an old pumphouse, but we have deemed it the Ancient Watchtower of Waihi, which we feel is altogether more appropriate. We had lunch on Waihi beach, Dutch cheese and bread, and then sat on driftwood while the waves crashed in and the girls collected shells. It's a pity--a tragedy really--that words and pictures are inadequate at best to describe the beauty all around us. The ripples through the cool clear water and the way the light hits the waves as they crest. The sweetness of a child handing you a pristine shell and telling you it's yours. The way the breeze plays at the flowers on the dune. The delicious warmth of a driftwood log against your skin as you step up from the cool water. Sometimes being kidnapped isn't bad at all. Sometimes it's beautiful.

(Sidenote: and sometimes you--by which we mean Kat--get mistaken for the mother of the gypsy children by a very enthusiastic Asian woman who is married to the Dutch guy who runs the Dutch market. Sometimes getting kidnapped is awkward.)

As the entire bus had been three days without showers, we stopped at Mt. Manganui, where we had chicken burgers on the beach, and then went for a soak in the hot saltwater pools that are heated naturally by the volcano.

Day 4, Saturday: More driving, more site-seeing, which ended in reaching Hastings in Hawke's Bay. We made our way to Esther's mum's house, and after a great deal of discussion, it was decided that we would stay with her to keep Esther company (she's here recovering from surgery) and give us a bit of a break from the gypsy children. As soon as the gypsies in the camper van left, Esther's mum offered us tea, toast, and towels and pointed us toward hot showers. So here we are, safe and clean and no worse for the kidnapping. May all your adventures with gypsies end so happily.