From the Convent to the Prison ~ Derek's Travels

Waking up a bit sore and tired from my day-long trek across Tongariro, I hit the road again towards the center of the North Island and Lake Taupo, the largest lake in the country. I had initially planned to head Southwest to Mt. Taranaki, but I overheard a few conversations of some of the locals, and a huge rain and wind storm was on its way, so the majority of both islands were going to be wet and windy, with the exception of the East coast of the North Island, so that's exactly the direction in which I headed. As usual, the drive to Taupo was very nice, very scenic and there are very few people on the road. Also as usual, my car is working fine, yet the trick door is giving me a bit of frustration and embarrassment, but I still just find a way to play it cool, as cool as you can look when popping the door open from the backseat and jumping out to catch it before it closes again. My first stop at Taupo was Huka Falls, a nice blue waterfall and chasm just off the main road. The falls were nice, but I was told that it would have been prettier in full sunlight, but I didn't have a few days to waste, staring at the water to change color. From there, I headed just a few minutes up the road to the hotbed of geothermal activity known as Craters of the Moon. It is just a small park in the middle of nowhere behind some trees, but you can instantly see something is unique about this place once you walk in. In every direction, you can see funnels of steam rising from the ground. A small trail leads you around for closer looks at each of the steam pots or mud pools and surrounding stunted vegetation, and you are urged many times to stay on the trails, as steam and mud have burned many an ignorant tourist, clambering closer to get the perfect picture, when POOF, they are engulfed in a boiling geyser of hot mud, melting their skin almost instantly, leaving behind just a pile of bones and some regretful travel memories...well, I may have exaggerated, but the first part is true.

So, heading East, I drove over a few more incredible passes with great views of the landscapes below as I made my way to Napier, on the coast. Undulating hills and sun-drenched yellow and light green fields surround the road, making it hard to keep my eyes on the road. Every drive through the countryside has been an amazing trip and afforded more than a few impromptu photo opportunities. Not really sure what to do in Napier, I came upon the end of the main road, facing the ocean, at a crossroads. Remembering that I had read about Whale Rider being filmed in Gisborne, I followed the sign to Gisborne to the North, instead of heading 20 km South to Napier. Since I was that close, I figured that I'd want to see the scenery as I remembered some serene beaches and peaceful roads along the ocean. Well, I got what I wanted, but I soon found out that Gisborne wasn't all that close.

I had also been planning out my gasoline so that I'd be able to fill up in Napier again, but with my change of direction, I started to get a bit worried, as it turned out that Gisborne was actually a few hours away. Given the state of my rental car, I didn't quite trust the gas gauge anyway, and a few times the light came on, indicating that I wasn't far away from being stuck on the side of the road. Even more comforting, I was driving over some large, steep mountains/hills, hoping around every bend that I'd see a sign of civilization or at least a sign for a city in the next few minutes, but I continued to grow more and more worried as I saw nothing. I thought of turning back towards Napier, but I basically felt like I had passed the point of no return, so I was just left to hope that the one or two small dots on the map contained gas stations, which isn't always the case. The first dot turned out to be little more than a few houses within shouting distance of each other, so that option was shot. At the same time, the radio gods smiled on me and somehow granted me a bit of reception on one of the two stations that my Japanese import radio would pick up. Fortunately, the scenery was still great, so I wasn't too worried. After a brief stop for a picture, I re-entered the car with a million things going through my mind, the top two being the fact that I was about to run out of a gas and reminiscing about the Kenny Loggin's hit "Footloose." One of my childhood friends had a picture series of him and his grandmother singing along to the song, with the lyrics and sheet music in the frame, so that memory also came to mind as I distractedly pulled back onto the road and headed along, hoping for the next town. About a minute later, coming up a hill, I was more than a bit startled to see a huge logging truck come flying around the corner, barely in control, heading straight for me in my lane. A split second and a few expletives later, the thought popped into my mind that he's actually not the one in the wrong lane. As I had pulled back on the road from the stop, I guess I hadn't been paying enough attention and my instincts of driving on the right hand side of the road my whole life had taken over. Luckily, I regained my senses, and I was able to swerve back into the left lane in time to make a safe pass, not ever getting extremely close, and I'm sure he cursed the stupid American as he drove by. Soon after, I did find a small town, and they had one gas pump, so my car and trip was saved. They also had a decent deal on a double scoop of ice cream, so I indulged myself after my hair-raising experience and the disappointment still lingering from my Bay of Islands ice cream escapade.

Over 200 km away, it was more than just a detour, but it was worth it when I finally made my way into the quaint town and eventually spent another pensive evening on the deserted beach, watching the sun disappear over the hills and the ensuing pink and orange skies. I also consulted my guide book for a place to stay, and I found out about Flying Nuns Backpackers, a convent that had been converted into a hostel, so I knew that was the place for me. The convent was nice and clean, but it was abuzz as a result of a ton of Brazilian and Australian surfers being in town for a competition in a few days. After I dropped off my stuff, hoping that no one decides to steal it (as you must do in a hostel - though I always keep my important or expensive stuff in a backpack with me at all times), I went into town and found an Indian takeaway restaurant, so I ordered my usual chicken tikka masala, which was, as usual, excellent. As I'm writing this, I'm a bit hungry, and I really wish I had some more of that right now. I talked to the restaurant owner for a while, and I was again impressed by the small town hospitality as he asked me about my home, my job, facts about my country, etc. He was amazed by how far away I am from and how many people are in Atlanta and the US.

From Gisborne, I drove the road back down to Napier, still accompanied by yellow hills and deep blue water on either side, and I made a few detours when I saw interesting looking roads or photo stops that couldn't be missed. Napier is touted as one of the Art Deco capitals of the world, since an earthquake and resulting fire destroyed most of the city in 1931, so everything was rebuilt with the most modern style of the time, hence the art deco (pronounced DEE-co). There are city tours and books highlighting the style, but being a small town, it really wasn't as impressive as it was said to be. Again looking to the guidebook for a place to stay, I found a perfect place for the night. The Napier Prison had been decommissioned in 1993, and it had since become a place for tours and a hostel, so I definitely couldn't pass up the opportunity to stay one night in a convent and the next night in a jail, just to even out my karma. I wouldn't want to be feeling too saintly just yet. Up a steep hill on the edge of town, the building retained the original, menacing facade of the prison, complete with the gates and barbed wire surrounding the roof. After being examined through the sliding window like they have at those exclusive bars that you see in movies, I was let in and booked a room for the night. Some of the rooms are literally in the exact cells where the prisoners stayed, but I was booked for a spot in the warden's quarters. Shortly after arriving, I joined the tour of the prison/hostel, seeing the isolation cells, the tiny hole dug into the side of the wall for those that were thought to be insane (and certainly were after spending a day or two in complete darkness in the dirt under a wall, along with some spiders), the workout room, and the main cells - still filled with the carvings in the wall and graffiti messages about white power, black power, and any sort of power in between. We heard the stories about the prisoners that had occupied those rooms, where some of them were now (other prisons), where a few of them tried to set fire to the rooms, tried to kill themselves, where a few are buried, etc. Apparently they used to have pictures up of some of the prisoners from those rooms, but a few of the guests had started to recognize the pictures as their dad or friend, so they stopped doing that. They also showed us the spot were supplies, and sometimes prostitutes, were smuggled in from an overhang on the edge of the prison, and we saw the aptly labelled "Hanging Yard" where four or five of NZ's worst criminals were hanged and now serves as the area to hang your clothes to dry. Another clever sign points the way to the bathrooms with a reminder, "Don't drop the soap!" Interestingly, the tour guide was a British woman with a strong Irish accent, whose mother is Irish, and she could have sworn that I was Irish, based on my accent. More than a few other people have mentioned that along the way of this trip, so I may have a hidden nationality that I didn't know about. Top o' the mornin' to ya. The prison tour was fascinating, but it's really a strange place to spend the night, if you think about it too much with the spirits and memories floating around the place. The tour guide also assured us that the whole area had been blessed (or whatever the Catholic word for it is - demons exorcised, maybe), so we were alright. Sometimes there are night tours where the backpackers get to wear masks and scare the visitors, but unfortunately I wasn't there for one of those nights.

(Huka Falls just outside of Taupo...a nice tourist attraction within a five minute walk of the parking lot)