The bach at Whangaruru
My job has taken me to the far reaches of the globe – from the Himalayas to the Maldives – but my happiest moment involves a longdrop toilet just down the road from where I grew up.
As a travel reporter, I’ve been fortunate enough to eat at an underwater restaurant in the Indian Ocean, stay at Thailand’s top resort and even travel to an island with nine million penguins on a National Geographic ship. So, if money bought happiness, you’d think one of these once-in-a-lifetime trips would be my most memorable summer holiday.
But, spoiler alert, money does not buy happiness. My happiest summer involved our old family bach in a little place known as Whangaruru.
Northland is pretty lucky to have an enormous coast, and most Kiwis have only explored a fraction of it.
Whangaruru Harbour was traditionally a haven for those travelling by boat between Whanga¯rei and the Bay of Islands. In Ma¯ori, it roughly translates to the sheltered harbour.
Right down the end of the harbour, as the bays get more remote and rugged, was a little waterfront bach our large family used to pile into. It was a rickety old pot of gold at the end of a very New Zealand-style rainbow: a gravel road.
Every year for the first 15 years of my life, without fail, our family would gather to celebrate summer. Nobody complained about the longdrop toilet, or having to climb a hill for cellphone reception. It was a time we all got together to talk, laugh and swim.
My nana, in her 60s back then, would be out skiing and showing us age is just a number. Us kids would spend the entire day in the water playing cops and robbers on bodyboards. My mum, who was probably a dolphin in a previous life, would swim for a kilometre across the other side of the harbour – wewere convinced she’d become shark food.
Fresh fish would come home each night as the result of daily fishing expeditions. If the boat came home empty, there would be a Royal Commission of Inquiry over the barbecue as towhat had gone wrong out on the water. In these situations, the ‘‘break glass in case of emergency’’ sausages would be rolled out.
Iwent to a family funeral a few weeks ago and something remarkable happened. Rather than talk about wealth or careers, the speakers recounted holidays with family and friends. I realised that’s what a holiday is about: it’s for creatingmoments that make life so special.
And if there’s one message Iwant to leave you with, it’s this: you don’t need money to create those memories. I’ve been to more than 70 countries, but my happiest summers were just down the road at a rickety old bach with a long-drop toilet.