Eating Plenty in the Bay
As the name suggests, there is indeed lots to see, do and eat on an indulgent weekend in the Bay of Plenty, writes Pamela Wade.
‘Ae, Aunty, have some more!’’ urges Maru, offering the plate of kumara brownies again. It was my big mistake, not to have come hungry for my tour of the Mataatua wharenui, because the previous two days should already have taught me: there will always be more to enjoy than you expect in the Bay of Plenty. Especially when it comes to food.
Captain James Cook knew what he was doing, bestowing that particular name on this favoured part of the country. Ma¯ ori had already discovered it, and were well established on these fertile plains, alongside a bountiful sea, long before he turned up in 1769.
Despite a subsequently difficult history of land confiscation they are here still, and the area is home to one of the biggest Ma¯ ori populations in the country.
For a visitor from more Pa¯ keha¯ parts of New Zealand, that means there is an extra level of richness here that feels more authentic than commercially focused places like Rotorua. Ma¯ ori culture is simply part of life.
‘‘Morena,’’ says Scottish Kenny to a family we cycle past on the Dunes trail near Opotiki. ‘‘Are you iwi?’’ Ingrid asks Trevor, when we return from a walk to the top of Mt Maunganui.
‘‘More kai?’’ asks Maru in Whakata¯ ne, waving his hand at the feast on the table: seafood chowder, mussel fritters, venison rolls, fried bread with jam, the brownies, pots of kawakawa tea.
We have just emerged from the intricately decorated interior of the Mataatua meeting house, where complicated patterns of kowhaiwhai and tukutuku surround obsidian-carved white pine statues of ancestors.
The glories of the building have a shadowed past: built in the 1870s as a symbol of unity and dedicated to Queen Victoria, it was commandeered by the government and sent away for display at a series of exhibitions celebrating the Empire, in Sydney, Melbourne, London and Dunedin.
Finally, more than 100 years later, it was returned to Whakatane and painstakingly restored: the house that came home. We visitors were traditionally greeted and given a multimedia presentation of its story, and Maru’s warm welcome and enthusiasm have been a highlight.
Local pride and an eagerness to share the pleasures of the region is a constant, wherever I go. On a spectacular helicopter trip out to White Island, Luke circles this constantly active marine volcano, so we all get to see the astonishing contrast of green pohutukawa slopes outside and the stark and blasted interior.
‘‘It’s like Rotorua on steroids,’’ he tells us as he hands out the hard hats and filter masks when we land in the crater. Following him past acid-yellow sulphur chimneys, steaming fumaroles and bubbling mud up to a viewpoint over the mist-swirled crater lake, we’re not arguing.
The remains of the sulphur mining works are picturesquely ruined and rusting; but the story of the 1914 lahar that swept away most of the buildings, and the 11 men asleep inside them, is purely horrific. It’s an intensely memorable place but, sucking on lollies to take away the taste of the sulphur, we’re glad to fly back to the Bay of Plenty’s more conventional beauties.
Conventional, but not crowded: joining Kenny for a bike ride along the Ocean and Dunes Trail, near Opotiki, we meet just two other cyclists and spot one pedestrian on the beach, far away. All that sand, sea, sky and sunshine feels entirely ours, and this is the best way to see it.
Stopping for tea and home-made feijoa muffins at the halfway point of our 12 kilometre taster, I hear all about the network of local beach and bush trails, and the teams of willing volunteers who are replanting these once-grazed dunes, and maintaining the track.
As a Christchurch girl with no experience of cycle gears, I’m happy to report that this particular trail is do-able on just one setting, making for an uncomplicated pedal through the dunes, spotting pukeko.
Back at Kenny’s afterwards, I gaze over the glossy, sheltered waters of the Ohiwa Harbour, and hanker after one of his moonlight kayak outings – especially because, at the other end of the Bay, my night-time glide through the Mangapapa Canyon to see the glow-worms had been cancelled after a storm.
Kind Sean from Waimarino Kayaks had though substituted a dramatic viewing of Maclaren Falls, thundering and foaming over the rocks, en route to a bush walk beneath big UV constellations of glowworms. The mulled wine beforehand was a nice touch, too.
I had had to turn down the cheeses, though: nobody leaves from lunch at Flatwhite on Waihi
The remains of the sulphur mining works are picturesquely ruined and rusting; but the story of the 1914 lahar that swept away most of the buildings, and the 11 men asleep inside them, is purely horrific.
Beach still feeling peckish. This cafe is right on the beach, and I had sat metres from where the waves were pounding in, the tussock flattened by the wind. Inside, under sturdy 16-metre beams of Oregon pine, I sat cosy and warm, dithering over a seafood-heavy menu and glad to take away for later a delicious rhubarb and wild berry tart.
It was impossible not to eat all this great food with huge enjoyment; but the only meal I felt I truly earned was a tasty brunch of Turkish eggs and zucchini fries at The General in Mt Maunganui.
Let’s not dwell on the fact that climbing to the Mount’s 232m summit was such a leisurely affair, with plenty of pauses for Trevor’s informative commentary, that it took almost two hours. There were steps, there was climbing, and the long views proved that there was definitely height. There were also legends, history, facts and observations: plenty to take the mind off what the legs were doing.
In any case, the Mount is such a civilised place (65 eateries! Imagine!) that right at the bottom of the hill are the Hot Pools, their naturally heated saltwater perfect for a relaxing 34C wallow after all that exercise.
Not that the locals were taking it easy, ploughing up and down, doing enthusiastic aquarobics, and busting some impressive moves to the music. I wasn’t fooled though. They were just making room for their next indulgence in Bay of Plenty cuisine.
The writer was hosted by Tourism Bay of Plenty.