Matakana magic
Aotearoa’s slice of the Hamptons
If you like the idea of a weekend in the Hamptons but can’t see yourself making it to Long Island any time soon, you could do much worse than a trip to Matakana. Like the legendary New York holiday hangout, the region and its surrounds are a magnet for urbanites looking to get back to nature for a bit, safe in the knowledge they’ll be able to get a good cup of coffee (or a glass of wine) and something decent for lunch.
Both are home to small coastal communities with extra-large houses, long white-sand beaches, wineries with cheap (in Hamptonite terms) tastings, farmers’ markets, art galleries, and boutiques stocked with the kind of casual but costly clothing and homewares often on offer in affluent coastal towns.
Visitors can sample a slice of rural life, essentially, safe in the knowledge they’re unlikely to get dung on their designer city-slicker shoes.
In some respects Matakana has the Hamptons beat. While the traffic from Auckland can be maddening, particularly on sunny summer weekends, it’s usually not as bad as the commutes New Yorkers en route to the Hamptons endure. And you don’t have to book accommodation and tables at popular restaurants a year in advance.
Unless you’re an old-money Manhattanite, cashed-up corporate or real housewife of New Jersey or NYC, you’re also likely to feel more at home in Matakana.
Sophisticated but not snobby, it’s as attractive to beach bums and surfers as those looking to indulge in fine wine or craft beer over a fancy long lunch.
Like a lot of Aucklanders, I’ve spent many a Saturday or Sunday in Matakana, but the increasingly horrendous traffic jams have put me off visiting. On my last trip back, it took an hour just to get down Matakana Rd. A solution is to take a leaf out of Hamptonites’ books and spend a night or few – something I had the pleasure of doing for the first time fairly recently, and hope to repeat.
Heading out of Auckland on a drizzly spring morning, the traffic was as close to a dream as it can come in the city (ie, it wasn’t a complete nightmare) and I made it to Matakana within an hour.
The town’s high population of talented artisans make its market worth travelling for and, thinking back to the apple, feijoa and manuka honey liqueur I’d picked up on my last visit, which I couldn’t stop pouring over icecream, I was keen to stock up and see what new treats there were.
Even after a big breakfast, I found myself salivating at every stall. Mahurangi oysters, mince and mozzarella pies, Mallowpuff-sized balls of Swiss chocolate and salted caramel and buckwheat galettes oozing melted cheese had me reassuring myself there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to breakfast, brunch and lunch in one day from time to time.
Even at 10am, the booze also looked tempting. Along with the fruity wines and liqueurs produced by family-run Lothlorien in the nearby Ahuroa Valley – which, to the best of its knowledge, is the only certified organic feijoa winery in the world – were locally distilled Market Gin and batch10 honey bourbon. The makers of the latter had teamed up with local icecream institution, Charlies Gelato, to create a boozy frozen dessert so blissful – and potent – that it has since had my entire family – adults and kids – bouncing off the walls.
Feeling as fat as the smoked beef brisket burrito
I’d stashed in my bag for lunch, I picked up a loosefitting T-shirt made from colourful mismatched fabrics (it looks nicer than it sounds) at the neighbouring craft market, and headed to Sculptureum, which co-founder Anthony Grant has dubbed ‘‘Disneyland for art’’.
Developed over more than a decade by Anthony and his wife, Sandra, both of whom work as barristers in Auckland, the 10-hectare property is a gallery/amusement park of sorts with its three sculpture gardens, six indoor galleries, a vineyard, and restaurant and bar Rothko, which has quickly established itself as one of the best (posh) places to eat in town.
The 400-odd works on display include ‘‘serious’’ pieces by such artistic superstars as Picasso, Cezanne, Matisse and Chagall along with offbeat, often in-your-face, sculptures likely to amuse, such as a family of hot pink giant snails, a sheepdog made from a mop enjoying the feeling of wind in its fur from an open car window, and curious hybrid albino creatures: one with the head of a cat and (naked) body of a woman, and another with the head of a dog and body of an (also naked) man.
The aim, Grant has said, is to sway those ‘‘who’ve been turned off art by boring displays and arrogant curators. I want to show them that art can be fun and it can enrich your life’’.
In the outdoor galleries, pathways wind their way past classical and country-style gardens; flame-coloured flax bushes; aviaries filled with finches, parrots, parakeets, golden pheasants and other colourful birds; free-range giant flemish rabbits; written musings on art and gardening by centuries of intelligent sorts; and advice on self
Sophisticated but not snobby, Matakana is as attractive to beach bums and surfers as those looking to indulge in fine wine or craft beer over a fancy long lunch.