Ant army

A good roast dinner certainly helps to restore the spirits (and cooking the chicken brought to mind the apocryphal graffiti ‘skinhead basted’ underneath which another hand had added ‘but pan-fried with a touch of coriander – ahh, what piquancy!’).

This morning’s bird-flutes played a steady ascending E-C-E and later on a rising B-D#-A with the final note repeating and tailing off. [Do all flies of a given species buzz at approximately the same pitch, under normal flying conditions? I’d say house-flies are roughly in A, but I’m sure NJH will have noticed…]

Anyway, today was more restful; a short drive to wairoa to use the free internet at the library (even if we had to book a slot and wait our turn). Kirsten checked and sent emails on one machine while I uploaded six blog entries on the other; even so, the permitted 30 minutes only just sufficed (forget photos for now).

We planned to get something delicious for lunch from an award-winning bakery, Oslers, but a notice in the door explained that they were closed today as a mark of respect for one of their staff who had died quite unexpectedly. We explored off the main street and soon found a cafe, Tickled Pink, where we chose little salmon quiches and sandwiches followed by some filling coffee, caramel and fudge slices to share.

Next stop, Morere Hot Springs. Well, technically the next stop was the fruit farm shop where we were compelled to pause to get fresh nectarines and peaches; walking in was the olfactory equivalent of plunging into a warm, relaxing pool. We plumped (the apposite verb here) for the ‘seconds’ fruit; nothing wrong with them, just a bit smaller or with marked skins.

Onwards to our spa destination. Now my earliest memory of hot springs is when my cousin John grabbed one out of a bonfire at our grandma’s where they were burning an old sofa, but today’s experience fortunately involved more temperate temperatures. Several pools – indoors and outdoors – in a native bush setting, with options from decidedly chilly through to *$%& that’s hot. We changed, only to discover that Hannah didn’t have her swimming stuff (she took it out of the bag last night for dressing up), so she did no more than dangle her legs.

Morere Hot Springs.

Woodland around Morere Springs.

Changing rooms.

We began in ‘baby bear’s pool’ (just right) and chatted with our fellow bathers, a Canadian couple on an extended seven-month honeymoon (doing our trip backwards, approximately) and an older lady who emigrated here from California three years ago. In both cases the East coast surfing brought them to this part of New Zealand (the husbands being the surfers). It seems that we bring living proof to various young couples we meet that extended travel need not cease with the arrival of children; ‘we’re picking up what you’re putting down’ was the novel phrase they used, I think.

The occasional dip into the ‘brrr’ or the ‘ouch’ pool before reverting to the middle way. Ellen and Hannah preferred to stay out, playing games with floating leaves across one of the unused pools. (Incidentally, these were all stainless steel, as are all the shower trays we have encountered so far – a peculiarly NZ thing?)

Back to the farm in time for tea, despite the 14km, 20-minute careful rally drive up the access track (watching out for stray sheep on the road and oncoming school buses). We lost our last bit of Swiss roll to an army of ants who discovered it overnight, so we are now hiding anything sweet in the fridge (or in our stomachs); it really is Bug City here.

Leeks and ham tonight – an opportunity to do some good home cooking here, now that we have a proper hob and oven. And all washed down with the bottle of Gisborne Pinot Gris we picked up yesterday. While Kirsten is cooking, the girls have been engrossed in their ‘Babysitters – Little Sister’ books (we picked up three more today from the library’s ‘withdrawn’ box, and at 10p each, why not?) and Hannah has finished one already.