They call it Wanga Vegas! (tales from the trailer park)

It'd been a while since we'd done a road trip so my friend and I decided to hit the road again, this time destination Whanganui!

Being on a tight budget, we decided to opt for camping rather than fancy hotels, but on realising we didn’t own a tent we *upgraded* to a caravan! I googled some campsites and came across one that sounded pretty good; “Luxury Accommodation. Visiting Wanganui? Why not treat yourself and stay with us” The photo of the caravan looked nice enough too, though I wondered about the fine print....

Picture is for illustrative purposes only
Actual caravan may by older than the
one in the photo








So off we went on our adventure, driving north along the coast until we reached our destination Wanga-Vegas! Once you cross the bridge the main street is quite pretty, autumn trees, cafes, art deco buildings and old style street posts adorned with hanging flower pots, what a lovely town!










We decided to check-in before looking around. I asked for directions that led us to the outskirts of town to the camp ground. We parked up and went to reception. An eccentric man with a thick moustache & orange fake tan opened the door by pulling on a piece of string attached to the door handle, we went in. “Hello girls, do you like my piece of string? Now my lawn mowers broken but I can open the door with a piece of string!” Right... “So your checking in? What are you going to do here, there’s a war bunker out of town, I’m planning tours there, and for dinner, you must try the hospital meals, cheapest in town, I’ve been going there for 18 years!’ Uh-huh...? “The website said you have a swimming pool?” I asked. “Oh no we cant compete with the local pool can we, get in your bikinis girls!” He chuckled.

We reluctantly paid & got the keys, trailer 29 girls! The string pulled and the door flew open again, around the corner and there in all its glory was... the trailer park from hell! Several dingy caravans crammed into a backyard, backing onto a large swamp land. The ground was muddy and a stench of stagnant water hung in the air. One of the units had a heart-shaped sign on it ‘Honeymoon suite’, you’ve got to be kidding right?

We fumbled with the key and got into our caravan, it was everything we could expect; faded floral curtains, floral bedspread, plastic flower arrangements and a bar fridge that wouldn’t close. Home sweet home!










We decided to spend the least possible time here so jumped in the car & continued our adventure along highway 4 to Patea. There we followed the signs to ‘Beach’, at the end of the road was an even larger sign ‘DUMPING GROUND’, amazing they combine the towns only beach with a dumping ground. After climbing over piles of sticks, branches and broken computers we made it down to one of the most spectacular beaches in New Zealand. With dunes of jet black sand, fierce waves and vast ominous cliffs.










Driving back we saw a restaurant on the highway that looked like a castle, could be good, so we parked up and went in. An odd looking woman came to greet us. “Just wanting to see the menu please”. “Don’t have to” she replied “Its all out” She led us through to the smorgasbord of wilted vegetables, dry chops, sponge cake & jelly. We politely declined, not feeling so hungry after all!


We returned to our caravan and locked ourselves in for the night. With noodles, tequila & tunes, life in the trailer park didn’t seem so bad. There was only one unfortunate instant when we had to use the ladies, arm in arm we made a dash in the dark for the eerie shower block, peed as fast as we could then ran back and locked ourselves in once again. As darkness fell we blocked out our surrounds and enjoyed our holiday, applying acrylic nails and vintage outfits for a trailer park photo shoot! We laughed at the various advertisements around the caravan; “Water supply contains lime, it's good for you”, “Motel situated next to scenic wetlands, perfect for an evening stroll”, “Voted best accommodation in UK travel guide”! What a joke!
















Sometimes, its good to do things a little out of the ordinary. I mean if we’d stayed at the Hyatt, there wouldn’t be a story in that would there!

Tarantula spotting & other adventures in the Amazon

Most mothers i think, would not even consider such an expidition as this but on the eve of her turning 60 my mother and I embarked on a tarantular spotting night walk into the depths of the Amazonion jungle! We doused ourselves in insect repelant, tucked our trouser legs into our socks, and as night fell we ventured into the wild unknown...











Within minutes of leaving the safe haven of the lodge we were deep in the jungle, a place not for the faint hearted! The high pitched chorus of a 1000 cicadas filled the night air, at every turn there was impenetrable scrub, spikey exotic plants, muddy lagoons, thick spider webs and BUGS!!












"SSHhhh" ....said our guide as she pointed into the dark, we shone our flashlights down and just off the path beside us was the hugest hairiest tarantular you have ever seen! "yikes, gulp, arg" my reply, gripping mothers arm as tight as i could!













Further on and deeper in we went, shining our flashlights in all directions trying to adjust to the dark, and the eerie noises of the jungle... There, another one, even bigger this time, with thick legs stretching the width of a dinner plate, it lay in waiting at the door to its burrow... for prey!

More and more everywhere we turned, black and glistening in the light of the torches. We saw a scorpian spider swaying in its web, a nest of fierce red bullet ants scuttled around our feet and in the water beneath the mangroves a pair of huge eyes shone out, the eyes of a caimen crocodile!

Mother was handling this experience remarkably well, and while her other 60 year old friends probably celebrate their birthdays with a meal down at the local club, this will be a night my mum will never forget!

The old fisherman from Makara

On the stony shores of Makara
Across the jagged rocks
There lives an old sea farer
Retired from the docks

His batch is nestled on a hill
Looking out to sea
Strangled by the yellow gauze
Beside a cabbage tree

He’s been so long a Fisherman
The life was born to him
But now that he is older
He rests with weary limb

He couldn’t leave the ocean
Like he’s by his lover’s side
His heart beats with the waves
He exhales with the tide

A whiskey warms his insides
From the cold and lonely night
When the families have left the beach
And the birds have taken flight

On stormy nights the howling wind
Does make the awnings creek
The ocean crashes on the land
The hills so grey and bleak

But he wakes to watch the sunrise
Turn the sea to gold
He walks down to the waters edge
To see the day unfold

He wanders for a while
The sand between his toes
The salty smell of sea kelp
Whistles through his nose

He watches in the rock pools
As fish dart out of site
And up into the sky
As the ocean gulls take flight

He cuts a paua from the rock
With his little axe
And wanders home to brew some tea
Brushing through the flax

And as the sun sets in the south
He smokes a fish that he did catch
And takes a seat upon the porch
Of his little Makara batch


By Bronwyn Hume © 2007