The Roaring Forties

Nice legs and a rosy complexion. Beautiful and elegant, yet surprisingly zesty and refreshing. Standing right in front of us, teasing us, tempting us. Her name was Gwen Rose. Church Road Gwen Rose 2018. The first taste in a long line of sample wines – one of the few we would remember – she left a lasting impression. You never forget your first wine. Or something like that.

Welcome to Hawkes Bay. New Zealand’s Wine Country on the east coast of the North Island. Known for its full-bodied reds and complex Chardonnays, sunshine, Art Deco and crisp, juicy apples. And furious winds!

On my journey through Middle Earth, this was like Rivendell – magical valley and home to the elves. Lush and green, peaceful and sheltered from the dangers of the world. Not so sure about the latter, considering the sign that greeted me upon my arrival in Napier, Art Deco Capital in Hawkes Bay.

Taking the warnings light-heartedly, I set off to explore this lovely town by the sea, oblivious to the dark clouds in the sky. Half way up Bluff Hill on my way to the local lookout, the wind was picking up and fat drops of rain started falling. Having gone too far to turn around, I soldiered on, braving heavy rain, gail force winds and lightning.

Palm trees and ferns were bending and bowing to nature’s force and I was beginning to understand the term The Roaring Forties. This was the 40th parallel south after all, and strong winds were very common in this part of the world (I actually learned about the Roaring Forties much later, along with the Furious Fifties and the Screaming Sixties , but it was indeed extremely windy).

In the end, I did get swept away. Not by the storm, but by a middle aged man (gruffly looking version of Aragorn maybe) and his messy, but very dry car, that came to my rescue, stopping right next to me, offering me a ride back down the hill.

“ I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to anyway!” Famous last words. He just laughed.

I did survive my first day in Hawkes Bay. Despite the storm and the stranger and getting stranded. The best part about travel often is the people you meet – locals and other travelers. Their stories, their kindness, their smiles and their friendship.

The next day I met Bucky. Bucky was a retired school teacher and my guide on a tour through this beautiful Art Deco town. Endless sunshine and blue skies, as if nothing had happened, I was willing to give this place another chance.

“Hi, I’m Gisela!”

“Oh, hi Diana! Nice to meet you!”

“No, it’s GISELA. With a G.”

“Ah, yes, Diana! I once knew a Diana… Diana Peterson. Very lovely lady.. Let’s go Diana!” And with a gentle push onto the road, he started the tour.

I let it go. Being Diana for an hour was okay with me, especially if it made Bucky happy. And I think it did. We zigzagged through town, dodging cars, stopping here and there, learning about the earthquake from 1931 that totally erased the town ( so maybe those warning signs should be taken more seriously ), about the reconstruction of the city centre within two years, about Art Deco and its bold designs and clear lines, colours and patterns. Time flew and soon it was time to say goodbye.

“Goodbye Diana! Nice to meet you!” Goodbye Bucky!

And then there was Chuck. And Janine, Clara and the couple from England, whose name I don’t remember. Together we went on a wine tour, exploring the famous grapes of Hawkes Bay. With a crowd getting increasingly rowdy, Chuck remained calm and collected, and drove us from winery to winery.

Church Road Winery ( where a lady from Saskatchewan – of all places – poured us our first glass of Gwen), Ross Hill Farm Winery (where it was time to reveal our place of origin – Clara from São Paulo, Janine from Sydney, the nameless couple from Brighton England and myself: a German from Toronto living in Sydney).  Ash Ridge Winery (where we all bought countless bottles of wine, because that’s what happens after three wineries) and last, and I have to admit, also the least, Te Mata Estate Winery. Beautiful scenery, heartless service.

The day ended with cheese and crackers  (and please, no more wine!) in Te Mata National Park. What had started with polite small talk at the beginning of the tour, had by now turned into heated discussions about Brexit and Trump (no matter where you go, there is always talk about Trump), life and loss and dreams coming true. And for a few hours this interesting mix of people became best of friends, sharing stories and a couple of glasses of wine.

As for Rivendell – I did end up visiting the real Rivendell near Wellington before leaving for the South Island. A truly magical place, with a group of magical strangers that I’ll never see again, but that I got to spend a few magical hours with on my journey through this magical country.

Bewitched and windswept by the Roaring Forties.

“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.” ( The Hobbit)