Kiwi Bubbles: A tour of bathtubs and Champagne
When I mention the fact that I am seeking a bathtub to place on my front lawn, I see the word “redneck” written in the expressions staring back at me. That’s because they haven’t been to New Zealand.
Oh, New Zealand. Aotearoa: “Land of the long white cloud” in Māori.
Also, land of the outdoor bath tub.
Admittedly, I was hesitant to pull the trigger on the trip. In fact up until three weeks before departure, I hadn’t booked 80% of the itinerary, knowing the airfare we locked in months ago could return to travel credit. It’s a long distance from Barbados (via Miami then Los Angeles to Auckland plus a domestic flight to Queenstown to kick things off) so we’d need three weeks to make it worthwhile…plus plenty of travel logistics. Alternative plans floated in my mind: Should we just board a cruise ship from these very shores for ten days of fun in the sun? This is what one calls overthinking and should be ignored (also, thank you Mom for reminding me that I can cruise when I’m 80 so tackle New Zealand now while all knees cooperate). Overall, we ended up staying in 12 different places across 23 nights and spoiler alert: it was glorious, thanks in no small part to the ease of domestic travel in NZ.
Our itinerary included 24 hours in Los Angeles upfront, consisting of family time with my cousins, classic diner breakfast with my dear friends, and visits to my favorite (in no particular order) hairdresser, Italian deli, and restaurant throughout the course of day. A resounding success of a layover, culminating in a last-minute paid upgrade to business class back at the airport (well-worth the $260 per person for a 12-hour flight).
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Cut to Queenstown, an immaculate four-season alpine town on the South Island nestled on the shores of glacial Lake Wakatipu. A location so beautiful that when I was working for Tourism New Zealand, we barely promoted because it sells itself. New Zealand’s wild and wonderful ways begin when I receive a call that the excursion I had booked in two day’s time may be jeopardized due to weather, so we rescheduled for the next morning instead (every tour we booked was splendidly organized). Jet lag be damned; in this country, maintaining a bit of flexibility in your plans can go a long way. We were rewarded with a rare sunny day in Milford Sound (one of the rainiest places in NZ): a two-hour cruise through the fjord, inclusive of dolphins and surreal waterfalls, bookended by 45-minute SCENIC (understatement) flights over the Southern Alps. Pro tip: pack a lunch (the most delicious $10 brisket sandwiches from Fergbaker in Queenstown) and you’ll have the top deck to yourself while the masses descend upon the ship’s buffet downstairs.
In another case of flexibility for the win, our taxi driver recommended we experience the TSS Earnslaw, a 100-year-old steamship that operates gourmet lunch and dinner cruises to historic Walter Peak Farm across the lake. Bookings for the week were sold out, so we posted up outside the ticket office until 4:58 p.m. when two people cancelled for the 5 p.m. tour. Our gamble paid off, just like Jack Dawson and his Italian buddy in Titanic, the other famous passenger steamship from 1912 (happy to report the similarities ended there). It was during the after-dinner sheep-herding demonstration that we’d first witness the marvel of the trained farm dog. Responding to various whistle commands, the Huntaway (a New Zealand breed) raced out of sight over the ridge, reemerging moments later with—indeed—a herd of sheep under his control. Since the sun sets around 8:30 p.m. in January, the boat ride home afforded stirring views of ever-changing light and landscape.
Breakfast at our hotel, the Sherwood, was a treat. The restaurant’s natural-hued interiors overlook impressive gardens, flanked by kaleidoscopic purple hydrangea in full bloom and a backdrop of The Remarkables mountain range. Cheddar scones, brioche bacon sandwiches, and Bloody Marys still linger on my tongue at the recollection. Town center is a mostly flat 40-minute walk along the gravel lakeside path - the splendid Queenstown Gardens reward the traveler upon arrival. A few paces downhill from there, and you’ll cross a babbling brook before the shoreline promenade opens in front of you.
After three nights in Queenstown, we drove the picturesque hour-and-fifteen-minutes alongside a gorge, past renowned wineries, former gold mining stations, and farm stands abundant with cherries, peaches, and apricots to our next accommodation: a shipping container in the middle of nowhere. Okay, not exactly nowhere…the nearest town is a 15-minute drive. But the property itself is uber private, with a creek, a footbridge, firepit, and our first outdoor tub (and Champagne!) of the trip. Kiwi ingenuity is on full display: Every square inch of this AirBnB lives up to its fullest potential. As would come to be the case in all of our home stays, our host had provided free-range eggs (you cannot find a bad egg in this country!), fresh bread, coffee, sugar, glass-bottled milk…and, more often than not, marshmallows. Bonus points for the bath salts (I had brought some with me just in case), Real World NZ local toiletries (should have purchased some to bring home), and candles (thank you for trusting me not to burn the place down). As would also come to be the case throughout the trip, we slept with the bedroom sliding doors open to the misty rain, the only potential hazard being a duck waddling in (they did not). In the welcome packet, I read that if you’re comfortable with bovines you can enter the paddocks and say hello. I’m not sure if that was in reference to the dairy cows or the Scottish Highland bull, but I tested neither option. On golden breaks in the clouds we walked the country roads, 360° views of the most painting-worthy, Land Before Time landscapes. High-end hotels in New Zealand will set you back $1,500+ a night; I explored my very own piece of Middle Earth on acres of privacy for less than $300.
Next destination: The Marlborough Sounds, at the northern end of the South Island. Despite one of three nights lost due to a cancelled flight en route, this was worth the journey. We lucked out with a smooth ferry ride from Wellington across the notoriously unpredictable Cook Strait, including a sighting of a Little Blue Penguin (kororā) - the world’s smallest. The next 48 hours consisted of gliding in kayaks across glassy bays, hiking through rainforests, games of pool, and really. good. meals. I had high hopes for this modestly-priced older resort with mixed reviews…and they were exceeded. The snapper was the best we’ve ever had, and that’s coming from an island of snapper enthusiasts. Even the peas (the peas!) were delicious tiny flavor bombs bursting at the skins. It’s especially hard work running a relatively isolated hotel, and the staff did so with seeming ease and smiles galore. In a testament to the good nature of New Zealanders, the truck driver in the construction zone we walked passed (landslide prevention) asked how we were enjoying our stay…and also observed that my sneakers looked too clean to have properly hiked the Queen Charlotte Track. Busted.
NORTH ISLAND
While every accommodation throughout the holiday was special in its own right, I was particularly keen to arrive at our next stop: a one-bedroom vineyard cottage at Craggy Range Winery in Hawke’s Bay. Wine aficionados may recognize the name due to their significant export market; I have an aerial view of the property memorized from Tourism New Zealand’s image library years past. When I say I want to live in this cottage, I am speaking literally: I need the blueprints to this place. Never before have I been bewitched by floating cabinets and calming grey walls. The kitchen was stocked: Craggy Range wines on the shelves, neatly-wrapped fresh sourdough loaf tucked below, divine citrus marmalade in the fridge, pink peppercorns in the grinder, even miniature kitchen tools. There was an unlit luxury candle by the bathtub for use (despite my fear that it would end up as an expensive line item on our bill, it never did). Technically this bathtub was indoors, but with the picture window open you’re basically in the grapes - sipping Champagne of course. The surroundings were just as magical as the interior, rows of vines and magnificent mature trees, a bountiful vegetable garden, and a complimentary tasting a stroll away. The driveway could play host to a dreamy cocktail party, let alone the elliptical olive tree garden grove. I did sneak a peek at the view behind the two-bedroom villas overlooking the Tukituki River basin, and my God. Who wants to go with me? As if it couldn’t get any better, a spectacular 15-minute drive leads to a breathtakingly vast and wildly rugged beach where we whiled away the afternoons.
We spent the next four nights in Taupō, a two-hour drive away. In case it’s not already clear, nearly every NZ drive is an attraction (this particular one is along the “Thermal Explorer Highway”). If we had not pulled off at the scenic viewpoint sign, we would have unknowingly driven right past the unbelievable Waipunga Falls, at once discreet and immense. Always stop at the viewpoints. As an unofficial welcome to the region, we jumped into the emerald waters of the revered mighty Waikato River. There’s much to do here: sailing, hiking, cycling, geothermal spas, golf (7 courses!), fishing…and white-water rafting. The latter was not on my bucket-list; it was, however, on my husband’s, so we booked him in while I opted out of “the world’s highest commercially-raftable waterfall”. When we arrived at check-in, the guide mentioned there was still one spot available. Maybe it was bravado, maybe it was the 3,000+ 5-star reviews, maybe it was my former coworker who I randomly ran into (!) at the cafe prior insisting I “get in that kayak!”. I accepted the challenge, and then cried during our dry run on land. To be fair, I made it through the safety briefing on the various ways the raft can flip, what to do if you get sucked to the riverbed, and how fatally crucial it is NOT to miss the tow rope (I believe they called it the “oh shit” rope) if you get tossed over at a certain bend. Specifically it was upon hearing the forewarning “you should prepare for an impact similar to a small car crash” that the tears managed to escape my ducts. It didn’t help that my raft was full of absolute hooligans, ignoring our guide’s instructions while I echoed them at the top of my lungs.
Fortunately it was rainy the next day (not a sentence I write often), so I calmed my nervous system in the wood-burning cedar tub of our hilltop abode. Rain drops slid along the wire fence like a ghostly abacus, mist floated into the cabin as if a welcome guest, and cows, horses, alpaca and sheep wandered in and out of view. Cue the Champagne. Following day’s agenda: geothermal hot springs and nine holes of golf on a course punctuated by geysers.
With three nights left of our holiday, you would think things would be winding down. In the morning I was thrown off of a horse and fractured my ankle, which put to rest our afternoon plans to explore glow worm caves. Not to worry - outdoor tubs await. We traversed the pastoral landscape to our AirBnb for the night. My heart sunk a bit as we approached a shack (were the AirBnB pictures misleading?!); alas, it was but a toolshed on our way to the actual lodging. A flock of parting sheep gave way to the big reveal: there she should stood, the one-bedroom “barn” perched atop a manicured plot of grass, protected from the livestock by delicate yet effective fencing. Not another structure in sight, just rolling hills beyond a screensaver’s wildest dreams. Martin explored the nearby trail to a waterfall while I soaked my swollen ankle in the tub. With Champagne. I introduced the sheep to Taylor Swift via the indoor/outdoor surround sound, followed by a BBQ dinner with a bottle from the wall of wine, a full moon rise, and a crackling fireplace. We only spent one night in this bucolic oasis, but it’s at the top of the list for a return visit.
Our final accommodation was actually the first I had booked, having admired on Instagram for months before the trip came to fruition. Of course it was also the most difficult to access, requiring a five-minute vertical climb by foot when the 4x4 could go no farther. I managed to ascend by walking backwards, and then did not leave the site until our departure 48 hours later. Fortunately, there was no reason to. We had pre-ordered catering to be dropped off at the glampsite - yes, we glamped: pizzas (for the pizza oven!), sausages, steaks, and chicken for the grill, and various salads galore. Per usual, fresh bread, coffee, milk and eggs (and marshmallows) were graciously provided. In the grand finale of outdoor baths, two clawfoot tubs stood side by side, looking out to infinity. Way down below, a winding road unfurled as if only for aesthetics, absent of vehicles. The entire abode is an engineering feat, and the hot water was plentiful! From my hilltop canvas castle, I traced the path of the sun from dawn to dusk over the mystical Waitomo hills. The silence was only broken by the farmer’s distinct whistles to his dogs, commanding them to corral livestock to greener pastures with precision beyond belief.
New Zealand is a utopia. The people, the food, the scenery, the sheer functionality of the country (not one pot hole in our travels)…I’d cross the Pacific for the cloudy apple juice alone. I could plan another three-week itinerary exploring entirely new areas, repeating nothing, and it would be just as magnificent. You better believe I have one eye on airfares at all times…
