The Best Impromptu Weekend Away in The World

After struggling to find an impromptu place to jaunt away to on our Every-Second-Weekend-Off-Together that wasn't going to cost the equivalent of a Tesla down-payment, an old and dear friend mentioned she was looking for a house-and-dog-sitter for the weekend.   And she lives in Papamoa Beach.

A friend who is so dear I haven't seen her in person for about ten years but at our age that just proves it's stable relationship.  

As awful as it sounded spending a weekend at the beach, I thought I'd still offer and ask, because Weberley's New Man (WNM) is a little fond of dogs.

So fond that I risked being a third-wheel the entire weekend.

Bearing in mind that Claire has known me since I was 13, I was pleasantly surprised and somewhat shocked when she didn't snort and pretend she suddenly wasn't going away any more.  And then block me on Facebook.

After I checked with WNM's farm manager that there was no chance he'd suddenly be required to work until 9pm on the Friday night, I messaged him and told him that I'd pick him up on Friday after work, and he needed to have togs and a toothbrush packed.  And possibly some Berocca.

I don't want to cast any aspersions to his character, but there were perhaps a few times during the week where quite possibly information was attempted to be gleaned from me by means of distraction and bribery.  It looked like a pretty expensive Mankini he was sporting.

After working at warp speed on Friday so I could sneak in an Early Knock Off (don't tell my new boss, I'm still trying to fool him that I'm valuable) I loaded up Bozzie's food dishes with 9 days worth of food, told him I loved him very dearly, cried a little, then drove to Hunterville to park at the servo down the road waiting for the "I'm ready!" message.

I knew if I drove straight to his house we'd get immediately distracted by a game of Sequence, and ain't nobody got time for that.  We had a long drive ahead of us.

He started walking rather than waiting in his house or driveway for me, and because he was wearing jeans and I'd never seen him wear jeans, I almost didn't recognise him and felt like the lady from Heart's song.  I literally picked a man up from the side of the road and whisked him away in my car on a rainy night.  And it was definitely All I Wanted To Do.

After driving through torrential downpours, two hours of "babe - I'm so excited! We're going to Turangi right?!" followed 30 minutes later by "babe - I'm so excited! We're going to Taupo right?!" followed 60 minutes later by "babe - I'm so excited! We're going to Rotorua right?!" I began to wonder if a dog and a beach might not be that exciting after all.

Turns out I was shouldn't have panicked. Except for the split second when he thought we might be going to Whakatane, right?

At least the view of Mt Ruapehu was primo.

I was also pleasantly relieved to discover that driving the Desert Road in the dark is way less scary when there's someone beside you who can assure you that the big pylons are not going to come to life and start marching through the traffic like something from a Pink Floyd video. 

We stopped at Turangi for some BK, and our trip would have been slightly quicker if his meal had taken the same 2 minutes to be made that mine did, instead of the actual 12 minutes that it did take.  It's the first time in our relationship that I've finished at least half my meal before he's devoured his and started eyeing up mine.  And my food.

There were some heated discussions during the long drive around some of the important elements of a healthy relationship; and the merits of delayed gratification of such elements vs distracting the driver in thunderstorms on a pitch black night.

After finally arriving in Papamoa Beach, working out how to get in the gate without letting Charlie out, working out how to get in the house without letting Charlie out, greeting Charlie, assuring Charlie we weren't there to rob the pantry (I will retract this statement soon), getting knocked over by Charlie and falling backwards into a breakfast bar, and working out which room we were staying in (which was just an excuse to check out Claire's massive house) we crashed out without even a sideways glance at a wine glass.

Well, there were definitely sideways glances at her awesome glass collection, but none of them were filled with sweet nectar that night.

Early morning wake-up was expected to be to thunderstorms that had been forecast all week, and I'd anticipated a weekend of Sequence in front of the fireplace.  However it turned out to be a stunning day and I woke to the dulcet tones of WNM sitting outside having a full-on conversation with Charlie.  Including questions that it sounded like he expected answers to.

The sounds of that plus birds chirping got me motivated to get out of bed and hit the ground running. I briefly thought of messaging C to see if there were any Nanny Cams in her house as WNM sauntered around naked looking for - well, honestly, it could have been anything from his vape to his half-eaten chocolate biscuit - but that question could sound nothing but dodgy so I ran with the risk of no cameras to cause emotional trauma for life.

After a hearty breakfast at Robert Harris surrounded by early-morning diners with a median age of 87, we were off to tackle the Mount followed by a soak in the hot pools. Private pool even... I'd slipped him a sneaky Berocca and quite fancied a bit of Sequence. 

The pensioner couple we ran into at the beginning of the Mount track were reading the map and they looked a little concerned when I mentioned I was super unfit.  They suggested that a walk around the perimeter was just as nice as an attempt to the summit. 

I sucked in my Eggs Bene, sneaked a peek at my super-fit and gorgeous WNM, and decided that the risk of heart attack and not being able to walk for a week was worth the attempt to impress him. 

He is quite capable of moving my legs for me if that attempt failed and I need to find other ways to impress.

Halfway up the Mount, after stopping once or twice purely to look at the scenery and not to pop my hip back into it's joint, we came to an intersection and pondered which path to take when another old lady asked if we needed advice.

"Yep - I'm super unfit lol [adjusting my denim shorts while eyeing her lycra and fitbit] so, which path do you think we should we take?"

"This one is short and very sharp, so I'd take the other one if I were you!"

Short and sharp it is then, Lycra Lady.

30 seconds into the short and sharp route, after yelling at WNM to "stop stopping in FRONT of me, you're interrupting my flow!" about sixteen times when I stopped to check that I was still alive, he respected me by complying and off he literally skipped up the 175 degrees steep cliff side.

I shoulda slipped myself a Berocca as well.

Ten minutes later, and a few well-intentioned comments from people on the return journey down looking at me alarmed and saying "hey, you're NEARLY there!!"  we finally made it to the top and holy shit the view was worth it.

Unfortunately, the fact that the views were so great also meant there were a) a lot of other tourists up there as well and b) not a lot of private hideaways, so regretfully I had to decline WNM's suggestions of a sneaky game of Sequence in the bushes once I got my breath back.

Traversing the cliff back down was surprisingly almost as hard as getting up - although apparently that happens to lots of couples - mainly because I was so keen to hurry and hit the private hot pool totally wearing all our togs that I almost fell about 18 times.  That and if I was old I'd say my knee joints were hurting but I'm not so they weren't.

There was a lifesaver halfway down, but someone my age wouldn't even need to think about this kind of thing and I barely noticed it was there.

We met the original old couple near the bottom who were quick to ask us, sounding somewhat cynical "oh, so did you make it to the top?!" and I have to admit it's the first time in my life I've considered pensionacide.  They can go out like Noah and Allie.  Except over a cliff, not in a hospital bed.

When we finally reached the bottom, and WNM mentioned that I looked slightly sexy with a wee glow on my face, I was more determined than ever to hit the hot pools and work up a real sweat, but he mentioned ice creams and thereby killed any chance of my coming first in Sequence.

With the sexy-glow comment still at the forefront of my mind, I found a Real Fruit Ice Cream place but slyly navigated us there via a secluded beachfront.  We parked up the car, I told him to pack the backpack with a blanket and a towel (it's the beach - I intended to get wet) and off we set on another little hike.

Turns out the secluded beachfront only consisted of sand; and the dunes and weeds that afforded privacy were on the other side of a (possibly electric) fence that clearly indicated Private Property.  And also had several high rise houses looking down into them.

Feeling somewhat defeated before even playing one hand of Sequence, I guided my driver to the Real Fruit Ice Cream shop instead.

I'm not saying that size matters, but after the disappointment of the non-secluded beach front, this was just a slap in the face.

0/5 Stars.  Would not recommend.

We were booked for dinner at a restaurant recommended by C.  When I checked their website they had a Happy Hour from 4-6pm, so of course I booked us in at 4.  We had around two hours to get back home, chill with Charlie, down a couple of Spicy Rum & Cokes, and get in to town to down a couple of Spicy Anythings.

We got home with a couple of hours to spare, WNM chilled with Charlie, I downed a couple of Spicy Rums, and we headed into town.  

When we arrived, the waitress commented that we were having a very early dinner.

"Oh yeah lol.... cos we've come for Happy Hour!"

"Oh.  Oh, no, we don't have Happy Hour any more."

"Oh.  Oh, no.  So we wouldn't be here for dinner at 4pm if it weren't for the Happy Hour.... you might want to take that off your website...."

*crickets chirping*

"Oh well.  Looks like we're having a quick bite to eat and finding another Happy Hour."

Which we did.  Actually we found a couple.  

The first one had some awesome vintage chairs, Victorian Style, so we asked a lady at the next table if she'd mind taking a couple of photos of us just for the sake of it.

She was more than happy to, and took several, clicking away while my cheeks got sore from smiling.

We moved to an outside seat once we got our drinks, and had a look through the photos she took. Or, as it turns out, didn't take.

It's not that they were bad photos.  It's that they were invisible photos.

There was also not one single bubble in WNM's Black Russian. After taking a few sips each, just to be sure, we returned it to the bar to ask if perhaps the post-mix gas had run out.  After making us a fresh one, which wasn't much better, we decided to move on and look for better bubbles.

I found a couple of places that looked promising on our travels, but they were vetoed.  By me.

Then we found Latitude.  With a blackboard that read 'Happy Hour 5-8pm'.

"I got this babe."

"Hey, how's it going?!  We're parents away for the weekend without children [not a lie] and on a budget [we blew our drinking budget on undersized Real Fruit Ice Creams], please tell me what drinks are part of your Happy Hour?"

"Hey guys, welcome!  We have $6 wines, ciders and beers - what would you like?"

After almost Sequencing right there at the bar, we ordered our first drinks before he finished the word "six".

And so set the scene for the rest of our Party Night. 

We found a seat in the outside bar which was booked out for Hen's Night minus a table for two up on the deck.  We had to give each other a very stern talking-to - several times - that we would NOT involve ourselves in the party;  we did NOT know the bride;  she would NOT want wedding night advice from me;  and WNM could definitely NOT be the impromptu stripper.

Fortunately for the Bride to Be, we both vape, and both our vapes going flat coincided with the end of Happy Hour simultaneously with the depletion of our next-month's drinking budget - so we decided it was time to depart gracefully.

"Gracefully" meant on Lime Scooters.  Intoxicated.  For a 9.8km trip.

After demonstrating to me no less than seven times how I had to push-off for the scooter to start moving, and working out myself that I couldn't pull the brakes on full from travelling at 78km an hour, we were off for our adventure.

 

Then apparently WNM had to tell me several times that the beach was a Red Zone, and that even if scooters DID happen to work on the sand, they wouldn't work in the Red Zone.

Then also apparently he had to tell me several times that the way I insisted was the correct direction to go was in fact the complete opposite direction to which we needed to go and I only believed him because he had GoogleMaps loaded on his phone and could somehow both scooter and read the screen. 

Then also also apparently at some point on the way home I decided that I needed to empty my bladder, and even though I remember discreetly ducking into a beach access way and hiding behind a bush, it seems I was actually quite vocal about my biological needs and we had a bunch of men on a balcony several houses down encouraging me to "pop a squat".

Somehow - and I have NO idea how - WNM managed to stay on his scooter the entire trip home, even while navigating several main roads, traffic lights and small children - while I fell sideways in to a car, then in to a flax bush.

On the upside, not one Wheelie Bin was harmed in the making of this adventure.

Once we arrived home, and I managed to work out how to log out of our scooters so we were no longer responsible for any damage they might cause, we lay down on C's massive corner-couch with our heads touching discussing the finer points of love and life.  Until I passed out (he says.... I prefer "fell asleep"), he picked me up and carried me to bed, then continued to enjoy the night with Charlie.

At which point she started barking.

Why? 

Upon investigation it seemed the neighbourhood kids had discovered the Lime Scooters left on the front lawn, and were hooning around the neighbourhood on them.  I'm still waiting for the additional debit card charge.

The next morning we woke at something-batshit-crazy-am.  I grunted and rolled over, and WNM got up and made me a coffee (like he does most mornings - he knows all about personal safety and hazards in the relationship) which I completely ignored and fell back to sleep. It transpires that the chocolate biscuits and sausage rolls and icecream in the house were completely violated while I slept but I woke at the more respectable time of 9.30am none the wiser.

Until I remembered we had breakfast pre-booked for 11.30am and someone mentioned why they might not be that hungry at this particular moment.

Fortunately for my hungry belly, WNM while checking out C's food supply had also tidied up and packed all our gear so after a shower to catalogue all my new bruises, we were ready to pack the car and go.

Except that the car was still sitting outside the first pub in Mt Maunganui, and we had no way to go.

Whilst the Drunken-Scooter-Prix was fun, the idea of $50 to scooter 9.8km with full bags was not.

Uber to the rescue.

This was the first time a stranger has been witness to our intimate conversations as a couple, so the dude got a five star rating along with a recommended list of local mental health counsellors.  And a copy of the Urban Dictionary.

We were an hour early for our breakfast booking but we decided to wander down anyway and ask if we could move to an earlier timeslot.  They were outside setting up chairs as we arrived so we approached them to ask if...

"Sorry, we don't open until 11.00am."

"Righto.  I guess we'll see you then?

We wandered the streets of the Mount, dodging all the tourists from the first P&O Cruise Ship to hit town since the Big C.  I'm not sure we gave them an entirely accurate impression of the average Kiwi, but at least they'll have lasting memories of us being an affectionate bunch.

When we arrived back at 11.00am on the dot, we barely needed to look at the menu as we'd already decided well in advance what we were having.  Fish Tacos for him, Southern Fried Chicken burger for me.

I mean, breakfast IS the most important meal of the day right?  Why piss around with bananas and some oaty shit?  Plus we had a long journey ahead of us and didn't know when we'd next get to stop for sustenance.

The Cafe (Social Club) had a wonderful quirky - retro? - vibe, and the mismatched eclectic furniture appealed to both of us. So did the lack of other diners when we moved to sit together on the bench seat and lament our missed Private Pool date.

We'd booked our breaky through "Book Me" and had vouchers for 50% off our bill, and when Rich went to pay, I headed outside to watch all the tourists wander past.  On the way out I saw a table of three dudes and without wanting to racially profile, I guessed they were from the cruise ship. One of them was taking a photo of the other two, so I offered to take a photo of all three of them.

They didn't understand a word I was saying, so I mimed "camera", "smile" and "not a phone thief" and watched these three cool dudes turn into 13 year old girls when I told them to say 'cheese'.

After five minutes of tourist-watching, with no WNM in sight, I began to worry that the vouchers were a scam and he was inside washing dishes.

Five more minutes later, as I was about to call the Police, he came outside and said a sentence that contained the words "punch", "fight", "voucher didn't work" and "thought you were going to have to run for it".

Fortunately for my Mt-Everest-Ascent damaged hips, it was eventually sorted and I didn't need to Dine and Dash.

We wandered slowly back to the car complaining about how full we were, feeling pretty uncomfortable, and looking forward to sitting in a car for hours not having to move much.

"Oooh babe, look!  An Asian supermarket!  Lets just go have a wee look!"

$45 later we wandered slowly back to the car complaining about how full we were.

We needed fuel, so I searched my Caltex App and was absolutely mystified to discover that the closest Caltex was in Rotorua.

"That can't be right, what the actual fuck?"

Searched again, same result.

"That still can't be right, what the actual fuck?"

I looked on Google maps and there were heaps of Caltex between us and Rotorua.

Back to the app, I decided to check my settings.  Filtered to Caltex stations that offered Jesters Pies and Brushless Car Washes.

Let's not cast aspersions to my chosen lifestyle.

After lamenting the horrendous price of fuel, we fantasised about what we would have spent the $24million on had we won it.

"Oh babe, imagine!  I could get me a nice big ute, and you could get a brand new little Prius or something!"

"The FUCK?  A PRIUS???  Piss off!  If we win $24 million I'm getting an RX-7!"

At which point he nearly drove into a bollard.

"What did you say?"

"I'm getting an RX-7."

"An RX-7?"

"Yes babe.  An RX-7.  I freaking love them.  Why??"

"Are you sure you mean an RX-7?"

"Of course I mean an RX-7, why are you looking at me like that?"

"That has been my favourite car my entire life.  My FAVOURITE."

*starts looking at wedding ring catalogues*

The remainder of the trip home was less eventful due to full bellies and the fact that the seduction-instigator on the trip up there was now driving, so found it harder to attempt to molest me on the isolated main highways.

After confirming with each other several times that we were still full and definitely didn't need to stop for lunch, I remembered that there was an amazing bakery in Rotorua that does incredible Cronuts, so messaged the installer that had kindly previously surprised me with deliveries from said bakery.

"Hey Kev, what's the bakery in Rotorua that does those amazing cronuts?!"

"Hey just had a look and they're closed today.  But you guys should try 'Baked With Love' in Taupo!"

After confirming we could wait another hour for a top-up because we were still full, we popped it in Google Maps and set off JUST for a quick look.  Imagine our disappointment when we arrived to see this.

Figuring it would have been a frivolous waste of petrol to drive the extra 35 metres off our planned track and not get sustained, we bought three large items and ate two of them on the spot.

The next two hours were a bit of blur, mainly because I was in a food coma and the driver found some music that had better lyrics than any kind of sexy-talk I could muster at that point.

As an aside, Nicki Minaj needs counselling.  And I apparently need to be a bit more adventurous.

We had to stop in Hunterville again to pick up a second car, because one of us had to start at 5am the next morning and the other one of us was definitely not getting up to drive them there.

After l leading the way for most of the journey, I was overtaken on a passing lane whereby the driver of said overtaking car leant out the window and pretended to be rowing the car.   In hindsight, as tired as I was, and now in control of heavy machinery (according to my medicine bottle) it was not his wisest move to make me laugh uncontrollably, but I do reckon the farmer will be able to rebuild his fence for quite cheap and a couple of cows escaping is not really that big a deal when our country has another four million or so of them.

We finally arrived home to The Boz greeting us like he hadn't been fed for about four weeks, so I fed him like he hadn't been fed for about four weeks;  found interesting things that suddenly needed checking like my houseplants and the occupancy level of my wine rack while WNM emptied everything out of the car, then suddenly realised how tired I was.

"Babe, should we jump straight into bed?"

"Yeah baby, you feel like that game of Sequence?!!"

"No baby.  But let me introduce you to this cool game I've heard of called 'Solitaire'."