the drive

Before long, we were merging onto State Highway 1 south toward Hamilton. Vic guided the van though the downtown Auckland congestion, and crossed over the Waitemata Harbor via the eight-lane harbor bridge. The Auckland Sky Tower, standing four meters higher than Paris’ Eiffel Tower and therefore making it the most iconic structure New Zealand has to offer, was visible on the horizon as we made our way out of the city. Once out of city limits, we soon veered off onto State Highway 27, the smaller roadway that would take us all the way into the farming town of Matamata in New Zealand’s Waikato region.

The further south we drove, the more apparent it was that we were getting into the heart of New Zealand. The four-lane highway gave way to a meandering two-lane road that wove through the rolling green hills we had glimpsed from the plane that morning. Compared to some of the driving I’ve done on twisting coastal roads and narrow, unpaved mountain passes in New Zealand, the drive to Matamata was downright leisurely. Had it not been for the company and conversation, there’s probably a good chance that I would have dozed off.

Our journey through the Waikato region was peppered with a few bursts of rain, followed by some stunning rainbows. One of them spanned in full prismatic glory across the road in front of our windshield, a splash of color against a blue-grey sky. Una and Denise, seemingly permanently attached to their cameras, didn’t let their shutters take a break. And, as if driving into a rainbow weren’t picturesque enough, the scene was further enhanced by the pastoral beauty of the region.

The first of the season’s sheared sheep ambled along fence lines as we drove, scattering in all directions when the van trundled by. Others could be spotted clinging to the steep hillsides, which were slightly terraced from years of livestock use. Even though New Zealand was clinging to the tail-end of winter, the close-cropped grass in all the fields still managed to be an unusually brilliant shade of green. It was as if someone was holding a piece of green cellophane in front of the sunlight that was bathing the pastures. Perhaps that’s just what happens when there’s less ozone for it to filter through.

“They sure weren’t kidding about the sheep here.” Una had her eyes fixed on a relatively large flock all sporting red, spray-painted blotches on their backs. They were huddled together in a conspicuous group, their muddied wool coats proof of the wet weather the region was experiencing.

“Those ones are pregnant,” Vic said, following Una’s gaze to the tagged flock. “We’re right on the brink of lambing season now.”

“Aww, I wanna see baby sheep!” Una strained her neck, as if looking harder would reveal a lamb.

“Another week or so, and you will,” Vic told her.