It all started with our friend Kai. ‘I’m going to a hot-air balloon festival,’ he declared. ‘And if you’d like, you can come too. It’s down in Hamilton.’ (Balloons over Waikato is a hot-air balloon festival held annually in Hamilton, NZ, stretching over five days and featuring such events as the ‘Cash Grab,’ and ‘Dawn Patrol.’ We were to be there the first morning, or ‘The Mass Ascension.’) We’ve never been to a balloon festival, and it seemed a solid source of whimsy, which, in recent weeks, had been in short supply. That simple moment would decide the fateful events soon to befall us.
It began with a long delay at the car rental. It appeared the car our friend had booked had already been sent out – the employees traded blame, barbs, and finally settled on sending us out with a different car. ‘That one’s booked for tomorrow!’ said the woman. ‘Who cares!’ said the man: ‘We’ll just have to figure it out.’ ‘That’s because you don’t work tomorrow,’ she returned. And so forth.
Finally we were on the road. The 90 minute drive turned into a two-and-a-half hour drive with traffic, but we made it to Hamilton in one piece and found that Kai had booked a room at a very curious hotel…
16 foot ceilings. Red carpet. A vintage elevator. Our rooms was one of the smallest, at just under 600 square feet. This was a place that exuded the lost and fading charm of a world before, like stepping into the ending of the Grand Budapest Hotel. It had been refitted with new paintings, but there were only two, hanging on almost every wall in every floor. Here is one of them:
It was a strange and curious place, one that felt like an in-between space on the dim horizon of reality. They also only gave one card per room. Extra cards could be purchased for $55. Tough love, I guess.
The Morning: Balloons over Waikato…?
Christa had a meeting at 3:30. I was able to sleep in until 5. Perhaps the delirium to come could be blamed on these facts. The balloons – The Mass Ascension – was set to begin at dawn. Kool-Aid would not be supplied. We hit up Urge Coffee for a pick-me-up and a very delicious scone before Kai drove us over to the airfield. Balloons were inflating, the sun was rising, and we were beginning to be excited.
Now is an important time to talk about balloon festivals. They are multiple days – Balloons over Waikato itself is 5 days – and there is a reason for that. If the wind is stronger than a light breeze, the balloons cannot fly. It’s just the cold, uncaring nature of the universe. Another important fact: we were only there for one morning. A final, and most devastating fact: it was a little windy.
“THE BALLOONS WILL NOT BE FLYING TODAY,” announced a woman’s voice. Looking at all the balloons around us, still inflating and loading people into their baskets, we did not believe this.
“THE BALLOONS WILL NOT BE FLYING TODAY,” rang out once more. As if commanded by some infernal force, the balloons began to deflate.
Crestfallen.
That is the word.
There would be no ‘Mass Ascension.’ I felt like the guy who was tardy to the Heavens’ Gate meeting.
Crestfallen.
At this point, we had to make new plans. It was only 7:30 AM and we had planned to be balloon-watching for hours. We had a whole day to figure out, and we only had 10 hours of sleep between the three of us.
The Morning (still): Hamilton Gardens
After a quick breakfast and a good walkabout, Kai suggested the Hamilton Gardens. This, actually, is an attraction I would highly recommend if you’re ever out for a little drive and find yourself in Hamilton, New Zealand.
There are a variety of gardens from all across the world, from Chinese and Japanese gardens, English and American gardens, and truly stunning gardens in the Indian Mughal and Italian Renaissance styles.
But that’s just the beginning: there’s also a garden for ancient Egypt, for the Tudors, for wild herbs, Chinoiserie, the tropics, sustainable backyard farming – and also surrealism. Unfortunately for us, the surrealism garden was closed. But things were surreal enough by that point. There’s also the Te Parapara garden, which demonstrates old Maori horticulture.
After all this, we checked the time: 12PM. We still had a long way to go.
The Afternoon: Decisions and Driving
The coffee was worn off now, and decisions were getting harder. We had a thirty minute U.N. summit in the car to figure out where to go next. Raglan – but it would be an hour out and then three hours back to Auckland, and it was more of a surfer’s spot. Matamata – but it would be an hour out and then three hours back to Auckland, and Hobbiton was sold out for the day. Bridal Veil Falls? An excellent choice. But it would be an hour out and then three hours back to Auckland. The coffee had worn off and our brains were drifting. Eventually we decided on Muriwai Beach, up past Auckland. Then it would be just a short drive back into town at the end of the day.
But this was not to be an easy drive. As we headed north, the rain began coming down first as a mist, then as an endless dreary grey haze, and finally forming violent sheets of water. The traffic grew. The speedometer dropped from 100km/h to 70km/h to finally 25km/h. Just outside Auckland, we had to decide if it was worth it. The 2 hours back had turned into 3, and we still had another hour before Muriwai. Kai asked what we wanted, but he was driving so we made him decide, so he asked us again what we wanted, but he was driving so we made him decide. This went on for some time. Eventually a consensus formed that we should still attempt the beach. But spirits were low. A frequent refrain was our disappointment with the balloons. It is probable we were, collectively, the most dejected about balloons since we were in primary school. Still, it was a tragedy. We were all exhausted now. The speed dropped to 14km/h and the rain continued.
The Afternoon (still): Muriwai Beach
As we reached the other side of Auckland, the sun emerged and traffic disappeared. I believe we all shared a similar feeling of convalescence. We headed out through the green countryside, with its rolling hills and jutting cliffs, and wound our way down twisting roads to the beach. It was 4 in the afternoon, the sun would not set for hours, and we had already been awake for 12 hours. But we were no longer tired.
There, on the edge of the Tasman Sea, the wind whipping our hair and the breakers crashing in relentlessly without cadence, the soft volcanic sand beneath our feet, we were no longer tired.
Anyway, after all that we had dinner at a brewery and went to the only Costco in New Zealand. But that’s a story for another time.
Coming up this week: Christa writes a diatribe….on diatribes. Then thoughts on travel prep.
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