There we were, driving up the coast of New Zealand’s North Island, for some reason or other.
My traveling circus had stopped over in the bustling metropolis of New Plymouth, known to locals and tourists alike as the ‘Jewel of the Taranaki’, hoping to wait out the grey fog of yet another rainstorm. Of course we were still relatively new to New Zealand at the time, and we didn’t realize just how long of a wait that might be.
With time to kill in the middle of nowhere, my troupe did our best to manage our pace, ticking down the area’s limited list of attractions just as slowly as we could manage. Unfortunately, the region’s key draw— the picturesque summit of Mount Taranaki— was shrouded by low-lying clouds, so we were forced to venture even further off the beaten path.
And just in case some other traveler might ever find themselves in a similar situation, and happens to stumble across this website by Googling the question “Is there anything at all to do in New Plymouth?”, let me pay it forward with an endorsement for Puke Ariki, this fascinating little museum and public library. And if one manages to make it until dinnertime without dying of boredom, the Deluxe Diner gets a strong recommendation for being an odd little slice of America in Aotearoa. On the evening that we stopped in, this retro ‘50s diner on the far side of the earth was playing a VHS tape from my hometown’s antique car club, in one of those odd moments of interconnectedness that seemed to defy all boundaries of logic, time and space.
The next day, the rain was still falling when we set off, somewhat crestfallen at missing out on even a glimpse of Mount Taranaki, but still determined to see as much of the area as possible. And I guess that’s why my team made a snap decision to pull off into an unpaved parking lot after suddenly spotting a signpost for “The Three Sisters and Elephant Rock.” Braving the rain and the mist, we gamely set off down a muddy seaside path, emerging onto a shore that looked like something out of a Windows screen saver.
We had the beach to ourselves, and freely wandered in and out of the massive rock formations. After just a few minutes, nobody seemed to mind the fact that our raincoats had been turned into sopping, soggy messes. The steady rain seemed inconsequential compared to the massive towers which stood before us, and besides, the underbelly of Elephant Rock was a dry place to take shelter. At low tide, anyway.
On the short walk to the towering Three Sisters, we spotted a series of designs carved into the rock face. Finding any information about their origin seemed impossible— and even though logic dictated that the artwork was probably created by some ambitious teenage vandals— my group was happy to imagine that this was the work of some long-gone band of Maori warriors, who must’ve camped on the beach after a long day of hunting moa. And after an hour or so of exploring, we finally got back out on the road. It was a long and winding drive to our next scheduled destination, and even though our clothes were soaked through, our spirits were undampened after the unexpected adventure.
Just a few weeks later, we were crestfallen to hear that the trunk of Elephant Rock had collapsed into the ocean, the inevitable result of centuries of gradual erosion. But if you ever do find yourself on the far side of the Pacific, I imagine that the epic seaside views will still merit a visit… even if nature has transformed Elephant Rock into a completely new creation. Capybara Cove, perhaps?