1/2/11

I’m standing on a path bathed in heat and dust, looking at one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. I came to Whitianga, a small town on the Coromandel Peninsula, to see Cathedral Coves. Unfortunately, due to numerous other excursions today and a poorly timed shuttle back to the ferry, we only have one hour left. So we’ve been running down the path with our sandy socks and salt-caked hair, but when I see the cove in the distance I stop in my tracks.

The cove is tucked inside an ocean that for all practical purposes looks like the Mediterranean. The water is brilliant blue and there is a smattering of islands visible across the expanse. The water in the cove, however, is pure green. I’m hesitant to even post a picture because I cannot possibly capture this scene. There is no way a photo can do justice to the way the white cliff juts out from the coastline like a jagged tooth. There is no way a photo could convey the way the water sparkles in the sunlight, like golden diamonds on a bed of jade. 

I stand watching a while and snap a few pictures, but then am hurried onwards. My companion for the day, a thirty-something optician from Switzerland, is in front of me picking her way through caution tape. When we first arrived, we were told that Cathedral Cove was temporarily closed because the stairs had washed away due to heavy rain. But I’d have none of that. This was near the top of my list of things to see in New Zealand and the sole reason I have come to the Coromandel Peninsula. My Swiss friend Daniella seems game for it, so we cut around fences, cross through a field of sheep, and pass through more caution tape than is really necessary to keep people away. 

Too many sheep for my taste

I take a minute to absorb my surroundings. This island can’t decide what it is— desert or tropical paradise? Let’s throw in features and flora from both! I’m standing next to palm trees and ferns the size of my arm, yet I hear cicadas screaming in the distance and feel dry caked dirt under my feet.

I hear a squeal and look down. We’ve reached the final cliff where the stairs have washed out, and Daniella has begun the descent. She is now thigh deep in mud. This ought to be fun.

After a few minutes of careful climbing, we make it down to the beach. I immediately see a waterfall sparkling a way across the shore. The water lapping at the sand is the brightest midnight blue that ever graced an ocean. To my left is a white cliff with a giant cathedral shaped opening carved through by the water. I can see through the arched shadow to a sandy beach with pale blue water on the other side. 

We walk through the opening (ignoring the “DANGER: FALLING ROCKS!” sign) out onto another beach. Here, there is a giant pointed boulder that is worn away at the bottom by the water. The whole thing is bigger than my house.

We walk around for a bit, but Daniella is anxious to get back. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss the shuttle and have to hitch a ride back to the ferry. This doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but she seems slightly annoyed by my lingering. We head back, but I change my mind. I run back to the huge boulder, shedding my clothing as I go (don’t worry, I’m wearing a bikini). I’ve seen pictures of this boulder so many times before. I have to touch it, just to say that I did.

I wade out and realize the boulder is more worn away at the bottom than it looks from a distance. I’m out over my head, and I choke on brine as I leap up and slap the face of the rock with my hand. Success.