After our first surf experiences in Raglan and Oakura, we crossed the north island through the Forgotten World Highway all way up to Whangamata. Forgotten because there are no gas stations for 150 km, and only a few houses but cows and sheeps. Whangamata is somewhere on the coromandel peninsula, a fact that brought us many kilometers of small, tiny roads and great nature.

Dead tired after two days travelling (via Taupo) I wanted to fell to bed. But she insisted. The beach, the surf, and then the shops, that were the correct things to do, and I didn’t regret. The beach was a long shaped curve, pretty empty and clean. You could cross the area in 20 minutes, as we did, to look for waves. Hmm, a bitter sweet feeling in this paradise – such a flat swell! We hustled back into town, checked the handful surf rentals (just for the case!) and met Garry at the hostel.

Garry, a television technician at Sky TV, travelled on his own through New Zealand – one of his rare vacations, as he said. Grew up in Australia, he should know to surf, and that’s what we proposed to do the next day, anticipating the high tide.

She woke up early, nervous and praying for waves. Ten minutes before the surf rental opened we knocked on their door, asked for boards, ran back to the hotel to get the necessary passport, and finally sprinted with the valuable tool to the beach. Are they there? Are they?

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