TANGARAKAU GORGE, New Zealand — We've all seen those "Danger — Falling Rocks" signs when driving.
But here, on the nearly 100-mile-long Forgotten World Highway, that sign several miles back that said "Do Not Loiter or Park on Ridge" takes on new urgency.
New Zealand, at age 10 million, is a relative newborn, geologically speaking. So maybe that explains why the rock faces that hug the edge of the narrow road through this canyon seem to be shedding rocks like a youngster popping out baby teeth.
Not that I've seen any fall. But the number of rock chunks that litter the edge of the pavement, which midway through the drive turns into just gravel for a stretch, reminds me to keep my eyes on the road. Easier said than done, given the eye-popping soaring canyon walls and the impossibly green landscape.
This is day three of a four-day driving trip from Auckland, near the top of this two-island nation's North Island, to Wellington at the south tip. I still haven't gotten past being wowed by the greenness of the countryside. Ireland may be the Emerald Isle, but New Zealand should be the Emerald Isles.
This country also could be the poster child for road trips. Once you get past the matter of driving on the left, you'll find polite drivers, friendly people and good roads that invite (and in many cases demand) leisurely driving through some of the prettiest country you'll ever find.
Actually, the hardest thing about driving here is narrowing down the list of where you'll go. For a country roughly the size of Colorado, there's a head-spinning wealth of choices. On the North Island alone you'll find snow-capped mountains, national parks full of hiking trails and roaring white-water, thermal pools to soak in, wildlife found nowhere else on Earth, coastlines that will make your heart ache, enchanting Maori culture, wineries, city delights and friendly roads to get you there.
South of Cambridge on the three-hour drive from Auckland to Rotorua the landscape becomes rolling, and the hillsides are awash in that intense green, punctuated by bright yellow patches of wildflowers.
Geothermal activity and Maori culture draw visitors to the Rotorua area, where roughly 35 percent of the 70,000 residents are native people. A variety of places offer Maori performances and the traditional hangi meal, cooked in underground pits by geothermal heat.
But I find Whakarewarewa Thermal Village the most intriguing because the Maori actually live here.
As I wander the village, I see a native Maori woman enveloped in steam lower a bucket into the water at a thermal pool, then take it back to her house. Elsewhere in the village, mud pots bubble, making intriguing designs.
Across town, Rainbow Springs Kiwi Wildlife Park offers the opportunity to walk inside cages holding indigenous birds such as kea, an alpine parrot; kaka; tui (there's a beer named for it); and kereru. And, naturally, you might get a peek at a kiwi, the elusive bird that gives New Zealanders their nickname.
At Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Wonderland, south of Rotorua, the smell of sulfur is in the air and steam rises from pools of all colors. The Devil's Bath glows a shocking yellowish green this day, though changes in light can alter the color.
Still farther south, Highway 1 skirts the eastern edge of Lake Taupo, the country's largest lake. On this November day (late spring down here), strong winds whip the lake into sizable whitecaps, and it resembles an inlet of the sea more than a lake. Adding to that impression farther on are headlands reminiscent of the U.S. Pacific coast.
South of the lake, Highway 47 leads to the western side of Tongariro National Park, popular with skiers and hikers because of its mountains — Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu — whose volcanoes are still active. When I pull into the parking lot at my hotel, a wet snow is falling, obscuring Ruapehu.
The Forgotten World Highway, between Taumarunui and Stratford, beckons the next day. After all, who can resist driving a road with a name like that?
You could spend more than a day exploring its oddities, such as the village of Whangamomona, which declared itself a republic in 1989. But remember that facilities on the route are limited, including no gas stations.
At Stratford, if you're blessed with a clear day, you might catch a glimpse of Mount Taranaki, New Zealand's Mount Fuji look-alike.
Then it's on to the west coast and the beginning of the Surf Highway. Here, as it is throughout New Zealand, you're reminded that this country's history is rooted in two cultures: the British, who colonized it, and the Maoris, who got here first. From New Plymouth, the Surf Highway plays hide-and-seek with the coastline as it passes through villages with names such as Okato, Rahotu and Oaonui.
At Opunake I pick up a bacon and egg pie (New Zealanders — and I — love their meat pies) and eat it in a little park overlooking the sea while a local does tai chi nearby.
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