KaiapoiI braked to a sudden halt on Saturday when I was driving past this field just out of Kaiapoi, near Christchurch. A caravan for sale! Not that I want to buy one I hasten to add. There was just something about the sight of this caravan sitting in the wide expanse of a green field that jolted every one of my nostalgia buttons.
Okains Bay, Banks Peninsular
I grew up with a mother who was obsessed by caravans. She loved them and dreamed of owning one. She/we never did own a caravan – we never even holidayed in one; and it was not until I was much older, an adult myself, that
I realised how lucky I was to have even known something of my mother’s dreams. Without wanting to digress too much, I think we too often fail to see our mothers (and fathers) as ‘real’ people with ordinary ambitions, ordinary desires and ordinary dreams – as fallible human beings with their own sets of yearnings that go way beyond our childhood perceptions of them as providers of food, warmth, love, security comfort and protection.
Kaikoura
Wanaka
So for me, caravans are thoroughly entwined with memories of my now late-mother. I cannot see one without thinking of her, without considering how she may have felt about never realising that particular dream. But I take heart in the fact that for many,
the caravan is as deeply entrenched in the New Zealand holiday psyche as the seaside bach is. It is an iconic marker of summer, beaches, holidays, long hot evenings and the annual laying down of memories with friends and family.
Le Bons Bay Garden
We have a soft spot for caravans that goes way beyond the technical specifications, or even the history of their development. In Europe they have been tracked back to the Romani gypsies and the first caravan clubs were established in the United Kingdom in the early 1900s. In the United States they’re more commonly known as travel trailers, or, in their modern guise, as recreational vehicles – hence RV’s; and interestingly, they never really took off anywhere other than in North America, Europe, Australia and New Zealand.
Okains Bay, Banks Peninsular
Here in New Zealand, they appear to have been superceded – more’s the pity – by the slicker, more convenient camper van.
You don’t see nearly as many caravans on the roads these days; although they do still have their place as permanent fixtures in coastal settlements and around the shores of our lakes. I even found one in a garden last week – now used as a sleep-out for visitors; and I’ve photographed dozens of them pulled up and marooned behind farm sheds and in back yards. But
there are the diehard fans, who will never give up on their caravans – they haul them for hundreds of miles to their favourite holiday spot and happily spend weeks squeezed within the tight confines with simple comforts. And I recently read of a group of
30-somethings who had bought old caravans and restored them for their own use. Maybe they grew up with a caravan-owning mother and know that there is much to be said for
the simple, ‘nomadic’ holiday that ends up on a near-perfect strip of New Zealand’s coastline.
I wonder how many people have ground their cars to a halt outside this crazy little house and sheds at Otakou on Otago Peninsula, near Dunedin? I know I did - and with a lingering sense of disbelief, I raised my camera to try and capture some of the madness of it all. If nothing else, you'd have to say it's a labour of love - collecting all that drift wood off the beach and then assembling it into this rather wonderful example of Kiwi visual insanity.
The last two days in the South Island have seen major flooding, sleet, hail, rain, snow, yet just a few days ago, this is what I was experiencing in the far southeast of the South Island in that blissfully remote and rugged region called The Catlins. The weather was perfect - all the better to show off the many beautiful beaches that most of New Zealand seems to be unaware of. The beach/estuary above is at Papatowai, just down from the tiny community that boasts one of only two stores in the whole of the Catlins - a stretch of land close to 180km long. Understandably, the population swells every summer as holidaymakers descend upon this beautiful spot.
And then there is Tautuku Bay (above). I stopped (like hundreds of people a year), at Florence Hill Lookout to look dpown on this stunning crescent of golden sand. There's no road into the beach - just a walking track through bush - and the owners of the cluster of little cribs on the far green headland (not visible in this shot), access their dwellings with tractors and 4WDs across the Tautoko River at low tide. Back in the old days, there was a whaling station and quite a community on the headland.
Curio Bay in the south of the Catlins is a different kettle of fish - not so much a spectacular beach as a rugged, swirling kelp forest that surges over the rocky tidal platforms with every wave. This is where you'll find a fossilised forest, clearly visible in the rock platform at low tide. Thought to be 160 million years old, it's one of the iconic attractions of the Catlins.
I loved this sign on the headland that separates Curio Bay from the calm sweep of Porpoise Bay (below). Such an understatement, given that the land drops away into the unwelcoming ocean below.
And Porpoise Bay may have been my favourite. This is the view I woke up to from my motel room - just a few metres from the sand, in the company of sea lions. The bay is 'home' to a large pod of rare Hector's dolphins in summer, known to come very close to swimmers. Perhaps the best thing of all about the Catlins beaches is the absence of people. Even in summer when the so-called 'crowds' come in, you can still have entire bays and long beaches entirely to yourself. This was my first trip down the Catlins for ten years and so much has changed in that time. For a start, most of the roads were gravel last time I drove down; now the entire main road is sealed, and even many of the off-shoots are sealed. I guess that's a good thing from a motorist's point of view, but me? I prefer the gravel and the sense of discovery that comes with venturing down remote, narrow, twisting, steep roads to pretty bays that feel as though they have been forgotten by all but the abundant wildlife.
Kaiapoi
Okains Bay, Banks Peninsular
I grew up with a mother who was obsessed by caravans. She loved them and dreamed of owning one. She/we never did own a caravan – we never even holidayed in one; and it was not until I was much older, an adult myself, that I realised how lucky I was to have even known something of my mother’s dreams. Without wanting to digress too much, I think we too often fail to see our mothers (and fathers) as ‘real’ people with ordinary ambitions, ordinary desires and ordinary dreams – as fallible human beings with their own sets of yearnings that go way beyond our childhood perceptions of them as providers of food, warmth, love, security comfort and protection.
Kaikoura
Wanaka
So for me, caravans are thoroughly entwined with memories of my now late-mother. I cannot see one without thinking of her, without considering how she may have felt about never realising that particular dream. But I take heart in the fact that for many, the caravan is as deeply entrenched in the New Zealand holiday psyche as the seaside bach is. It is an iconic marker of summer, beaches, holidays, long hot evenings and the annual laying down of memories with friends and family.
Le Bons Bay Garden 
Okains Bay, Banks Peninsular
Here in New Zealand, they appear to have been superceded – more’s the pity – by the slicker, more convenient camper van. You don’t see nearly as many caravans on the roads these days; although they do still have their place as permanent fixtures in coastal settlements and around the shores of our lakes. I even found one in a garden last week – now used as a sleep-out for visitors; and I’ve photographed dozens of them pulled up and marooned behind farm sheds and in back yards. But there are the diehard fans, who will never give up on their caravans – they haul them for hundreds of miles to their favourite holiday spot and happily spend weeks squeezed within the tight confines with simple comforts. And I recently read of a group of 30-somethings who had bought old caravans and restored them for their own use. Maybe they grew up with a caravan-owning mother and know that there is much to be said for the simple, ‘nomadic’ holiday that ends up on a near-perfect strip of New Zealand’s coastline.
Cable Bay, Northland. April 2009 Ajr 
Waikuku Beach, Canterbury. Jan. 2009. Ajr 
New Brighton, Christchurch with Port Hills behind. August 2008. Ajr
Birdlings Flat July 2008. Ajr
One lone beach walker
On a cold winter's day
at Birdlings Flat
Brighton Beach, Christchurch, 2008 Ajr.
