Banks Peninsula: Flea Bay Cottage

Unlike the Onuku Farm hut, Flea Bay cottage is a genuine colonial farm house that has been adapted to accommodate a group of twelve.  Besides us, there were two couples from Thames (Jackie and Paul, and Cara and John), friends from Whangarei (Lois and Rosie),  American sisters now living in New Zealand (Michelle from Wellington and Alicia from Auckland), and their friend Margaret, who divides her time between Seattle and Gore (South Island).  We were fortunate to be with such an interesting group!

Flea Bay cottage.

Some of the delights of Flea Bay were unavailable.  The promised yellow-eyed penguins only come ashore to breed in the spring.  It was too stormy go sea kayaking--if we had wanted to do that.  But we didn't miss these diversions: the rain had stopped, the sun was shining, the beach was walkable. And now that we were at Flea Bay, our next day's excursion would take us along an upland track overlooking the ocean.  Great scenery beckoned.

Bruce on the beach.  There are no fleas -- they live on the penguins who were at sea.

Compared to our first night's accommodation, we all found the cottage with its cosy kitchen and lounge (aka living room), very comfortable and homey. There was even the original wood-burning fireplace and a piano that probably hadn't been tuned since 1940. 

Rosie's choice of the  Love Theme from Doctor Zhivago  was perfect for this twangy piano!

Paul looked through the hole, but he rejected the bread.

Other creatures were also at home at Flea Bay.  Alicia made this discovery at breakfast when she opened her carefully wrapped bagel-with-cream cheese to find that something/someone else had been sampling it.  Like the real Kiwi she has become, Alicia gamely ate the bagel after cutting off the ragged bit.  The Flea Bay mouse and its friends also helped themselves to the heel (Kiwis say "crust") of our loaf of bread, but we didn't realize this until our final morning when I was preparing our lunch sandwiches.  One crust remained in the bag so I offered it to anyone who wanted to make toast, pulled out the bread, and stared at it.  There were no takers.

We did eat the sandwiches.

We were moused!