The Bay of Islands is one of many picture postcards of New Zealand. With golden beaches, kind weather and proximity to Auckland it is easy to see how every summer this part of the country teems with life. The Northland region is a diverse one. The climate is always a few degrees higher than the rest of the country and its image lends itself to shellfish, the beach and a laidback lifestyle. However there is a dark side to the region. With no industry to speak of apart from tourism, and significant distance from the population hub, Auckland, the locals have little prospect of gainful employment.

Saturday I am on the road north in heavy but steadily moving traffic joining me in a quest for a sunny spot of paradise. The landscape is rolling countryside with bush intermittent and a more tropical hue than the deep greens of the rest of the country. Giant kauri once dominated the landscape but these were mostly felled by settlers in the 19th century. The remaining trees are now protected and the wood permitted to be sold is recycled. An industry has sprung up hawking clocks and grand tabletops to passers-by reflecting the scarcity of this wood. The hills roll and the road is sweeping corners with the occasional gorge or pass. When I reach the crest of any hill the view is of a landscape dominated by sea to east and west. Salt tinges the air. Even on the road it smells like a beach escape.

The further north I get, Auckland’s influence wanes and the shops become less manicured. The cafés advertise ‘coffee’ not ‘espresso’ and the service stations are a grimy reality rather than neon-lit beacons. Kaitaia itself is a small town known principally for being the northern-most town in the region and therefore the country. I expect a larger town than the single main street suggests but on arrival it is a rural service town interspersed with enterprises for passing tourists. Kaitaia’s main feature of note is Ninety Mile Beach (only 56 miles long) on the west coast of the extremity of New Zealand it stretches beyond sight framed only by the surf town of Ahipara to the south. Dirt bikers delight in the beach zipping up dunes and four-wheel drives cruise down the packed sands for fishing or more likely sightseeing tours. The influence of tourism is apparent but locals are here also. Children write their names in the sand and adults are on the rocks gathering shellfish and casting rods into the choppy sea.

Despite the population and transient tourists the shops are poorly maintained and the town has the still dead-end feel of many residents with no employment and no hope of things changing. Speaking to locals, ‘what do you do?’ is no conversation starter when the answer is ‘nothing’ or ‘f-all mate’. When the next question is ‘where do you come from?’ it is apparent that conversation is difficult. I take to saying ‘gidday’ and nothing else.

It’s New Years Eve and Kaitaia has the eerie feel of a ghost town. Although the population is 4000 the houses don’t have parties out the front and families don’t mingle in their front yard. There are just two bars in town but they don’t look promising. We take our chances at the beach eager for a bonfire. With no public transport we swallow our embarrassment and hitchhike the 14kms to the beachhead. Two teenage boys slow then pass us by, then change their minds and turn around. They are from Auckland, and will be camping on the beach. ‘So, what do you do in Auckland, then?’ I ask after ascertaining they are going in the direction we want to. ‘Nothing’. I really need to find another conversation in this town. We arrive at the beach campground and it is definitely a family affair. I am unable to see any young people at the beach at all.

We move away from the campsite further around the beach to where we see several camp fires. Surely one of these fires will have young people eager to see in the New Year in sociable (i.e. drunken) fashion. There are three fires. Two are families. The third is the largest and most promising. Pretty girls sprawl themselves over their boyfriends and we can see the beer bottles from a distance. There are 9 of them in total and they aren’t from Northland- they’re from Southland. On Ahipara beach the only young people to be found are on a road trip 2000 kilometres from home. They are a sociable bunch and are interested in my motorbike trip. They are a rare commodity being a group of friends who can travel without friction in a confined van. They give us a lift back into town in the boot. I hunker down on a box of Corona and five backfires and 10 minutes later we arrive back in town. It is only 1am. One bar is closing, the other blew up the speakers just before we arrived. ‘It’s okay bro, at least they’re rentals’.

I wake up late on New Years Day, cook a hearty breakfast and check on my body organs. Everything seems to be in one place so after much ado we head to Doubtless Bay. Here pleasure boats rule and sections sell for $400,000 without a dwelling for a view of the sea. A fresh fish store is overrun but we purchase our fish and wait patiently for them to cook it. This bay has little local flavour left. Of the 9 stores in this town there is one dairy, one bottle store, two pubs, one restaurant, one tourist office and two fish n chip shops. A real estate agent rounds off the occasion. Hardly built for ‘roughing-it’. However a laid-back vibe permeates this area still. We move around to the next bay for a swim on the golden sand of the area. The water is cold but I understand why city dwellers are prepared to pay for the conspicuous comfort of their holiday homes. A bay with clear water looking out toward fishing boat and golden sand beaches is comfort itself and a seemingly safe place for children.

When we return to Kaitaia all is quiet. The main street is closed except for the supermarket and Shell petrol station. A new year is begun but I doubt Kaitaia will be different next year.