Are off-grid escapes in the countryside really that suitable for young families. Photo / Ryan Storrier on Unsplash
Are off-grid escapes in the countryside really that suitable for young families. Photo / Ryan Storrier on Unsplash
OPINION
An off-grid getaway in NZ’s picturesque countryside - it’s all fun and games until you meet the locals, writes Anna Sarjeant
For a split second, in between watching an irate bull paw the ground behind my husband, and my son wobble precariously in his arms, I am forced toconsider survival tactics.
I don’t like our chances against 900kg of agitated cow, so I edge towards the fence.
Fuelled by blind rage, the bull lifts two hooves off the ground. I thought he looked unhinged when we passed through the paddock hours earlier, but my rose-tinted glasses insisted he was a mild-mannered chap, like those you read about in a children’s book.
The ringleader rallies his comrades, ready to make mincemeat out of us.
My husband, usually the epitome of calm, looks alarmed and my son? Well, he’s laughing manically and shouting “Mooo!” at the top of his voice. Which isn’t helping.
Angry bull is one of a dozen equally miffed comrades. All seedy looking but he’s the most villainous, and clearly the ringleader. One nod and we’re mincemeat, for want of a better word. Their field (clearly His) sits in between our accommodation, a luxury off-grid cabin in the Matamata countryside, and our car.
Earlier that day we had walked through the same field without issue. There was a longer, safer route but we’d met a lovely couple at the top of the brow who mentioned the shortcut and reassured us the cows wouldn’t bother us. In hindsight, it was ominous that this statement was preceded with “they’ve eaten today”.
Always there, always watching.
It all seemed like such a charming idea while poring over the cabin’s website from the comfort of our city townhouse – a digital detox in the heart of rural Matamata, complete with an outdoor bathtub and a fire pit. I decided to live out my country bumpkin dreams and frolic in the meadows with buttercups in my hair.
To be fair, we did just that. I have photos of my son running through the meadows blowing dandelion ‘fairies’ and he’s naked because that’s what the countryside (and being two) compels you to do. Except, on the other side of the camera, there’s me (not naked), a decidedly frazzled “country bumpkin” preventing him from careering into electric fences, axes, firepits and cow pats. I’m envious of all the previous guests, no doubt child-free and wiser than me.
Happy as he is running through the grass, our kid knows only of grazed knees, no way is he equipped to deal with a hoof to the face.
Neither is his city mum or townie dad.
Or as my mother likes to refer to such people (oblivious I am one of them), yuppies.
Idyllic. Until you meet the locals.
The signs we were ill-equipped to deal with the realities of the countryside were vast. I wore white trainers for one.
We also got lost trying to find the cabin. Provided with a map but not of the Google variety, I lead us 10 minutes in the wrong direction. There was no Wi-Fi to rectify my error. In the countryside, you have to use your head and your nous, both of which the internet (no doubt) has depleted me of.
In the safety of the cabin, it’s not a total lost cause. My husband can chop wood and make a fire. I’ve packed essentials such as strong teabags and a bottle of Laphroaig. The set-up is gorgeous; the views are stunning and the isolation is refreshing. It’s the perfect place to get cosy and enjoy a bath under an impressive full moon.
Getting off-grid in the NZ countryside is not without its pitfalls.
But all this is only possible if we survive our current ordeal, which is revving up to head-butt my husband, stampede our toddler and watch my electrocution. So we do exactly what you’re not meant to do in such a situation.
We leg it.
By some miracle, the herd doesn’t run after us and once we’ve negotiated the fence, my hands shaking as I unclip the powerline, we make it to the car without becoming headline news.
In the commotion, we drop our son’s ball and only then does he realise the severity of it all. He laughs in the face of a bull in full buckaroo; his mum’s shrieks are practically side-splitting, but when the bull takes your ball? You wail.
A picture says a thousand words: what happens when a trio of townies holiday in the NZ countryside.
20 minutes down the road lies the small but spritely township of Matamata which throbs with lively bars and eateries. Hobbiton is on the doorstep for tomorrow’s activities. But tonight I insist that we skip dinner because I’m too scared to encounter the bull(ies) after sundown.
I feel like a torch will be as provocative as waving a red flag.
