Writer Hilary Ngan Kee and photographer Sam Stuchbury have taken the roads less travelled to visit some of New Zealand’s best hideaways.
Beachlands, East Tamaki
Our journey out to Beachlands is unremarkable. On a Saturday our car is one in a long line of traffic crawling south out of town. Eventually, we turn off the motorway and meander our way through the suburbs of South Auckland. Here, houses creep and climb in every possible space as the city bursts at the seams.
At some point, I realise that we have entered a desert. Not a desert of sand and rock, but a desert of lines and lines of identical cookie-cutter houses. There they stand, row upon row of matching grey rooftops, unfinished cul-de-sacs and 'For Sale' signs.
As we round the corner at Pine Harbour Marina, we're still in Auckland but I feel like I'm a lifetime away from the city. There, right on the water's edge, I spot Mieke, next to her caravan, which is perched on the grass verge.
The wind is chilly and laden with salt as we get out of the car, but we are warmly greeted by Mieke and her scruffy little dog, Boston.
There is nothing even remotely cookie-cutter about Mieke. She just oozes creativity.
She has a welcoming smile and a sparkle in her eye that hints at the fact she sees the world in a unique way.
With an artist and a photographer for parents, it's not surprising that Mieke has her own visual design and styling business; something that she says happened naturally, as she's always been a very visual person. It seems overwhelmingly expected to me then that Mieke owns an immaculately restored, much-adored 1960s Clipper caravan.
Mieke grew up in the South Island in the 1960s. When she speaks about her childhood, I get a clear vision of idyllic, lazy, hazy summers spent camping on the coast.
She talks of reminiscing with friends about those golden days - the smell of Coppertone sunscreen, fish and chips eaten straight out of their newspaper wrapping, Jelly Tip ice creams melting on to warm hands, all set on a background of softly foaming waves. Mieke says she used to often stay up late talking to her mother about the beautiful simplicity of this bygone era. It was from one of these chats that the idea of Claris came to life.
Old caravans are quietly rusting away out the back of farms and in sheds all over New Zealand. They once promised us the freedom to migrate as we pleased, for the whole family to escape everyday life and go on an adventure. Somewhere along the way, though, the joy of the caravan has been forgotten. Maybe our lives have become too busy, or maybe air travel just became too easy. Whatever the reason, hundreds of caravans now sit forgotten. Mieke was determined that this was not to be the future for Claris.
A cross between my grandmother's house and a children's playhouse, Claris seems both out of this world and entirely homely.
Having rescued her from her intended undignified final resting place - she was to be buried in a ditch on a Taranaki farm - Mieke completely rebuilt Claris from the bones up.
The help of an ex-boat builder is evident in the clever use of space and attention to detail. Being inside Claris feels a little like being on a boat as it rocks gently in the wind. It feels surprisingly spacious, too, even with a fully fitted kitchen and wraparound bench seating.
From the mint green, lacquered cupboard doors to the green, red and yellow Bakelite teacups, Claris is about as far from stark modernity as you can get. Although she's not minimalist in style, she definitely is in spirit. With no mod cons other than a pair of speakers, it's surprisingly peaceful inside this little caravan. I can imagine spending hours here, reading, chatting, drinking tea and playing a game of cards on the small, red Formica table.
Music playing faintly from the speakers, we sit on the grass and watch the sun dip behind the caravan. Boston runs back and forth chasing seagulls as boats bob up and down on the tide. Life is simple, pure and uncomplicated - just like things used to be.
-Extract reproduced with permission from Hideaways. Written by Hilary Ngan Kee. Photographed by Sam Stuchbury.
