Republic of Whangamomona

11.45 AM. It has become clear to me why this 185km road is called “The Forgotten World Highway”. Once connecting the central plateau with Taranaki and it’s capital New Plymouth, it has now become rather useless due to a better connecting and only serves roughly 200 people living between Stratford and Taumarunui. John, a local farmer was so kind to take me 10km up the road to a ghost town called: Douglas. I soon realise it was going to take some time to get to the next stage. Not so much because of the people, but more because of

the amount of them.

13:30PM. It is forgotten, for sure! Agreed there are percentage-wise probably more cars stopping than in most other places. Accumulated over the 3 hours I have been on the side of the road I must have seen maximum 15 cars. Sometimes you think you catch the sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance when you realise by the fearless speed that is actually a massive hornet or fly flying passed your head at ferocious speed. While I am writing this I am sitting on the middle of the road. The actual cars can be heard and recognised from miles away and it is quite ironic to sit here, knowing no harm will come to you. There is time though. I have got plenty of food and 8 hours for the upcoming 90km until the sun sets.

An hour and 15 minutes have passed and the completely smashed Keith stumbles out of his car to offer me a ride. I'd usually would refuse a ride like his. However I reckon it to be smarter to accept it. He is a local, so he knows the roads. He is also chugging “piss” down his throat at high speed, but I don’t know how many cars will

stop by on a weekend day like this. He just came from a fishing trip near Opunake with his friend John. “John is right behind me by the way! Maybe half an hour. Fuck, he drunk even more than I did! And he is driving his horse truck. He probably would have picked you up and asked you to drive!” Keith drops me off and I am happy he and not his friend gave me a ride. The town of Whangamomona is less deserted than the previous towns, however there is not much to it either. I see an abandoned post office, a general store that is closed, at least for today and the hotel. “Hotel Whangamomona. Home of the Republic”. “Home of the Republic?”, I ask myself. How does this coexist with her lovely grumpiness Queen Elizabeth. Then I

remember. Phil and Laina had been here a few weeks ago. Back in 1988 the New Zealand government rearranged the country’s districts and regions. Geographically Whangamomona would fit best within the district of a town called National Park on the other side of the Whanganui River. Logistically and practically it would make way more sense for Whanga to be part of Stratford or maybe even Taumarunui. The Whanga’s meet in the colonial Hotel Whangamomona, which now all of a sudden seems a lot less impressive than before as it turns out only 87 people live in the village. There they agree to barricade the road and declare themselves a republic to be they will be independent of any government or district. Until

today the republic however is only recognised by the Whangas themselves. I did manage to get my passport stamped. Although I am not sure it is an entry or exit stamp…..

It is getting later in the day now and have been in Whangamomona too long. $75 for a night at the hotel I am not willing to pay and for the first time I start to wonder where I would sleep that night. As the holidays are approaching I had thought of bringing a sleeping bag an dmat on this journey. The hostel I was working in was fully booked for ages already and in the sunny North I did not want to risk not having a place to sleep. The baggage has become a lot heavier than normal because of that, but it might just turn out to be useful tonight. I start making my way out of town and to look for a sheltered location, soft and close enough to the road to jump up and haul a car. After a small kilometre walking I do what is the convenience of being a man in the nature. While doing this I hear a car approach, the first in a half an hour at least. I run back to the road and just before the van turns around the corner I am able to be stick up my thumb. The vans pulls over and two South Africans, or Jaapies as they call them here open the window. The two parrot handlers/dealers/breeders from Auckland were in Stratford for business, had never been on this road before and were on their way to Tamarunui. All sorted. After a lovely chat for about one and a half hour I step out in an actually more forgettable town, Taumarunui, and see more cars in a matter of 20 seconds than I have seen in the 8 hours prior to that. The Forgotten World Highway will not be forgotten. At least not by me…