Rā 322 Rāpare 17 o Whiringa-ā-rangi

On the road to Whakatane there is a tiny place called Matata. Like many small towns that have grown up along the coast line it seems quite linear. The ocean, the railway line, the road, houses. I promised myself a walk on the beach once I got to Whakatane but by the time I had time, the rain had arrived.