They just turn their attention to the resplendent fabrics and chandeliers, the shiny black grand piano, the huge, dramatic painting of the lost terraces. These surroundings suggest that, for the night, they are royalty – sipping wine, shooting snooker, eating well.

It was a clear, blue-sky evening when we drove up to the Bayview Chateau Tongariro, as it is properly called (because it is owned by Bayview International Hotels & Resorts, not because it is anywhere near a bay). Snatched glimpses of the towering Ngauruhoe, Tongariro and Ruapehu mountains heralded our arrival – but there was still a sense of revelation as we swung up the National Park road. Glowing gold in the twilight, the hotel almost hovered on the flank of a sharply-lit, slightly surreal Ruapehu.

Tussock shifted quietly in a low wind.

Having wended through Waikato’s rollicking land, past haymakers and river swimmers, through shaded narrow stretches of King Country, it was good to arrive in the wide, wide open. It stretched our eyes.

Not only could we see for miles, we could be seen. Dominating Ruapehu watched us go, hanging in our rear vision mirror as we coasted off the flat, tussocky country toward the Parapara range. Hills unfolded, layer on layer, reaching back mysteriously into the hazy distance.

A crazy, racy road with a zillion corners links the central plateau to Whanganui. It’s a fun road to drive, especially in the borrowed late-model Mercedes. We were slowed regularly by road works, but couldn’t mind that. Machinery and men working to improve surfaces, widen tight bits and iron out the steeper corners has to be a good thing.

We met the Whanganui river, passed through Upokongaro, and found ourselves in an entirely different landscape – a pretty, bucolic one with grazing cattle, sprawling gardens and pony clubs. Hydrangeas grew in clumps of purply-blue; wild roses sent shocks of pink and crimson along grass verges.

Parked in Whanganui’s main street, we walked to find coffee. Big, leafy trees, footpaths sheltered by verandas and grand, elegant architecture somehow create an ambience conducive to slowing down. We wandered. We sat watching other wanderers. It was utterly pleasant.

Down at the riverside, we found the Waimarie tugging at the leash, anxious to take the daily cruise up river. A museum dedicated to life on the river revealed stories of endurance and unassuming heroics. What incredible efforts they went to – hauling houseboats, machinery, building supplies, even pianos, for miles against the current. Some of the challenges were poignantly recorded on a hand-drawn map dating from the 1950s, detailing tips on navigating the tricky river. Inscriptions include instructions for dealing with particular rapids, good places to camp, places to avoid: ‘Don’t stop here – hostile farmer’.

Above the town, Sarjeant Gallery houses the public art collection and hosts top contemporary artists. It’s a lovely space, with a central gallery filled with inverted painted umbrellas the day we visited – and small quiet rooms presenting various thought-provoking projects. Time in such a gallery is a gift for the taking – and ideal as a break from travelling.

We headed up to Hawera, then west to Opunake through dairy country, catching glimpses of the Tasman across low, undulating farmland with macrocarpa growing at extreme angles. Beautiful farm houses built close to the road, all with their backs to the distant sea, intrigued me. How could you live so close to the coast and not be on it? I was heartened to learn many of those farms have baches ‘down the back’.

Mt Taranaki watched our progress. Strange clouds crowded overhead in mirror image shape of the cone – bruised and dense, filled with threatening light.

In Opunake we found where we were booked to stay – Headlands – and discovered a note on the door instructing us to phone Heidi, who came with the keys, showed us around and told us about the best sunset walk and the best fish and chips. We took her advice – driving back to Manaia for very good food – then walked in the last of the light along Opunake beach and up to the exposed headland. The path followed the coast high above the smashing surf.

Everywhere in Taranaki we passed derelict dairy factories, agricultural centres, general stores. As if to reiterate the obvious – that the world has changed – milk tankers dominated the road. On the drive to New Plymouth, we stopped counting at 20.

New Plymouth might have been built with its back to the sea, but it’s made up for it recently, developing the coast line with walkways and impressive civic buildings and hotels. In the evening, the walkway was busy with commuters and joggers, cyclists, strollers, families, and visitors like us out walking.

Although we had just one night in an unfamiliar city, we grabbed some fun, culture, good food and retail joy, because the city is compact and we stayed central at The Waterfront Hotel. Ultra family-friendly Puke Ariki was right next door and, close enough, the Govett Brewster with its smile-inducing Len Lye art.

It was a shame to leave so soon, but stopping at Mokau for excellent whitebait fritter sandwiches gave us strength for the next leg, past busy farms and through Awakino Gorge textured with green blotches of nikau.

Just north of Piopio, we completed the loop and were back in familiar territory. Through King Country, through the Waikato – where hay was still being made and kids were still dive-bombing off bridges – we prepared for the big city motorway with one last stop, at Taupiri, where we bought cups of tea and sat in the shade of a big woolly willow by the river.