Travel to PUNAKAIKI, New Zealand: Finding peace, plywood and Pancake Rocks

The excitement of an unexpected trip

The excitement of an unforeseen trip to New Zealand had my insides doing a happy little jig. You see, I last visited 24 years ago, and the Bay of Islands in the northern part of the North Island completely stole my heart with its then untouched beauty. But this time, a brand-new adventure was brewing — a road trip along the South Island, most of it hugging the wild West Coast.

In a flurry of record-time planning (fuelled by coffee and optimism), I nearly skipped over Punakaiki altogether. Thank goodness I came to my senses. Several mentioned the Pancake Rocks and Blowholes — a dramatic, otherworldly stretch of limestone formations that spurt seawater into the air during high tide — and I immediately made space in the itinerary. Nature’s version of popping champagne corks? Count me in.

Punakaiki Forest Retreat – a living, breathing dream

One of the many cabin views

We were only staying one night, so my daughter, ever the wise one, suggested something beachfront. I, ever the last-minute queen, hopped online, did a quick scroll through the reviews, clicked “book,” and dashed for the flight.

When we arrived, I genuinely could not believe our luck. This wasn’t just a place to rest our heads — it was a slice of paradise tucked away in the Nikau forest, mere steps from the dramatic Tasman Sea. Forest AND ocean? My soul squealed.

Dear Reader, this cabin has tiptoed into my heart and made itself quite at home. If you’re a subscriber to my newsletter (if not, then sign up in the footer of my website now), you’ll have read a little teaser of this story already — but oh, there’s so much more.

Big feelings in a small footprint

The two of us moved about like air, unselfishly wishing the rest of our family were here to share this cabin. Though technically a 6m x 6m x 6m cube, this little marvel is a masterclass in spatial magic. Its footprint may be small, but the soaring ceilings, clever voids, and strategically placed windows made it feel positively grand. Every view framed the forest as though we were living inside a painting — one with the occasional Tui bird flitting by for dramatic effect.

If great design offers escape — a kind of cocoon that shields you from the world and lifts the spirit — then Punakaiki Forest Retreat is the design equivalent of a warm hug and a cup of tea after a long day. All packed into 36 glorious square metres (388 s/f).

A generous soul in a tiny package

When I asked the owners for more information, they kindly shared articles about the home’s backstory. And would you believe — it’s classified as a tiny home. I did a double take. Not once while staying there did I think of it as tiny. Why? Because it felt so generous. Generous in spirit, generous in heart, generous in… well, vibes, for lack of a better word.

The architect, James Warren of Upoko Architects, described it as “an adventure in a small box” — and I couldn’t agree more. His intent? To impose as little as possible on the land. And he’s succeeded beautifully.

Nature, from the inside out

The materials used are deliciously natural — a tactile treat. The walls are clad in Gaboon( also know as Okoume) ply with Saligna timber (a hardwood species of Eucalyptus) capping, the floors and window reveals in Victorian Ash. The ground floor exterior is finished in cedar, while the upper storey has a sleek aluminium shell. It’s minimalist but warm. Earthy but clever. The kind of space that makes you breathe more deeply just being in it.

In my newsletter, I joked that this cabin nearly talked me out of my decorating job. But let’s be honest — it takes great restraint not to zhuzh everything up. Hilary and Andy, the owners, have brought in just a few locally sourced treasures — a soulful Raku piece by potter Mark James, and a large ceramic bowl by Studio Ceramics in the kitchen — just enough to honour the space without interrupting the conversation between the cabin and the forest.

A night sky - and interior - I’ll never forget

That night, lying in bed, the stars above were so vivid I thought I might actually float up and join them. The many windows offered perfect celestial views, and I drifted off to sleep with the gentle roar of the sea in the distance. I don’t use the word blissful lightly — but this was that. Truly.

Belonging, somehow

There’s something about the way this cabin sits on the land — quietly, respectfully — that makes it feel as though it’s meant to be there. And, all practicality and reality aside, it feels like I am meant to be there too.

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