The architecture of Tauranga is a curious mingling of new and old.
The influence of the Spanish Mission
is strong, and plaster fronts and sun-tinted pillars jostle half-timbered
Tudors and pseudo-English cottages, and all lie cheek by jowl with small
starting houses of no particular design, whose windows probably watched the
redcoat soldiers march through Tauranga.
Among the sand-dunes and the pines and
sea-grass, the holiday houses of the Mount are scattered, without symmetry or
design. Their green and red and orange roofs and swinging shutters give the
place a strangely picturesque and foreign appearance. Bright canoes are drawn
upon the white sand, and Pilot Bay holds a fleet of pleasure craft as neatly at
anchor as walnut shells in a tea-cup.
West, Joyce. "Tauranga,
the Riviera of the North."
The New Zealand Railways Magazine,
1
September 1937, 22
2 comments:
"as neatly at anchor as walnut shells in a tea-cup" is the maddest simile I have read this year.
Fun fact: I hung many of the curtains in that building when it opened.
Hanging curtains is a satisfying task, much more so than the student jobs I had.
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