New Zealand

After a smooth sail across the Cook Strait to Picton, where we ingeniously entertained ourselves with an improvised game of 'condiment poker' using sachets of salt, pepper, sugar and tea for chips, we were whisked through the surrounding vineyard country to our hostel in Nelson.

It was, for once, a good choice on our part, with good kitchen facilities, a very spic-and-span feel and a great garden to bask in the sunshine. The only down side was that it happened to be owned and run by a couple (the lovely Royce and Linda) who have to be two of the most blatant money-grabbers we're ever likely to encounter; so much so that we felt it necessary to constantly tease them with requests for discounts and refunds. Coupled with the fact that Royce liked to address us as 'Team' every time we came through the door, he would probably rank up there with one of the most annoying individuals we've ever met.

Nelson is only a small town so myself and Steve took out some bikes to take in some of the scenery, and generally dossed around in a bar we found offering free pool tables in the afternoons. Our main aim whilst in Nelson however, was to take a highly recommended day trip kayaking in the Abel Tasman National Park. This beautiful stretch of idyllic coastline can be found on the north-western edge of the South Island, and is renowned for it's secluded bays and seal colonies. This area is named after a Dutch sailor who would have been the very first Westerner to discover New Zealand had he been brave enough to step ashore to face the gruesome looking Mauri's. He did end up claiming Tasmania for Holland, but completely missed Australia, which it has to be said, is a bit of a schoolboy error on his part.

Rising at 5am for our pick-up, we were just about to pull away when the trip was cancelled due to high winds and stormy seas. We were due to leave town the next day, but altered our plans to try once more.

Our persistence paid off when we were fortunate enough to wake to clear blue skies the following morning. After a water-taxi had taken us out to our starting point, we were given a quick briefing and soon found ourselves paddling away from the shore. Despite looking like a fairly straightforward exercise, it only takes an hour or so for your arms to really start aching.

The morning kept pretty calm for us, which made our journey all the easier, and after a fairly leisurely paddle up the coast we stopped for our lunch and more tales of New Zealand's history from Kyle, our exuberant guide. After lunch, the sea became particularly choppy, and it was a real battle to make it through the rising swells.

Finally we reached the Tonga Island Colony, and rested our tired limbs by letting the tide skirt us around the shores in search of the resident seals. We only managed to spot a couple, one of whom showed off his skills by giving us a little wave goodbye as we raised our makeshift 'sail' and let the wind whip us into shore. With the water-taxi ride back to the starting point, our long and tiresome day was over, but an experience we were glad we could partake in.

Back on the bus for our onward journey, we stopped at another more slightly populated seal colony, where we managed to get up close and personal for a few good snaps.

Some fella who was wearing a bright green t-shirt managed to really aggravate the little fella's, which gave us some great photo's. We arrived in Greymouth in the late afternoon, for the only thing that anyone ever stops here for: the famous Montieth's Brewery Tour.

After being whisked around the factory by a guide who told us all about the brewing process at an average rate of 800 words per minute, we were then led to the main event: the tasting session. In just under one hour we sampled at least half a pint of all eight of the different ales, returned for our free pouring photographic opportunity (another couple of beers obviously), and then managed to hold off until the last minibus run so we could squeeze a couple of extra jars in.

It's safe to say we got our money's worth, and a good job too considering what we were unwittingly preparing ourselves for.

Transported to what can only be described as a dodgy social club, we settled in for an all-you-can-eat barbeque. Consisting of sausages, sausages and er, sausages, it wasn't long before we were all back in the bar to wash our splendid dinner down with some more Montieth's Original and a few games of pool. This was soon crashed by Shane, the resident DJ and competitive type, who was quick to offer up a challenge. Not something I'd usually balk at, but the fact that this guy was a midget and could barely see over the table was a worry. There had to be a catch, and being the first to beat him meant that I was the player on the receiving end of the wee-man's big little strop. Not easily deterred however, he then invited us to a doubles game, during which Sarah got collared photographing our first midget-pool experience when the flash went off unexpectedly, prompting the vertically-challenged chap to hoist me onto his shoulder for a 'real' photo.

Not content with this tiny portion of the limelight, he then proceeded to wrestle Steve to the floor WWF style. Little-man syndrome at it's best...

Back on the bus the very next morning, we were unfortunately lumped with a bus driver who had to rate up there with one of the most irratable and miserable characters we're ever likely to come across. Most of the passengers were highly amused when a lady randomly misjudged the angle of her turn and managed to crash her trailer into the front of his bus, sparking a real blow-out on his part, and plenty of denials from us of having seen anything when he asked for witnesses. I think the next step is for most of us to write to Magic asking why this man has a job in hospitality. Luckily it was only a short drive to Franz Josef, a small ski-style resort in the midst of the Southern Alps.

The south-west of New Zealand's south island is Glacier country, and lies in the path of the moisture-laden winds that drive across the open miles of the southern ocean. The Pacific and Australian tectonic plates meet along the alpine fault, which cuts diagonally through the South Island and Franz Josef village. As the wind flow is pushed up over the mountains, a process called 'Organic Lift', the raising cloud is forced to drop huge volumes of rain and snow, giving rise to some of the most dynamic glaciers in the world. Formed by the remaining winter snow that the summer melt has been unable to remove from the cooler heights, the Franz Josef Glacier is the crowning glory. Each year, another layer of snow is added, where time and it's own weight soon transforms this residual snow into glacial ice, which then oozes it's way down valley to melt away in the warmer temperatures. Normally, glaciers move slowly, typically thirty or forty metres per year. The massive snowfalls at the head of the Franz Josef glacier however, means that the rate of ice turnover is amongst the highest in the world, upwards of 2.5 meters per day.

Spending time in Franz means you take any number of excursions onto the glacier, but we were yet again thwarted by bad weather when the heli-hike was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, we contented ourselves with a half-day guided hike, with the aptly named Cliff. Faced with an almost verticle wall of ice, and the reassuring notice board to keep clear in case of unexpected collapse, we donned our crampons and prepared for the ascent.

A quick safety briefing and we were off into the ice. It's strangley surreal to be walking amoungst the dripping walls of a potentially unstable block of ice, but an excellent tour none-the-less, with some rather hairy looking crevasses that disappear into the depths and a tight squeeze through an underground carvern.

Unfortunately, time permitted only about two hours on the glacier itself, and it wasn't long before we were being transported back into town.

Leaving early next morning, we travelled down to Lake McKenzie with it's stunning views of Mount Cook, before being driven on to the picturesque town of Wanaka.

Nestled alongside a giant lake, this was our favourite town in New Zealand, small, quaint and beautiful; a welcome break from the constant day-to-day travel on the bus. We stayed in a traditional ski-lodge, overlooking the blue lake waters, and spent a nice evening having drinks on the patio with some fellow travellers we had previosly met in Nelson, where Steve yet again had his digger out in the hunt for his future wife, a project we'd been secretly enlisted in since our chance meeting in Taupo.

The next morning we took ourselves off to the popular Puzzleworld attraction. As the name would suggest, this slightly geeky theme-park made for quite an entertaining morning, browsing the numerous strange rooms.

The faces that follow, the perspective room, a technique coincidentally used in Lord of the Rings, and the nauseous 'angled room' where nothing is as it seems all played a part, until we finally made it outside to the giant maze, which was predictably not as enthralling as many would quite hope.

Sadly, time was against us, and so after two days in the idyllic town we moved on to the party and adventure capital of Queenstown. Passing by the world's first bunjee jump which we bottled completely, we arrived in the early evening and went straight for the much preferable passtime of heavy drinking.

A good night was had by all, with all of us eventually ending up in a nightclub where cocktails are drunk in record time by the shot-glass, poured cordially from traditional teapots. Numerous bars, a couple of nightclubs, and a late night Fergburger (probably the best burger in the world!) made for a standard evening on the lash in this part of the world.

For the rest of our time here we amused ourselves with luge rides at the top of the gondola, some truly over-rated crazy golf and a trip to the much lauded Milford Sound.

A five hour drive through the cool temperate rainforest of the Fjiordland National Park in the south-west area of the country, and a three-quarter mile long tunnel brought us to the stunning ferry port at Milford. This was followed by a further two hour cruise through the valley, carved out by advancing and retreating ice glaciers over thousands of years. Spying some playful dolphins swimming under the front of the liner and some typically lazy seals basking in the afternoon sun was a nice bonus on what had been a long days travel.

Back in Queenstown, there was time for one more night on the town before grabbing our hire car and heading to the southern-most town on Invercargill. The bus didn't include this part of the trip, so we thought that our own car might break up the monotony of the long coach trips. Invercargill itself is a strange, scottish-style seaside town, with unfortunately very little to offer the curious tourist, it's claim to fame being that Burt Munrow, one of it's inhabitants, once took his bike across to America and broke the land-speed record.

One night here was more than enough, and so we took the rest of our time with the hire car to traverse our way up the Catlin's Coast area, famed for it's natural wildlife. Stopping for numerous points along the way such as the Petrified Forest (a fossilised area of centuries old trees by the sea), photo opportunities at Slope Point (the most southernly point of mainland New Zealand) and Nugget Point (a highly populated Seal Colony and picturesque headland) we finally arrived in Dunedin after a hard days stop-start driving.

Navigating successfully to our hostel, we were roomed handily with a girl who claimed to have insomnia (despite snoring like a trooper), and needed to have the hostel's cat in her bed for 'good karma'. Just another example of one of the many characters we tend to meet on our journey.

Dunedin is the main centre of Otago, a region recognised for its spectacular scenery, with dramatic bush-covered hills and valleys at the head of a long natural harbour. Scottish migrants established a town here in the 1850's, giving it the name of Edinburgh until gold was discovered some 120 kilometres inland about a decade or so later and the small settlement was renamed Dunedin when it became the centre of Otago's wealth, inspiring the development of soaring cathedral spires, fine banks, a flemish-style railway station, university buildinjgs and a nineteenth-century castle, all of which are still architectural treasures.

After a well deserved lie-in, the three of us donned our supplied head-gear and took part in the all-important Cadbury World tour. Considering that we'd managed to eat our way through a fair selection of the multiple-flavoured chocolate bars over the last month, it seemed only right that we go along and see how it's all produced.

Like all good tourist orientated tours, it was a speedy trip, whisking us through all of the relevant sections of the factory, plying us with the occassional freebie and offering up the odd fact, none of which we could actually remember by the end of it. We did see a chocolate waterfall though which was pretty cool, if slightly sickly. There was time for a little sightseeing, and a spot of shop browsing before we had an easy night in preparation for rejoining the bus the next morning.

Collected bright and early, our first stop on our way out of Dunedin was the World's Steepest Road. Like dutiful tourists, we played the game and struggled our way up the incline, just to say that we'd done it.

It wasn't massively interesting, and we can't really imagine what the poor people who live there must think of the crowds that pile up an down their street every day. Moving house isn't an option I expect. Also en-route were a pleasant, but mildly pointless bunch of boulders, which of course, just had to be photographed.

The penultimate stop on our trip was Lake Tekapo, another small country village sitting beside a large body of water. With little to do here bar admire the scenery, the driver organised a barbeque which we all helped prepare, followed by a card game called 'Sh*thead' with some french girls who we became good pals with, and a challenging game which involved picking up a box with my teeth, without letting your hands and knees touch the floor. I succeeded in making myself look suitably silly whilst Sarah cleverly played spectator, quoting knee pains as her get-out.

Hangovers were in abundance the next morning for our short journey to Christchurch. After a short sharp stroll around the town in the afternoon, one last night on the lash with Steve, who we were finally going to be shot of after three weeks on the road, and our new French mates was all we really had time for. A cheesy nightclub full of teenagers wasn't really what we'd have opted for, but we went with the crowd and were not surprised to find that it wasn't really our bag and so politely retreated to the Irish pub next door for a truly appalling cover-style band.

New Zealand for us was done and dusted, and if we were to be honest, we would probably have to admit that we didn't really give it the attention it deserved. For any future venture, we would definitely take matters into our own hands and hire a car to get ourselves off of the tourist trail a little. Not to say that the Magic Bus was a bad choice. We'd made some good friends, and definitely saw the highlights of this spectacularly beautiful country, even if it was a bit of a whistlestop tour. Our mood and opinions however had dramatically imrproved once we'd become accustomed to the way things work, and although the weather had hampered our efforts on occassion, we were on the whole a little sad that we couldn't devote a little more time to the place.

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The 12-hour overnight flight from Santiago was smooth and fun-filled, although a little uncomfortable and generally sleepless. Arriving at 4am, we took the shuttle-bus from the airport, strangely accompanied by the two 'Mummies' from the Halloween party in Cusco. The hostel we had booked sat in darkness and we were slightly concerned that we'd be left to sit out the remainder of the night on the doorstep. Fortunately the owner woke to our knocking and invited us to use the lounge sofa's until the office opened at 8am. Happy for the undisturbed horizontal sleep we crashed out for what would hopefully be a good few hours.

This was not to be. We woke at 6:30am to find one of the hostel residents (a speccy lad with a gormless sort of look plastered all over his face) sitting in the armchair looking blandly at our dishevelled forms. I tried some polite conversation, suggesting that the people here rise very early and asking if he was off on a trip, at which I got a shrug and a grunt in return. Soon after, a guy who also declined to involve himself in any conversation arrived to use the internet terminal, and we knew that our sleeping time was well and truly up. As we sat contemplating whether to find ourselves another hostel, Campbell the owner arrived to inform us that our room wouldn't be ready for another few hours. He did however give us the grand tour - Internet: two quid an hour, Laundry: four quid to wash and dry, the Kitchen: tea and coffee isn't supplied, and we could hire a duvet should we require one for a reasonable three quid. Welcome to New Zealand; a country that certainly seems to know where its backpacker bread is buttered, and where nothing comes for free, but if it does, it's probably crap. We were back in the civilised world, and our pockets were about to bear the brunt...

Auckland is New Zealand's biggest city, so much so that more people live here than in the entire south island. The whole city is surrounded by water and is the largest polynesian city meaning that it has a unique blend of cultures living within it's boundaries, with many asian's and indonesian's settling here. Our hostel was situated in the trendy Ponsonby area of town with it's variety of bars and restaurants. Finally something we'd managed to get right.

With our first couple of days being downtrodden by some reverse culture shock and some cracking jet-lag, we lethargically wandered the streets around the city centre and the harbour under the ever-present watchful gaze of the looming Sky Tower, and into the less frantic districts on the outskirts of the city such as Parnell. During the evening's we ate out with a nice German couple, Kirsten and Serge, who were beacon's of light amongst the strange array of fairly unsociable characters at our hostel.

Our first New Zealand trip was to be to the north of the country and the pleasant town of Paihia; gateway to the picturesque 144-strong Bay of Islands. We are slightly ashamed to admit that we copped out a little on our mode of transport for the NZ tour, opting to a take a pass with the Magic bus company, which would essentially see us follow a set route of touristy towns and attractions, with a driver guide who would drop us off and collect us from our chosen accommodation as and when we felt like leaving. Ten weeks of self-organised travel, numerous recommendations from other travellers, and the prospect of driving ourselves through most of Australia was enough to tempt us into the ease of buying a pass that would cover both islands over the next month.

Our debut driver was a bit of nut named Colin, who regaled us with a mixture of ridiculous and interestingly comedic stories during our journey to the north, teasing any unwitting Aussies on the way (a national passtime it would seem). During our journey through the northern sub-tropical rain-forest, with it's giant Kauri tree residing in it's midst, and our onward path to the beautiful coastlines that could be seen as we entered the northern shores, Colin would make the odd swerve in an effort to squash any possums or 'tree destroyers' that happen to be crossing the road, causing disgust amongst a few of the ladies on board, and laughter from a few of the lads, but he was making no apologies.

That evening, we were entertained by way of our first Oceanic barbeque with a few of our bus companions, making a good night of it with a select few: Steve, Tess and Kevin.

With a raging hangover, the thought of doing anything the next morning didn't massively appeal, so the speedboat tour we had booked to take us out to the islands and the 'Hole in the Rock' (as exciting as the name would suggest) was a massive result, especially considering that it didn't turn out to be as exhilerating as it may have been billed. We did however catch sight of a family of whales swimming in the bay which was an unexpected bonus, and the saving grace of a rather cold and expensive experience.

Back in Auckland for just one night, where we somehow managed to choose the noisiest, dirtiest hostel of our trip so far, we were then driven south by Mungu, a nice enough Maori chap with some kebab-like body odour issues. He took us for a quick birds-eye view of Auckland from Mount Eden, and then in the direction of Wiatomo on the western side of the north island. Rarely do you visit a place where the view of the underground is more spectacular than what you can see above it. Despite

Waitomo's position in the lush green countryside, most people come here to visit the vast network of underground caves in the area and it's millions-upon-millions of Glow-worm inhabitants.

Here we chose to take the Cave-Rafting excursion, a great trip where the eight person group sit within inflatable tyres and float through the subterranean rivers, over small waterfalls and down a gushing slide in pitch darkness. Any fears we may have had about having to sqeeze through near-impossible cracks in the rocks were quickly alleviated when our thirty-stone guide arrived. Sitting in the darkness some five hundred metres below the surface on rubber rings is a fairly strange experience, and our guides were quite talented at letting off loud bombs at opportune quiet moments to scare the hell out of everybody.

Continuing on, we arrived in Rotorua that evening to be welcomed at our chosen accommodation by a mixture of fifteen cheery looking down-syndromer's - not a problem obviously, but testament to our on-going knack at choosing a hostel. One of the younger girls took quite a liking to me, which made a nice change to solely receiving Sarah's affections, while a couple of others had the habit of strolling the corridors in the middle of the night in their undies, much to the detriment of their hard-working carers and a few of the more miserable guests.

Rotorua is the thermal heartland on the volcanic central north island. Built upon a steaming underground cauldron caused by a break between two giant underground tectonic plates, the whole village is permanantly on the boil with wispy steam curling it's way into the sky from vents in the front lawns and curbside gratings. This is also the spiritual home of the Maori people, the original inhabitants of the lands before Captain Cook discovered and claimed it as part of the British empire in April of 1770. This then seemed like the perfect place to check out a tradition Maori show.

On entering the village, the host of the welcoming tribe issues a challenge of peace, in which the warrior will go through some intimidatory gestures and strange looking facial expressions. Despite this being generally quite amusing, visitors are asked to remain straight faced as a mark of respect. Next the 'Powhiri' is performed, a welcome dance and chant before we were invited into the inner court.

Once inside, the Maori's performed a number of traditional dances and songs, including their most famous number 'The Haka', a war dance which the national rugby team perform before a game to intimidate the opposing side. Finally, we were all led into the dining area where the food was served, straight from an authentic underground earth oven called a 'Hungi'. Beers of course accompanied the delicious food and after some other small performances the night was over. It was here that we also bumped into Steve, one of the lad's we met in Paihia, and he decided to tag along with us for the coach the next day.

Next on the route was a visit to the Thermal Wonderland, the central hub of geothermal activity in the area, where you can walk amongst some hot and cold colourful natural pools and view the somewhat staged eruption of the Lady Know Geyser, caused when one of the staff unimpressively throw's a bag of caustic soda into it.

Next was Taupo, a town beside a lake of the same name, whose surface area amazingly covers more than the whole of Singapore. It didn't seem like a country so tiny could hold such a body of water, but I'm told this irrelevant fact is true.

Here, we checked into what can only be described as sub-standard accommodation, and whisked ourselves off the natural spa for a quick dip in it's therapeutic waters. Not the first thermal pool we've visited, but probably the most naturally scenic. Now that I had my drinking partner in Steve, this was to be the start of a succession of nights where beer would almost definitely make an appearance... and so we went out with a couple of other girls to an Irish bar in the town centre and watched some rugby. All jolly nice.

We were off again the next day however, to our final north island town and New Zealand's capital, Wellington. Here we once again caught up with Tom and Lisa from our South American adventures, and the girl we met in Santiago called Claire who lived in the area.

After a fairly heavy first reunion night on the beer, Claire took us all out in the car the following day for a drive around the bays, but bad weather conditions meant that we soon returned to the safety of the numerous bars in the city. Not exactly a cultured experience, but a nice one all the same and all efforts to go and see the apparently fantastic exhibition covering New Zealand's short, yet colourful history were quickly thwarted by our yeasty liquid friend.

To be perfectly honest, we weren't massively impressed with our first twelve days in the land of the long white cloud; although it was possible that the heightened cost of everything compared to what we had been used to for three months was enough to dampen our views. It was time to wipe the slate clean so to speak, and many people had emphasised that the south island generally holds much more for the curious traveller, and so we left for our early morning ferry with renewed hope...

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