As expected by the time we had reached Auckland we were in home mode, and had packed for the last time before leaving for the UK.

 We visited the Skytower and watched the bungee jumping, the sky walking and looked at the views over the beautiful bay.

 We took the ferry to Waikeki Island, which despite its beauty and its close proximity to the city seemed a bit dishevelled.  There was a natural beauty to the place but the human intervention had done nothing to enhance it.

 We spent Sunday morning sailing on the Americas cup boat which was really good fun.  This was real sailing, and we loved it. The sun was out, the wind was up and it was so lovely to get to good speed with no engine noise.  There were not many volunteers to do the work, which was part of the deal, and so Martin and I both spent a good deal of time on the winches and I also steered for a while as well; eat your heart out sailors!!!!

We managed to get up to 10 knots, the boat was well onto one side, and leaning into the wind and it was very exhilarating.

 What a lovely way to spend our last full day in New Zealand. (MPC – this excludes tomorrow where I am promised a full day of shopping – oh joy of joys – think I’ll disappear into a bar when she’s not looking!!)

 So to summarise, we arrived in New Zealand on 17^th January, and it seems ages ago.  We have had the most memorable and exciting time for almost three months.  We have well and truly seen New Zealand and according to many New Zealanders we have seen much more than most of them. Isn’t that always the way?  We have been anal enough to mark on our map exactly the route taken, the things we have seen, the mileage we have covered  and the kind of scenery we have been through.

 We have driven 8365 kilometres, which is not that great a number but when you consider the distance between Cape Reinga and Wellington, the furthest points South and North in the North Island  is 1096 kilometres, and Invercargill to Nelson, the furthest South and North points in the South Island is 1026 kilometres, we have covered a fairly large area in both islands.

 Someone asked the other night at dinner, what was the one most memorable impression of New Zealand?  That is such a hard one to answer.

 The scenery in the South Island is magnificent. We have never seen so many beautiful lakes and waterfalls. The mountains have been so majestic, the skies so big and blue.  The light has been perfect for so many subjects to paint that I know I will have real difficulty trying to recreate some of my chosen views to paint.  The people have been caring, considerate and helpful.  The experiences have been fantastic and hopefully we will remember them all, especially with the help of our blog, that may be lengthy, but give a good flavour of each of the places we have been to.  I have repeated the word SO, because each memory deserves an emphasis.

 The North Island has also a splendour that is softer and gentler than its neighbour. The experiences have been just as exciting, and I am sure that the further and longer we have travelled, we have become nonchalant about photographing every view, memory, mountain, lake, river, (MPC – and bloody duck…) every turning point in the car.  We have snapped over 5000 pictures which will need to be culled into a comfortable number to view.

 We have met some fun, lovely people, and, as I have mentioned before, a large number of them are doing exactly what we are doing before they become too old or infirm to enjoy their dreams.  How fortunate are we that we are both in good health, and able to share such experiences.

 To end this blog I have to say, a MASSIVE thank you to my travelling partner.  Your persistence with research, your painstaking planning skills, foresight, and willingness to undertake such a mammoth task of organising such an amazing time. Every road, every detour, every stop, has resulted in  activities, trips, meals, views, places to stay, options for things to see and do. 

 Please don’t delete this last paragraph as I do want to record just how much I appreciate everything you have done.  When we are REALLY old and passed it, I want us to re-read this and remember what you did but also how I appreciated it.  Thank you my darling, I have loved every minute of it. 

 Until the next time…………..

 We had to drive around the outskirts of Auckland to get to the Bay, and from there it was a quick 2 hours on a very good road, some of it even motorway to the Bay of Islands.  We were staying in Paihia on the East Coast of the North Island, way up there, on the same latitude as Brisbane in Australia.  Of course Martin had chosen to do this last as the Autumn was definitely on its way and we wanted the good weather as long as possible.

 Our last “self catering” accommodation was called Cliff Edge Landing.  Appropriately named as we parked the car on a deck and lugged our bags for the penultimate time in New Zealand, down three flights of outside steps to a lovely apartment with views out of picture windows on three sides. 

 In fact as I type this now, I am looking out on what is considered a rainy day, onto a yacht race that is in full flow.  The western side window looks out to the entrance to the Bay, the Eastern side looks up the harbour and over to Russell, which is still on the mainland but is a 26 km road trip around windy roads. The ferry runs just in front of our apartment.  

 The day we arrived it was warm but a bit overcast and the weather forecast was for a worsening of the weather over the next few days.  We just sat outside on the deck enjoying the view for a couple of hours and then planned our next couple of days with action “just in case” that rain appeared and put paid to our plans.

 North West of Paihia is 90 mile beach which runs right up to the furthest point north to Cape Reinga and the last lighthouse.  The trip up there is a 12 hour trip at the very least.  Not wanting to spend a whole day on the road in case of bad weather we opted for yet another extravagance.  We booked the lovely Marcus to take us in his helicopter.  Okay an extravagance I know and every time we do these things I say “we can’t or we shouldn’t” and each time I see how much more sensible in the long run it is.  We get to see much more of the country, we have a running commentary on what is happening where and we do it much quicker, allowing us time to see even more!

 So we took off the next morning, oh, and the day was stonkingly hot with bright blue skies.  So much for the weather forecast.  We flew over the orchards growing kiwi and avocados onto the scrub land where a few farms were dotted along the hillsides.  In the distance we could see the longest whitest sand; this was 90 mile beach. 

 90 mile beach is inaccessible to most cars.  You are certainly not allowed to entertain the idea of going there with a rental car, and you are very likely to land yourself in trouble if you go in anything other than a four wheel drive. So even Martin heeded these warnings!! The sand dunes are dangerously high and the sand dangerously soft to get stuck in.  So the best thing to do is fly in and land on the beach!!!!!  There was no one else around, apart from two four wheel drives who sped past us when we were on the beach, oh, and a group of wild horses that live up there and just hang around.  The sea was warm and the waves relatively small although I understand that the waves can be very menacing in the winter. 

 We then flew to a farm where we were picked up by John who drove us to Cape Reinga at the very most northern part of the country and the area where the Maori believe their spirits come before they fly off back to the home country.  The whole area is now given over to the Maori.  As you enter you are asked not to eat or drink out of respect to the spirits.  They describe the story of their spirits leaving on rusted metal posts which look quite lovely.  We planted two Ringa Ringa plants which are marked with our names and GPS positions so that we can enquire as to their progress on the internet!  We named them Chablis of course.   This was a good way of re introducing naturalised plants to the area and raising funds at the same time.

 From there we went to the Giant Sand Dunes at Te Paki and had a session at sledging down them which was great fun, although exhausting trying to get up as there was no lift or steps.  From there we met up with Marcus again who flew us over Great Exhibition Bay which is not accessible at all from the road.  The sand is even more white than 90 mile beach, and all along the shallows we could see sharks, hammerheads, stingrays in their hundreds, just cruising along enjoying themselves.  It was absolutely beautiful.  The nearer we got to home the more bays there were with fabulous houses on the hilltops.  The houses had small landings for their boats and their own beaches.  This was not such an unusual thing here we were told.  There is just so much space available.  Lucky them!

 I have to confess that I don’t think I have ever seen such lovely beaches, unspoilt, clean, pure water, and white sand.  Absolutely breathtaking.

 We returned to our temporary home and spent the rest of the day just relaxing.

 Martin has always wanted to do deep sea fishing.  Not something that I am particularly fussed about but okay let’s give it a go.

 We arrived next morning, on yet another rainy day,(aka blue skies, sun shine, boiling hot) and we met Geoff.  Now Geoff was born in Sussex, but has been a Kiwi since he was 8 years old.  He is a slightly dishevelled, scruffy individual who has a face that shows he loves his job.  The rugged brown lined face with the laughing eyes and the devil may care attitude confirmed that despite struggling to make ends meet he didn’t give a damn; he loved what he did.

 The fishing equipment was worth a bomb though and when I asked Geoff how he prevented it all being nicked when it was in harbour he told me he had the best mooring in town, right outside the police station.

 We disappeared off to sea and when we reached the Sharks tooth we caught three good sized fish in the space of about two minutes! Well this was easy.  But this was not the marlin that we had been looking for.  We were told that Marlin was not in good numbers this season, and I thought oh oh, now tell us , now we are out in the ocean.  Apparently at the best of times only one trip in three results in a catch. 

 We cruised around and around for 6 ¼ bloody hours and by this time I was getting a little fed up.  The sun was very hot, the engine was noisy and we seemed to be going around in circles, albeit big ones.  Geoff decided that we would do one more sweep of the channel that he was cruising over and as a last resort we would go and catch some Snapper.

 My eyes were just at closing point when Geoff (who had been facing the other way) ran to the back of the boat as the line (one of 7) had hooked something.  We had to wait a couple of seconds as the marlin tended to nose the bait before taking it, and then bang. The reel started to run out at a rate of knots. In a few seconds it had run out 250 metres of line and was leaping around in the far distance. Martin lifted the rod into the metal brace in the chair, he was strapped into it as though he was being electrocuted and I was told to bugger off out of the way, by Geoff, not Martin!!

 The Marlin was huge!  It took all Martins effort to reel it in after a half hour fight.  No sooner had he reeled it in a bit then it ran out again and you had to let it go just to wear itself out.  Eventually after a good struggle Martin produced a 85kg or 187 pound Marlin.!!! (Sounds like I gave birth to it but it wasn’t that difficult – or so I’m told)

 We tagged the fish, and returned it to the sea, after all what were we going to do with a fish that size?  That would be a lot of fish fingers.  Martin was like a cat that got the cream, or fish!!! 

 Day three here and we were expecting another day of terrible weather.  We weren’t disappointed, the sun was shining again, yawn yawn, and we planned to go to Waitangi where the Waitangi treaty was signed between the Europeans and the Maori.

 Now this was where I could have a house!  The Treaty house was small, looked exactly like millions of houses you find in the UK, Edwardian design with a lovely garden but in the most amazing position with grass that ran right down to the sea, with a view right out to sea between the two land masses.  Unfortunately it was not for sale and would never be as it was now a permanent Preservation area.  There was also a Meeting house of Marai that the Maori use to discuss matters of state.  It was all very interesting with some lovely photos of the proceedings that took place in 1840.  You need to read about the Treaty independently though as there is much debating going on still about the gifts made by one party to another and the whys and wherefores of the purpose of this Treaty.

 After that we took the ferry to Russell, the area of land over the small waterway in front of our house.  Russell was a lovely little village, right on the sea front, with an old pub, the oldest surviving church in New Zealand, and a great old hotel.  There were also lots of lovely little houses that had obviously been built many years ago, two up two down properties with little gardens.  Oh, and what was that in the water?  Yes it was Geoff’s boat, the Major Tom, parked right outside the most beautiful police station in the world!

 Today – March 24^th – it rained, solidly for about 1 hour.  For the rest of the day we have had sunshine, puffy white clouds and the opportunity to visit the lovely sandy coves and paddle for the last time before we leave for Auckland on our way home.  This place has been magic.  And yes Martin, probably the nicest place we have been, maybe not the most stunning scenery or the most action packed, but certainly a place where many an hour could be spent just watching the world go by, beautiful waterside areas and its all  year round as well.  Just Perfect!!

Our hosts at Cliff Edge Landing also own a lodge a little further up the street.  They cater for people at the lodge and we were invited to go for dinner on our last night.  This was a nice way to end our stay with them and we looked forward to a nice “last supper”.

 We joined the residents at the lodge, a couple from the UK, Paul and Fiona, a couple from the States, and a couple from Australia who were old friends of Peter and Glennis, the lodge owners. 

 The Australian couple lived in Vauclause in Sydney, and spent their whole lives travelling between Sydney, the Philippines and Europe.  I have no idea what he did for a living but he had a great job lined up for the next couple of months.  He had a friend who had had a boat built in New Zealand as the prices are more competitive and the workmanship much better than Australia, his home country.  Apparently this boat has a mast that is so tall it would not have been able to sail under the Sydney harbour bridge, and it also requires 18 full time crew to man this vessel.  He and two friends are sailing this vessel, with the crew to the South of France in time for the summer.  What a drag!!!!  After delivery of this boat he is going to spend his summer in the south of France returning to Australia when the weather starts to deteriorate.

 So, back to a sort of reality, we had a fun evening with these people as our final evening in the Bay of Islands and after a few bottles of wine, the English couple booked the same helicopter trip that we had done, a trip which according to Glennis, they were not too keen on the following morning as they were definitely a little worse for wear!

 We had booked into a chalet called Driving Creek Villas just outside Coramandel Town.  The villa was perfect, with its own little garden, a hot tub in a barrel, two bedrooms (for snoring contingency (MPC – not needed)and one big room with everything in it you could need. 

 For the next four nights we pootled around in the car and travelled along the “main”road which follows the Waitekuri River upstream through farmland, pine forest and extensive areas of native forest.   Once you have reached the summit, which seems to be much higher than the 306 metres, the road gently meanders down beside the Mahakirau Stream to Whitianga.   Whitianga was a lovely small village with a gorgeous harbour with sailing boats just longing to be taken out on such a glorious day.  We visited lovely sandy bays, including the famous Cathedral Cove, which despite its fame was swarming with only a handful of tourists.  We swam on Stingray beach, which was at one point completely deserted apart from us. We walked up and down harbours and mooched around in little villages, just stopping for coffees or snacks; it was great. Our only mistake was to chose to visit Hot Water Beach where, as the tide turned you dug a hole in the sand and the warm water came up from beneath you.  We hired our $5.00 spade and walked across the beach to the area where the hot water seeps into the sea.  Oh no, we had not seen so many people in one place since we arrived in New Zealand, other than on the Tongariro Crossing.  It was like finding a space on a Mediterranean beach! No thanks, we weren’t that desperate to sit in a hot water sand bath with 150 other people, so we left.  We took the even more back road to Coromandel town (the apparently famous “309”)and stopped at Waiau Falls, where Martin was braver than I as he swam under the falls and in a lovely pool at the foot of them.

 One day we headed up to the north of the peninsula to Port Jackson which was the most northern part.  The road does not continue all the way around the top and it is a long walk to and from the Square Top Island.  Unfortunately for Martin, but fortunately for me, he had had a problem with a toe (MPC big toe nail hanging off and held on only at one side – disgusting!!) and walking was out of the question!!!! So we lazed about for thirteen seconds before we got bored and moved on.  The countryside up there was great too, with rivers and scenery that was now the norm in New Zealand, with the soft gentle golden hills and dramatic drops off cliffs to the sea.

 The whole of the area was a playground for Aucklanders and we loved it there.  The scenery was good, the towns were well stocked with good restaurants and it was a very chilled out place to be.   We also took the opportunity to sort out our belongings which somehow had grown in size and taken over the inside and boot of the car.  We were nearing the end of our trip and needed to begin to think about travel by air once again.

 I failed to succeed in my bid to get Martin to hang on to his long flowing hair and go home with a ponytail and he finally got his hair cut.  Shame, but SADGITS would never let him live it down if he had gone back a hippy!!

 After our few nights of chilling we left for our penultimate stop in the Bay Of Islands, and Martin’s saving the best stop till last.

 The road to the coast was dotted with farms but they were not as large as we had seen further inland. There were occasional bays that we had now become far too lazy to stop at. We had seen so much water and we admired them from the roadside; how bad is that!

Many miles later and we ended up in Kawhia, which was a very Maori dominant area. There were people playing music in their cars, people drinking outside the one and only pub and a very small selection of dried food awaited us in the local general store. I think we ended up with a bag of crisps, a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water!  We picked up a very tasty toasted cheese and onion sandwich though in a local cafe and ate it in the car heading off to the Mangapohue Natural Bridge which was on the way to Waitomo. I had to say that Kawhia was another “Deliverance” moment, although I suppose you don’t see that when you are a child playing in the sand on the beach.  There really was not much to Kawhia at all.  

 The road out was a different matter though; the countryside was beautiful, the rock formations were stunning and farmland was much better looked after.  The road took us up into the hills and down again to the bays which were dotted with small farms, a few livestock, maybe the odd garage, shop, school and that was it.  We had not planned to stop at Mangapohue Natural Bridge but the sun was out, we were near to our destination and we were fed up being in the car, so we pulled over as there was not another car there and set off for the Bridge.  We had no idea what to expect, out in the sticks, no one around but in usual DOC fashion there were well tended paths, some of it wooden walkways over water, along a lovely river for around 10 minutes.  Still no sign of a natural bridge, what were we looking for? 

 Around the next corner I could see a dark cavern with light the other side of it. So the natural bridge was a rock formation, with a river running under it.  It was quite beautiful actually, with tree ferns, beech trees and birds singing.  It was very big; we were dwarfed when we finally reached it and we could imagine what it would be like when the water was at full strength down the river.  Another million pictures. (MPC – of the same bloody tree fern!!)

 Back on the road we suddenly came across Waitomo.  It was another one of these towns that seemed to be built purely for the Glow Worm caves, similar to the Glacier towns in the South.  People came a hundred or so years ago by horse and cart, may have taken three or four days to get there and needed a nice place to stay and recover before enjoying the caves.  Nowadays with the advent of the motor car and tarmac roads, bus loads of people can come and spend a few hours there, do the trip  be and back on the road before you know it.  There was a camp site, a few small roadside hotels, a Backpackers of course (where isn’t there a Backpackers in New Zealand) then we rounded a corner and up on the hill was the most beautiful old lady of a hotel.  She was very grand, perched high up over the Waitomo village.  The entrance was up a sweeping driveway and the gardens looked a little shabby but then it was the end of the summer. There were faded agapanthus heads hanging a little forlorn, the lawns were a shade of light brown and there was one man working in the garden with a wheelbarrow.  We checked in and noticed a sign saying “Restaurant Closed”  Uh oh, they didn’t know Martin!  Martin pays careful attention to hotel bookings by the restaurant availability.  We enquired as to why the restaurant was closed and were told that we were the only people staying.  This had happened to us twice now…what did people know about us that they weren’t telling us?  We couldn’t believe that such a beautiful hotel should have no one staying apart from us in our beaten up old Toyota, one suitcase with a broken wheel, plastic carrier bags of dirty washing, computer wires and us clad in shorts, tee shirts and filthy trainers from our walking! Where were the posh cars, the D and G handbag clad tourists, or at least a token Japanese tour bus? 

 We deposited our credit card number with the desk clerk, who promised that overnight there would be someone in the premises, just in case of fire, and were told we were upstairs first floor, no lift. 

 Herein started the realisation of why no one was staying.  The hotel was a dying old lady.  Paint hanging off the ceilings, brown stains on the walls, worn out carpets, the overpowering smell of air freshener drowning out the smell of dirty cooking oil that emanated from the kitchen (which was closed!)  Our room was fine, it had a balcony with a few cigarette butts on it, a table and chairs and if we promised not to look behind our left shoulders we wouldn’t see the couple in the next room, if they were there anyway!  The tablet of soap in the shower had been there since the hotel was built and was a nice dried up cracked shade of grey, and the lino on the floor which ran up the wall on the edges to avoid leaking into the downstairs bedroom, was nicely dusted with aged talcum powder and some one else’s hair.  Never mind, the sun was shining through the window, we cracked open another bottle of Cloudy Bay, went on the balcony and continued our game of cards that had started on the Milford Track many weeks before. 

 The wine made everything seem much more appealing, and after a meal out (thankfully, as it turned out) we turned in, and slept reasonably well.  After all it was VERY  quiet and there were no slamming doors, flushing toilets or drunken tourists arriving back at all hours. Even the apparent ghosts failed to make an appearance.

 Breakfast the next morning was pretty basic but no matter, this was the day we were going to Black Water Raft.

 Now I must pay more attention to these suggestions.   I knew we were going rafting, I knew we were going to watch glow worms but the realisation of how we were going to combine these two activities failed to register with my small brain until we arrived for our briefing. (MPC – do you think I would be stupid enough to tell you what you were in for knowing what you would say to me … unprintable)

 Squeezing myself into a wet suit at the beginning of a trip in Akaroa proved a pretty hard task, but squeezing myself into a wet suit after nearly two months of eating in NZ was nigh on bloody impossible.  However wet suits were not given as a choice and we also had helmets, miners lights, boots and wet suit jackets as well.  A group of other unsuspecting tourists and us entered a bus that smelt of dead dog and headed off to the woods.  We were then issued with a tube, not unlike an inner tube, varying sizes were available, the size of your arse being the guiding factor.   I did not choose the smallest option…..

 Being the wearer of spectacles which make life seem for the most part, that much better, I was not best pleased to be told to stand with my back to the water on a wooden structure which was at least 8 feet high over a running river and to leap off ensuring my rear end landed in the hole in my inner tube.  (MPC – This was a test for the adventure to come so she had to pass it – ha ha!). This was by far the scariest task I had had to perform this trip.  Not least because the water was not too deep, there were rocks and the guide just said three, two , one, go.  No hesitation allowed, no demonstration and no room for wimps.  Jesus that was scary, and now I can’t see as my glasses are not only wet from the water but the fear emanating from my wet suit made them steam up constantly and everyone else was a blur.  How could I identify Martin when we all looked like beached seals? (MPC – don’t worry – I could certainly recognise you!!!)

 Then followed a hike up a hill, HUGE inner tyre on shoulder, (avec old shoulder injury) squelching feet in squelching wet suit and blind to boot. (She does moan)

 The guide was trying to have a conversation with us whilst walking up the hill but if we had been anywhere more populated I would have been arrested for dressing in rubber and deep breathing!  What the hell had Martin got me into?   Muttering under my breath that this was going to cost him (you mean even more than it had already?), the others in the group disappeared down a small hole in the dark.  Where the hell were they going now, and how did they get their tubes through that small opening?!

 I squeezed my way in, trying to de mist my glasses on the grass at the same time, and ending up with more mud on them than clearing them and we were shown the entrance to the cave system that we were going to raft down.  Oh yeah right…….

 And so it was that we all went into this cave system, stumbling over rocks, down the river that was sometimes deep, sometimes fast flowing, sometimes shallow and sharp with rocks, but always bloody black and with a million tons of rock above us. 

 I remember once going down a cave system on a civilised tour, I think it was in Majorca, where we were able to wear sandals, and there were lights and we got on a nice rowing boat across a lake and there was an orchestra playing.  Now that was okay… They then turned the lights out for about ten seconds and said this is what it is like for those people that discovered those routes, no light, just feeling their way with their hands and relying on ropes that they put there to find their way out. (MPC – they had candles and lamps dear so it wasn’t that bad way back when). That just about freaked me out and I swore that I would never ever go pot holing; so what the hell was I doing? Not only pot holing in the dark, but also rafting down a river where I had no idea where I was going.!!

 I almost reached breaking point when our guide, who was probably no more than 22 years old, female and in charge of around 6 people, said, “This is the first of three waterfalls that you are going to have to jump off”.  So, you have to leap backwards off the falls, (the guide puts you in the right position so you don’t leap off and smash your head open like an egg) and you then have to grab the rope to your left, no not your right, your left, to haul yourself around the right corner (there’s a wrong one?) and grab hold with your other hand onto the rope along the side of the wall to stop yourself being carried away.  Oh, okay then, no worries, I can do that EASILY?????!

 For some reason she elected for Martin to go first, he leapt off the waterfall, splashed arse up in his tube, and disappeared.  “Martin, Martin, where are you?” she yelled. No reply.  She dropped her tube, leapt into the water and followed him into the darkness.  Great.

Now what were we going to do.  Where were the passports and the car keys? 

 She returned a few moments later and I assumed that Martin was okay or she was keeping very quiet.  I edged to the back of the group and tried to learn exactly where everyone was leaping from, hoping that someone else would freak out and ask to be taken down an easier way.  No other wimps there … bugger.

 So, farewell children, family, friends, and my body to be taken back home please. Here I go.  If the guide hadn’t warned that if you had to pee please don’t do it in the suit as it smells, I would have done more than pee.  I concentrated on that fact as I grabbed hold of the rubber ring, no handles, and closed my eyes, swore that I would never ever do this again and leapt off the frigging waterfall.  AAAGGHH!!!!

 Well I obviously made it, but I was not in the best mood.  I had to give up my glasses as they were completely smeared.  I surfaced and grabbed hold of whatever it was that was hanging down by my left hand, or was it right?  I was carried on the current, assuming that I must have my legs and arms as no one was yelling, and I rounded the corner to find Martin and the others lazing in their tubes waiting for me. 

 From then on the trip got better (MPC – she made me go to the back so she wouldn’t be last – at least that gave me the chance to make her jump in the dark by shouting “spider” or something similar).  We all had to turn off our lights and it was then that we saw thousands of glow worms all clinging to the roof of the caves, funnily enough they placed themselves along the route of the river and no where else, I am not sure why (Ed – to catch the lave of the sand fly being carried on the water as they send down silk like tentacles).  It was like looking at a night sky, but without my glasses, so a bit blurred, but I got the gist of it.  By the end of the trip I had managed to raise a smile; we were floating along quite gently and at some points we had to place our feet under the arms of the person in front just to ensure we all stayed together, so a small chance to “relax” in the darkness. 

 It was well worth the effort, not sure I would do it again and I am in awe of Franny who did the same thing but hers was a  5 hour trip that included abseiling down ropes and waterfalls and rafting in the dark.  Three hours was enough for me, and we were at the end of the cave route and out into the daylight.   Another box ticked off…..

 A hot shower and we headed off for the Coramandel peninsula.

 Tauranga was surprisingly big, we drove in through a big port, a fairly substantial shopping district and an area full of restaurants and bars, known as the Strand.

 We met up with Jane and Dave, and spent a good evening with them as they talked about the whys and wherefores of life in New Zealand, how it was better, different, and how they had made the right decision to stay.  It was lovely to meet up with them as I had never met Daves wife and I hope they enjoyed catching up with people from, as they called it, “the old country”. Well at least he didn’t say the Old people from home!!!!

 We breakfasted the next morning at Mount Manganui, a mound at the end of a peninsula not far from Tauranga.  Surprisingly there was a whole community out at Mount Manganui and the beach was stunning.  The whole area was buzzing with walkers, families walking the Mount, mature people! taking a walk on a Sunday morning and then finding a spot in one of the many cafes with the Sunday papers and enjoying a beautifully cooked breakfast, mostly undoing, or perhaps allowing a massive feast of French toast and crispy bacon, savoury muffins or a Full English breakfast.  We were very surprised to find such a community here and we also got stuck into our breakfast! From there we started a short journey to visit our new found friends on their sheep farm.

 Now a Cambridge cannot visit New Zealand without visiting Cambridge, and that was just where Janet and Chris had their sheep farm.  The countryside was once again of that Lions Back nature, small and gentle hills covered in golden grass or tussock and the area was populated with cows, sheep and lovely homes on the hilltops.  Janet and Chris lived in French Pass Road, which we found more by luck than judgement, and using a paper map not a GPS.  Their house was number 537 and the route we took certainly did not look as though it had 537 houses on it.  In fact the rural areas apparently number their properties in kilometres from the start of the road nearest the town, so their property was 5.37kilometres from Cambridge town.  What a clever idea! You can see exactly how far you are from town on your milometer and you will know that you are at the right property.  With farms so far apart it seemed good sense.

 We surprised Chris, who had not forgotten we were coming, but he was checking out with his binoculars over ‘his’ patch to see us coming down the road. However we fooled him and came in a different way.

 Taruna was set high on a hill, verandah, beautiful garden, pergola, standard roses, lovely herb garden, veggie patch and views to die for.  As far as the eye could see there were gentle hills, golden in colour, with only a few stock fences to break the view. This represented the farm.  The sheep were grazing almost to the house only stopped by the haha around the back garden.

 We were welcomed with lunch in the garden, and a good catch up about our Abel Tasman trip and our adventures since then.  After lunch the plan was to take us on a tour of the area, to include Maungatautari, a huge mountain which was privately owned.  The owner had decided that he wanted to rid the whole mountain of stoats, weasels, possums, rats, anything that was a threat to bird life.  He had had a huge wire fence constructed around the whole mountain (67 kms) and dug deep under the ground to avoid the burrowing pests. This cost around $7 milion and was no mean feat. Since its completion the bird life has increased considerably. With the help of imported birds (i.e. from other parts of NZ) the population and diversity of breeds was increasing.  

 This was followed by a tour of the surrounding area and the farm, all 750 acres of it.  What an amazing place to live.  Chris’s father had farmed the sheep farm before him and since Janet and Chris took it over they had updated the old farm house and made a beautiful home of it, furnishing areas in the French style, perhaps as it was called French Pass Road, or maybe as Janet just liked that style. I knew just who would love this house, and indeed Janet was very keen on her next visit to the UK to visit Annie and her schoolhouse, as she loved English history and antiques.

 Chris took the time to explain exactly what happened where on the farm, the airstrip for the planes that were required to fertilise such a large area, the sheep loading dock, the sheep shearing shed and the tally of ‘catches’ on the board in the shed of mice, bunnies, possums and burglars (there were 3 of these but caught by the police, not shot like the rest of the tally)! This and the hidden cupboard full of bits of Hornby 00 train set parts that had been collected over the years, and we were assured they were all working.

 We toured all over the farm and what views there were.  We saw herds of cows that were being grazed, and ewes that were going to meet the ram of their dreams in a week or so.  Chris described in detail how it all worked and we fully expected an exam at the end of the day!  It was all very, very interesting, and Chris was obviously proud of their achievements over the years.  We loved it. As we finished the tour of the farmland we were shown the plaque that had been placed on top of a hill on a huge rock. This was a memorial to Chris’s parents, who were two of many early settlers, who had had a hard time taming the bush and making it the farmland that it was today. Chris and Janet had put the plaque in as a Millenium project in 2000. What a lovely idea and something that would stay there forever.  The evening was rounded off by a beautiful meal, chats about their future plans as they loved to travel, and discussions regarding the future of the farm.  Dinner was broken by the arrival of a cute little bunny on the lawn, which I stupidly drew Chris’s attention to.  He disappeared from the table and the next thing we saw was a rifle being swung out of the kitchen window, silencer attached and the bunny leapt 10 feet in the air.  Bugger! Should have kept my mouth shut!  Another casualty for the board in the sheep shearing shed!

 The following morning we left for Waitomo caves after a quick stop in Cambridge, with a promise from Janet and Chris of a reciprocal visit to us on their proposed trip to the UK in 2011.  Oh, and also a house swap at some time in the future!!! ( As long as it wasn’t in late August or early September as Martin was not too keen on lamb delivery and placentas in abundance.)  Chris had explained to us that with the a coloured harness attached to the ram, he was able to establish which ewes were in lamb (or had at least been “visited” by the ram) and technology enabled him to establish which were multiple births, twins, or single births, and the appropriate midwifery appointed in the correct direction.  He also said that all births would be exactly 5 months and 5 days after the colour appeared on the backside of the ewes.  All this science!!!! No romance there then, and no need for “will ewe respect me in the morning?” or “will ewe be mine”, it’s more a case of “ewe will do what I want or ewe will be for the knackers yard”.

 Rotoroa was classified as a city, apparently it has more than 20,000 people which is its qualification.  The tourist area was on the lake, with the historical museum, hot water springs, cable car up the mountain behind and lake attractions such as helicopters and steam boats and sea planes.  Off the tourist trap there are a very many American style stores in one long line selling cheap tat.  That may sound a bit harsh  but I just wished that the shopping was a bit better.  Every town had the same shops, (heard that before ) and yet I guess the population of people purchasing anything other than tourist trinkets was small and so it is not viable to have too many “nice” shops.  We were fast running out of time to pick up authentic New Zealand souvenirs and gifts. So many items were made in China, it seemed that wool and possum were our only hope.

 There is a lovely gondola which takes you up the mountain and from there you have a spectacular view of the Rotorea lake, White Island and the coast.  Thankfully Martin’s internet research had resulted in a gem of a place called Lake Tarawera, prounounced Tadaweda.  This was around 20 minutes out of town, and was a lodge sitting on a promontory in the lake.  What a gorgeous setting.  The rooms overlooked the lake with floor to ceiling windows and a view over the lake to Mount Tarawera which is, as you probably guessed, another volcano. 

 This volcano last erupted in 1886, when it completely covered the silica pink and white terraces at the Maori village and flattened the village completely.  Before this time the area was a hive of tourism with people from all over the North Island coming to Tarawera to enjoy the spa waters and thermal pools.  However it was now a quiet little backwater with a number of rather lovely houses on the hillside over looking the lagoon, most of which belonged to Aucklanders who enjoyed them at Christmas and again at Easter.  For the most part of the year they remained empty and unused, which is quite sad.

 This lovely lodge, The Solitaire Lodge, was ours and ours alone, we were the only two guests, and as such were treated very nicely thank you. 

 We took out the little dinghy onto the lake and pottered around for an hour or so. We enjoyed first class cuisine (again) courtesy of Bruce and Martin whiled away many an hour and many a glass of wine discussing vines, vintages, business and successes of the New World wines with Graham the sommelier. 

 The next morning dawned with a clear blue sky, not a cloud to be seen and now no more excuses. There was business to perform and business we could delay no longer.  It was this business that meant no cooked brekky for me and a long period in the bathroom. Yep, this was the day we were chucking our knickers to the wind and throwing ourselves out of a plane. 

 All I can say is it was fantastic.  15,000 feet, of which 10,000 (almost 2 miles) was freefall.  The parachute was then opened and we drifted down the remaining 5000 feet with big grins and relief that we had done it. The DVD shows it all in wonderful technicolour.  We both loved it.

 Rotoroa also allowed us to partake in the hot spa pools, constructed as private pools for two overlooking the lake, real “sweet as” and an easy afternoon enjoying our lovely retreat.

 Having partaken of so many thermal pools in both Taupo and Rotoroa I was reluctant to do the White Island trip.  There are only so many times you can be impressed by mud pools and hot water bubbling out of the ground, and so I was not all that excited to be going to the island off of the coast known for being a live volcano, that is, until I discovered we were going by helicopter…..!!!

 Solitaire lodge had a heli pad, which is quite common in the out of the way places, and as there were no other people staying in the lodge who may have been put out by our rotor blades, Wayne, the owner, was very happy to have us picked up from the lodge. 

 As we sat on the terrace waiting for the ‘bus’ I saw coming over the lake the tiniest bee of a helicopter. Bloody hell, we are too heavy for that thing!!!!  The insect landed on the given spot, and we climbed in, me in the back…

 Flying gives you such a good perspective on where you are staying.  Lake Tarawera was huge, Tarawera volcano was huge, so much bigger than it appeared from on the ground.  We sped over the hill tops, over the huge pine forests that are managed for wood for furniture, apparently growing three times as fast as anywhere else in the world and onto the flat farm land that was used in the production of the kiwi fruit.  The kiwi fruits send out long feelers that are tied up in wigwam fashion, not sure why but they all looked very neat and impressive.

 As we passed over the coast line we saw the most beautiful sandy white beaches with not a soul on them. According to our pilot people preferred to swim on life guard supported beaches and so not many people would swim from the ones below us.  Were they mad? There are no nasties in the water; it was clear, blue and from where we were we saw pod after pod of dolphins all frantically chasing shoals of fish that could also be seen from the helicopter. In the distance we saw White Island but it did not look too fierce today.  The pilot circled around the island and we could see where it had errupted in 1990. The whole side of the mountain had been blown out, the steam was pouring out of the sides and base of the volcano. It was a very eerie sight. 

 We landed on the flat ground in the base of the volcano, were issued with gas masks and hard hats and instructed to stay close as the ground was very active and we needed to be aware at all times where to place our feet and hands. The rocks were hot in places and the pools of water were not only hot but also in places acidic. (for those in the know a Ph of -3 and water is +7 so it’s a bit stronger than car battery acid!!)   At this point I honestly felt quite frightened, and then we were told that if there was any sign of unusual volcanic activity, we needed to make for high ground.. “ High Ground!” we said. The only high ground was the sides of the volcano and if it had reached the point where we needed to run it was already very much too late.  The part of the volcano we were standing on was only a miniscule amount to what area was under the wate (27 kilometres) and the island was less than 1 kilometre!!!!!!

 Having issued Martin with strict instructions not to leave me behind, he marched off behind the pilot who knew the route that was safe underfoot.  Thanks for that. (She just lagged behind as usual and got lost – how can you get lost in 20 metres when you can see where you’re going?)

 We were once again arguing over who should take the pictures. Martin was by far the more technical when it came to how the camera worked, but I will take the accolade, if there is one going, for the content of our pictures.  He will probably disagree, but truth be known hun, I do have the more artistic eye don’t I??? (B******s)

 The island was a mass of mud pools bubbling away, spitting mud out, streams running with boiling water, yellow, white sulphur dripping everywhere, signs of big explosions of rock that had been spewed out.  We were aware of a constant loud hissing like a pressure cooker but a million times louder, and the sides of the volcano had all over it little vents known as furoles.  One in particular was just huge, issuing a massive billowing vent of steam, up into the air to around 100 feet, at pressure as well so making a very loud noise.  The pilot said that these were all good signs, if the steam stopped then the pressure under the volcano would grow very quickly and obviously be trapped, and that is when we would be in trouble. 

 There was also a huge lake of water which was yellow in colour from the sulphur, and it was very very acidic.  “put your hand in that, and be prepared to lose it” was the warning.

 The most amazing thing about this trip had to be the close proximity we were to everything.  No barriers, no special walkways. The volcano changes all the time so there can be no specific walkway or barriers put up.  We had to breathe through the gas masks at times as the sulphur gave you a sore throat and stung your eyes.  We also drank a lot of water as the atmosphere was very dry.

 Can you believe that in years gone by people actually lived and mined the sulphur here?  We saw the remnants of the huts they lived in, the factory they worked in and the equipment that was used.  What a place to spend your life.  The failure of the mining to make any money resulted in the island being sold for one barrel of rum apparently.

I bet someone is spitting sulphur now!!!!

 We left the island, returned to the mainland and flew back towards the lodge, detouring along the river to the Tarawera falls where the water comes out from half way up the cliff. They were very spectacular and could be accessed via a lovely walk from the edge of the lake. We then landed on top of the Tarawera volcano to see what that was like in the crater.  It was very black and cindery. 

 The pilot then took us on a very shaky trip across the lake, the helicopter was very small and was buffeted around somewhat at the top of the volcano where the wind came over the ridge and we were quite glad to arrive back at the lodge to be met by Wayne. He was such a good host!!!!

 Our last morning at the lodge and we were just going to leave when Wayne asked us if we fancied cadging a lift on his boat to the Hot Water Beach.  He was delivering a couple of people off on the walk to the falls and would be happy to show us the beach.  We were up for that and so bags packed and ready to leave the lodge, we forgot all about that and hopped in his little boat and sped across the lake.  We dropped the two guys off at the quay, narrowly missing two youngsters who thought that cycling along the quay at speed on your bike and throwing yourself and your bike in the path of an oncoming boat, quite fun. (oh well it beats X box) and Wayne took us to the beach. 

 This beach was literally just that, a rather unassuming lake beach, but as you drove closer you could see in places the steam rising from the water and water bubbling from the rocks on the waters edge.  We threw ourselves overboard and swam through the hot springs to the waters edge.  This was no mean feat as some strokes you went through boiling water and you had to frantically stir up the water so that the cold lake water made it bearable, and at other times the cold water was freezing and you had to find the hot bits to keep you from freezing.  It was very weird.  I did wonder what would happen if the boiling water vents suddenly squirted out jets of steamy hot water whilst we were swimming over them, but only fleetingly, there wasn’t a lot I could do anyway, so we just enjoyed the moment.  We would be alrighty!!!!

 So we returned to the lodge and headed to the coast.

 Taupo is known for hot thermal pools, geysers, Maori settlements and adrenalin rushes, I suppose the combination is rather like a hot flush, so I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for.   We visited three volcanic areas which were quite stunning, and  not too smelly. There were many other thermal/volcanic  areas but we felt 3 was more than enough.

 One of these areas , The Wai O Tapu, an 18square kilometre area with the volcanic dome of Maungakakaramea or Rainbow Mountain. Inside this area  is the Wai O Tapu stream which is an integral part of the drainage system which ultimately flows into the Waikato River and out into the Tasman Sea.  Boiling springs and volcanic gases introduce numerous minerals into the water which account for no fish life in the stream.  This area also was home to the Lady Knox geyser, which is a natural geyser and as expected it chooses its time to show its full glory. This obviously poses a problem for the visiting tourist, and so each morning at 10.30 am someone drops a solution, similar to soap into the geyser.  This then breaks the seal of cold water on the top of the geyser and water and steam comes frothing out.  Apparently this first happened many years ago when the first open prison in New Zealand let its prisoners wash their garments in the warm waters around the geyser. It was obviously just a fumerole then and so just an opening in the ground.  The men lathered up their clothes and put them back into the warm water to rinse them off when Whoosh, up went the geyser.  The soap had broken the tension on the surface of the hot water and the steam had escaped.  Over the years the tourist attraction had increased in numbers and indeed there was a veritable amphitheatre with seats around this geyser.  It was very funny watching all the budding David Baileys prepare their cameras, practice shots, adjustments to lighting, angle and then oops, the steam covered them all and they had to run to the opposite side to catch their shot.  The rest of this thermal park was good to visit though, and there were some good colours and examples of silica steps which were formed by the water falling down into the rivers over the rocks, coating them in silica.  

 We also visited the Orakei Korako or Hidden Valley for another example of the thermal and bubbling mud pools, and as this was miles from anywhere and you had to catch a small ferry over the river to get to it. It was far less busy and much more relaxed.  You could walk quite close to the pools and mud pools and again, that was quite worth visiting.

 We also paid a visit to the Huka Falls, which was a narrowing of the river where the water was forced through a narrow gorge.  The force of water was huge and the gorge was only around 30 feet wide.  The speed and force of the water was amazing creating some wonderful falls with much frothing. 

 Emile and Hea Min were wonderful hosts.  We were spoilt rotten at meal times with wonderful pre dinner drinks and canapés, all home made and, much to the delight of Martin, prepared with a Far Eastern twist.  He was in his element and Hea Min and Emile were equally pleased that they had someone who appreciated good food and wines as much as they.  So we delayed the diet yet again. Groan groan…..! Once again Martin took the heart of a far Eastern maiden, they all seem to love the fact that he enjoys their cooking and all want to keep him forever…duly noted and filed away for possible future use!

 We have never done fishing with any seriousness, but apparently Taupo is a fishing mecca and so Emile suggested that we may like to try our hands at fly fishing.  He organised Leon, a local guide to kit us out with the correct attire, and all equipment needed for a fishing day.  I had in mind “Out of Town “ a la Jack Hargreaves, or J.R. Hartley fly fishing (where did that come from?)  but in fact we needed Bear Grylls for this adventure.  We parked the four wheel drive at the side of a road next to the bush. Leon then removed from his coat a machete and after ensuring that we were well disguised in rubber outfits and boots, (was this fishing or something more kinky?) he proceeded to cut a path through the bush with us following. 

 I did pass comment on the fact that each time he swiped the bush with his machete I was in fear of him losing his leg, his reply was “ aw that’s alrighty, I have a band aid somewhere in my bag”

 We finally arrived at the correct point in the proceedings where we had to throw ourselves off this precipice at the edge of a field and we landed up on a bank just big enough for an emergency bivouac.  We had arrived.

 Leon gave us our first lesson in fly fishing and set us up with a rod and line, no worm, only pretend flies, (apparently this type of fishing does not use real flies as they are too messy)  I found this hilarious as we were stomach deep in filthy mud and he was worried about a fly!!!! Anyway I digress.  We both managed to catch a fish after learning how to roll cast, flip cast, overcast, god knows, but we did manage to catch 9 fish between us. I shall write in small writing so to speak and to just say however that I did catch the fish of the day, a lovely rainbow trout, landed all by myself  ahem…… and along with all the other fish, all released. 

 As I was standing in the mud I was sure that the water level had risen and I asked Leon if this was the river where the water was released from the dam three times a day.  He said that yes it was but we shouldn’t worry as we wouldn’t notice it.   Oh right, so the rocks that I had just seen a few minutes ago and were not there any longer were a figment of my imagination eh.  Even he had to admit that the fact that we had water now up to our chests was a little unusual.

 It was a fun day and we both enjoyed the peace, beautiful scenery and absolutely no competition????!!!!  Oh, first prize goes to my beloved who was so intent on his rod that he didn’t see himself sinking up to beyond the crown jewels and in fact getting completely stuck whilst sinking fast.  Leon had to act fast to rescue him as he was actually quite scared, especially as the dam was due to open again before we were able to get him out.

 We were also convinced by Emile that we should try a Maori Hangi, where we were greeted by a Maori family and taken into their dwellings, you know the sort of stuff.  We were very reluctant at first but were assured by Emile that the suggestion of his was a good one as it was not too touristy, the family were very nice and it was not a big affair. 

 Uh huh!  I was put off immediately by the fact that a “white chief” had to be chosen from the visiting tourists, to represent the white people.  Martin sank deeper into his chair and emitted a few f’s and b’s about the whole affair, but we were committed. Thankfully the Maori queen with her perception skills could see that he wasn’t a good bet and chose someone far more suited to the job.  Having got the embarrassing stuff over, we were shown how they used to live and some dancing they used to perform, houses that they prayed in, pools of yet more thermal water that they bathed and cooked in and finally we ended up in the restaurant for the Hangi.  This was supposed to be meat cooked in the ground with Kumara or sweet potato.  The Kumara was authentic, but the oven cooked chicken and beef and lamb lacked a bit of authenticiy and when pie and Birds Custard was served as a traditional Maori dessert we were over it.  It all tasted good but we just felt that we were fuelling the more disappointing side of the Maori tourist trap. 

 Whilst eating we were put on a table with a couple of people from Tasmania. Thankfully they were put with us, as on our arrival each couple or group had had to announce where they were from! This couple had proudly said they were Tasmanian, which most Australians felt was Australia but they most definitely thought it wasn’t. They considered themselves more New Zealand than Australian.  The same question was put to the next two groups of people, who announced they were Australians!!! OOOpps!

 Anyway these two people had just competed in the Iron Man competition, and both had done very well (he completed the whole thing in 9.5 hours – a remarkable feat but it was just short of his goal time and was therefore disappointed. Yeah, right – I’d be happy to still be alive).  They were absolutely knackered and after hearing about their training regime and eating plan I decided that I most definitely never wanted to do the Iron Man competition.  It takes hard work, determination and a massive amount of self control, none of which I would be willing to do to end up killing myself for a result of such disappointment.  They were good company though and we enjoyed hearing about his work in Tasmania with “problem” boys, of which there are apparently many.  They were both very pro the Maori attempt at tribal awareness and had a great respect for the Maori way of life, which was an opinion that was definitely in the minority judging by the Kiwis that we had spoken to.

 So we had done our touristy bit and our time at Taupo was over.  We were sad once again to leave our hosts at Chalet Eiger, we had enjoyed their company so much, but we had to move on to smelly Rotoroa. 

 Oh, yes, the action packed bit?  The wind was too strong and the clouds too low.  Reprieve from our parachute jump.

 The weather as we arrived in Tongariro  was sunny but the mountains were covered in their usual afternoon cloak, and so we had  no idea what we were passing.

 We checked in at Chateau Tongariro, appropriate really, as in a previous life the chateau had more recently been a mental home, and before that a home for returning soldiers.  We rather felt that we qualified on both counts after our experience in Whanganui ( I know, what whimps!!)

 We investigated the Tourist Centre and agreed that we would attempt the Tongariro Crossing the following day as the weather was due to deteriorate after that.

 What we didn’t know was that the following day meant a 5.30 alarm call.  We scraped our way out of a dreamily comfortable bed and appeared at the bus stop for our journey to the beginning of the crossing.  So did the rest of the world.

 I had not seen so many people in one place since our arrival in New Zealand. What was the matter with them? Why didn’t they start later?  We soon learnt that unless you start the Crossing by 7.30 am ish, you were unlikely to be picked up at the other end as you would not make the deadline for the returning buses.  Most people had to rely on buses as you could not get back to your accommodation if you did not do the outward journey on the bus.  This was a good way to monitor that everyone did actually complete the journey and they were all counted out and all counted back.

 What the Kiwis haven’t done however, is increase the number of loos on the crossing and whilst I had by now on our trip, quite happily adapted to peeing in the bush, the crossing was volcanic rock, all small pieces, all low and all in full view of the long line of trampers in front and behind you.  I had not bargained for this.

 The first two hours of the walk were literally heel to toe, puffing and panting, forgetting that we were already at altitude.  I did not like this at all.  Martin’s gentle, “Come on, move it” was met with an unmentionable retort, and he disappeared off into the distance leaving me to negotiate narrow steps and the “Devils Staircase”.  By the time we reached the highest point of the staircase everyone took the opportunity to take a breather, take photos, stop for chats and wait for friends, and this gave us the opportunity to spread out and move on with more space.  We negotiated the base of the crater at the top of the crossing in blazing heat and decided that despite the best will in the world, we were not fit enough or young enough to negotiate the Mount Doom side track which would add three hours to our journey.   I had woken up that morning with a cold sore the size of Mount Doom on my upper lip. It was sore, it was crusty and it hurt, and as I was obviously not myself, it was not a good move to try to achieve something I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish.  Having convinced Martin that I would be fine if he wanted to continue up Mount Doom as I was not going to get lost, he admitted that New Zealand breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and bottles of wine over the last 7 weeks had all taken their toll and his physique, despite it being honed when he started, had sagged a little from six pack to keg!!!!

 The views from the top of the pass were amazing, with azure blue pools and red craters.  We had to negotiate a lava flow down the edge of the mountain to continue our walk and this took some doing.  After side stepping down through the cinders we decided that the best thing was to hold hands and just run down.  Each footstep sank into the cinders and slowed you down so no danger of falling off the edge, but the whole side to the mountain was quite dangerous. I was very glad it wasn’t windy or cloudy.

 We stopped for a short food break and then headed off for the descent down to the valley.

 How different was the view on the other side of the mountain.  On the side of the ascent it was like a moonscape, nothing growing, black and dramatic, and on the other side the view of Lake Taupo in the distance, the sides of the mountains were covered in the imported Scottish heather that was planted by our forefathers, along with grouse which they thought would be good sport, but unfortunately they had not survived.  The whole scent was purple heather, and the descent was on a nice path that zig zagged down the mountain side, finally ending up in the rain forest with a lovely gurgling stream which you just wanted to fall into.  Alas this was not to be, for it was full of ammonia from the volcano and was therefore not as friendly as it appeared. 

 We completed the route in 7 hours, which I believe was no mean feat, especially for people “our age”!!!

 It was a shame about Mount Doom, but it was not to be, and now nursing a whacking headache as I had not drunk nearly enough water, well where were the loos?? we retired hurt to a hot bath, a quick bite to eat and a long sleep.

 The next morning we did wake up.  Actually we didn’t feel too bad, and as all professional athletes do we decided to exercise our aching limbs just to keep it all moving.  We did a nice 5km walk around a lake not far from the Chateau. That was it.

 The fact that we did not conquer Mount Doom was a hard knock to a Cambridge man and I just happened to be chatting to someone at the Chateau who told me that she had just done a flight in a small plane over the top of the craters of all three mountains and it was the highlight of her holiday.  She had done other flights in New Zealand, but this was the best thing ever.  Oh.  I know what was coming now. ……  A quick trip around the mountain and we found a small airfield.  We did not think for one minute that we were going to be able to go up as we were not there until around 3.30pm and we were leaving the next morning, but with true Cambridge luck, the lady behind the counter was the pilot, and she said she could take us there and then if we wanted. How lucky was that? 

So conquer Mount Doom we did, albeit without the steam from our own legs.  The flight was incredible, the mountains were incredible to see from the air and even more stunning was the fact that we could see the stragglers from that day’s Tongariro crossing and so could map exactly where we had walked the previous day.

 What a great experience that was.

 On our way from Wanganui, a coastal town which was actually quite large and decorated down each side of the street with the most amazing hanging baskets on iron lamp posts, we took the road to Pipiriki where we had to find a coffee shop.  Now Pipiriki isn’t exactly large, in fact on the map the road goes from red, meaning mediocre road, to orange meaning dirt track.  The road was unmade, and of course our rental car was not supposed to be taken on unmade roads, but no choice really, it just had to be done.  Our Toyota bumped and scraped its way over the road that ran along the Whanganui river until we came across a goat tied up in a gateway.  A plank of wood that said Pipiriki Coffee shop and a small hut that constituted a drinking stop where coffee was supposed to be served!! 

 I don’t believe that coffee is ever served in that place. The hut was next to a shack which was on a par with Steptoes yard.  I thought this was where we were staying but in fact we were only checking up on our booking for the next morning for rental canoes.  I am positive that the only reason he has Coffee Shop there is to bring the tourists to the canoe centre.

 It was here we met Joe. 

 Joe was the owner of “Bridge to Nowhere” tours which he ran with his family, one son and one daughter, and we believe one wife who we think resided at the holiday park, but we never got to meet her.  We confirmed our booking for the next day and our  accommodation at his “lodge” way up the Whanganui River.  (The reason for the one night in the holiday park – also owned by Joe – was that the “up river” lodge was full.  On enquiry he said he had a cancellation so now no need to go to the holiday park.  Now we had 2 nights at the “lodge” to look forward to!!)

 He told us that if we wanted we could leave that moment and he would take us in his jet boat. Great; so we threw a few things in a bag, left the car and all its contents outside the coffee shop and left for the lodge.  I asked Joe if we were going to be eaten by sandflies, he looked at the giant cold sore on my lip and said, “Nah, that ain’t no sandfly, you brought that bugger with you from England” !!!

 And so it was that we learnt how to deal with a Kiwi sense of humour.  Joe threw our stuff in the boat, revved up his engine and started off up the river, pulling over after a few minutes having remembered that perhaps he should issue life jackets after all. The River was very different to the blue that we had experienced in the South Island. It was in a very steep gorge with high dark cliffs on either side. The sides of the rocks and tops of the cliffs were covered in places with natural habitat being pampas, tree ferns, vines of a type and the common beech bushes.  The edges of the river were littered with dead tree trunks as we had seen many times before.  Half way up the river another power boat came heading straight for us, and Joe swapped over to that boat whilst his son Ben continued with us on our journey up river.

 The boat trip went on for ever (25 mins actually) until we rounded a corner and high up on the cliff there was a lodge overlooking the bend in the river. What a magical setting this place was and it looked SO much nicer than the small hut we had seen at the “coffee shop”.

 Ben took our bag up on a four wheel drive dumper truck affair  (aka an ATV) and we walked up the steep hill into the lodge.

 Think the banjo playing scene in “Deliverance”!!!!!!!!! (da da dang dang dang dang dang dang da)

 On the way up the hill we passed two rather severe looking caged dogs and by the looks of it hungry (“oh they are quite friendly – its just that they jump up on the guests and can be a bit scarey – but they hunt down the wild pigs real well”). First bad sign. Secondly, just before we reached the verandah where I thought of my cup of tea and a chance to admire the view, oops, there was a dead bird. This was no sparrow, or blackbird, this was a bloody great thing the size of a small turkey, obviously been dead for some time and now home to a few blow flies and maggots. Okay, no getting out of this, bring out the courage from deep inside. The front garden was home to a couple of pigs roaming freely, a few alpaca, a peacock, an emu, a three more dogs, a cat, chickens and a few more of the animal fraternity. 

 Once inside we were shown our room, and a lovely bathroom with two showers, how nice I thought, but was enlightened by Martin that these were the showers for the whole lodge, not just us!!!! Now this may make me sound a bit spoilt but the first night we were there it was fine and we managed very well as there were four people staying the night and all was fine. The second night there were 18 of us, and all in two showers and one loo!!

 Our hosts were lovely and they made us feel at home with a cuppa and we broached the subject of dinner.  That having been sorted we mentioned that we were actually staying two nights and we had not been aware that a picnic lunch was needed the following day for our trip to the Bridge to Nowhere and our canoeing trip back to the lodge.  Oh oh, I detected a definite break in communication.  Most people didn’t stay THAT long, and so no lunch was normally required.  Why was this I wondered? Did they disappear after a night, did they run away, did they get to the bridge only to be lost in the bush and used as target practice for blow pipes?????? However we persevered with a smile and were reassured that yes we could have a picnic lunch and they were sure they could rustle up a couple of slices of bread and some cold meat of some description.

 Darkness fell, and a trapped feeling descended; the noises emanating from the Maori camp over the river were I am sure completely innocent, however I had not by this time established whether Maoris were in fact cannibals in their dim and distant past.  It was a  restless night, but next morning there were no signs of blood or body markings and I calmed Martin down in order that he enjoy the day. (M- yeah right you big wuss!!)

 Ben took us up to the Bridge to Nowhere by jet boat. The bridge was built over the Manganuioteao river not the Whanganui and it was here we learnt of the story of the Bridge to Nowhere.

 After the Great War of 14-18 the returning soldiers were offered the chance to purchase with a loan from the government, a section of land. These sections were quite large but were, in most cases, on sheer drops to the river, with bush so thick that you would think it impossible to tame.

 The soldiers who came and looked at these already marked out sections, and had to decide whether they would indeed be able and fit enough to farm them.  Bear in mind that the only way to reach these sections was by boat up the river; there was no road or track.

 Compared to the horrors that most of these young men had experienced in the trenches a bit of farming on a hillside seemed a doddle and so many sections were taken and agreements made not to sell them on for the obligatory 10 years.  It would seem a new town was to be formed.  The River became a highway, business was conducted all up and down the river.  Steam boats were brought in and when they had to negotiate the rapids they were hauled up on rails.  Everything came in by boat.  The Maori and the Kiwi settlers used the river as their mainstay of survival.  Once the equipment and supplies had reached their destination at the junction of the Wanganui and  Manganuioteao  then everything was moved by hand. Everything had to be lifted across the Manganuioteao  on a rudimentary swing which was self propelled and consisted of a few boards of wood, a rope and a lot of energy.  Over the next few years the farmers insisted that the government do as promised and build the road to join this settlement to Raetihi which was some distance down the river.  The long and short of the story is that the government procrastinated due to the great depression and gradually settlers left. The bush grew in around the houses, the farmland was too difficult to be worked and the road still did not arrive.

 The men of the settlement all got together and drew up the plans to build a bridge, a concrete bridge to join up the road that was surely going to be here soon.  They did just that and the bridge was completed with a ceremony with motor vehicles all coming from Raetihi, crossing the bridge then turning right around again as there was no road the other side of the bridge. Thus the “Bridge to Nowhere”  And that was how it remained.   There were only 8 families remaining in the valley when the bridge was completed and they soon left.  Within 10 years the bush had grown over, the bridge was covered in grass and it was never used.

 It was hard to imagine how the settlers managed up there in the middle of nowhere, but Joe had some beautiful black and white photographs of the settlers, the wooden shacks that they lived in, the women doing their washing, the picnics that were quite frequent and generally snapshots of their lives.  The women were all dressed in their Sunday best, with white blouses, hats and polished boots.  Picnic baskets were filled with home made produce, children played games, it was all very normal.  There were roses around the door and small veggie gardens that were tilled on the terraces that were cut into the hillside.  The whole story was quite sad really, with all the determination of these broken men who returned from war, and were broken again by promises broken by the government. (Or perhaps a misguided idea in the first place thinking the bush could be tamed)

 We returned then to the lodge by canoe, Ben leaving us to our devices and assuring us that we couldn’t get lost, couldn’t drown and if we weren’t back by 7pm, he would be happy to look after our computer and phones!!

 Having kayaked the Abel Tasman and done the Brits proud there, we were confident that canoeing was a doddle.  How wrong we were.  An open canoe, no rudder, no splash aprons and rapids to negotiate, all a recipe for divorce or disaster.  No the two aren’t the same!!!  Martin was in control of steering and I just had to paddle like hell. 

 We managed to return to the lodge and joined a group of Men Behaving Badly who had come on a cycling weekend, without their bikes.  Another fun evening was had by all and the secret dash for the loo and flash and splash in the shower the next morning and we left after breakfast to canoe back down to Pipiriki.

 The Men Behaving Badly tour chickened out of canoeing however, and they were taken down by power boat. Martin and I took the opportunity to hitch a lift, with a canoe, part of the way down.  We didn’t want to canoe for 5 solid hours which was the estimated time to reach Pipiriki.  I can,t tell you the ribbing we got on the boat, and as they disappeared off in the distance leaving a good wake behind them, we were glad to be on our own to negotiate the rapids without an audience.

 After a couple of hours, in the distance we saw Joe returning up the river with another group of unsuspecting visitors, and he pulled over to us.  “I don’t believe for one minute that you chicken shit limeys negotiated that last rapid. Go on, admit that you walked it”

 “Absolutely not” we retorted, “of course we paddled through it.”  What he didn’t know was that after negotiating the rapids we hadn’t spoken to one another for at least 40 minutes!!!

 Joe kindly warned us how to negotiate the last rapids before Pipiriki, wished us well and said that we were “alright poms”, but if we weren’t careful we would be dumped in the water just before we finished.

 We said farewell and palpitations and heart murmurs later we safely negotiated the rapids and arrived dry and whole in Pipiriki.

 Joe and his family had been great, we had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and our stay at the lodge was certainly memorable.  We had told Joe about a similar property in Australia we had stayed near, and how that had been turned into a multi million dollar business (El Questro). Joe, to his credit, said that the last thing he wanted to do was call a load of limeys or Aucklanders “Sir” and he certainly didn’t want to have to dress for dinner so no thanks, he wasn’t interested.  Good on yer Joe!!!!! Your lodge was much more memorable!!!

 The journey out of the Queen Charlotte sound was quite sad really, we had seen and done such a lot in the South Island and we had loved the scenery, weather, company, it was like the end of an era. We had been told by quite a few people that the South Island was more beautiful than the North, and why had we planned it that way around? I began to think the same thing when so many travellers were doing it from North to South.

 Martin had planned it this way around because of the incoming autumn and the decreasing temperatures in the South, so all made sense really, and on our arrival in Wellington it seemed a wise choice had been made.  It was blowing like hell.

 The sun shone though and we made our way like first timers in a city to our hotel.

Wellington was relatively small as cities go but it was poles apart from the port we had just left in Picton. How could places so close be so very different. Okay, Wellington is the capital granted, and it was probably inhabited before Picton, but they were so very different.

 The houses in Wellington were dotted on the hillsides around the harbour. They were very pretty wooden houses, some like the bungalows that we are so used to at home, and as we found out, some were built without much thought to the sun at all, being built very quickly on the Southerly side of the hill thereby affording them no light and no garden to speak of.  The shore line though had, as in so many harbours, been expanded out with land fill and built on with high rise buildings and a Waterfront was developed with the usual restaurants, bars, theatres and areas for social occasions.

 We checked in at our rather large hotel, not what we were used to at all, and felt a bit at a loss not being told what time dinner was, where evening drinks were taking place and help was not at hand for the next days activities to be discussed, not least to say it didn’t seem right not having other travellers give advice about what to do and where to go.

 All along the waterfront there were flags flying advertising the 2010 festival which started on the previous day.  We picked up a brochure which revealed that Wellington was indeed having its own Fringe festival with free concerts, shows in the parks and others in the various venues around the city, one of which had been built in an old warehouse and was constructed of old containers made into stages and seats.

 Our first experience of the evening was of a dancer and a digger. Okay, weird I know but it was actually very skilful.  The full sized digger danced with this guy who was lifted in the air, turned around and around all to music. It was very clever, particularly on the part of the guy who was controlling this digger. You mean it wasn’t alive?  It reminded me of the angle poised lamp that is at the start of Pixar film productions, can’t remember what company it is advertising though.

 We managed to secure a booking for the following night in a theatre for a production called the Sound of Silence, and one for the following night at Sutra. (not as in Karma)

 We visited the Te Papa museum the following morning and were educated in the story of the Maori people and their arrival in New Zealand, the geography of the continent and how it was formed, and how it developed with only birds as inhabitants, and then we went to Pompeii?! A bit off the beaten track I know but there was an exhibition about the destruction Pompeii so we thought why not? Blimey we have had so many lessons in Geography, Biology, Anthropology and social sciences since we have been here, no wonder we are exhausted.

 The Sounds of Silence was fantastic.  We weren’t sure what to expect having been told that it was three hours without a word being spoken, but those three hours whizzed by.

 Ticket availability on the front row the night before the show led us to believe that there may be audience participation at the very least, which we were up for as no one would know us so who cared? But no, the seats were in the front row, but the stage was at our level so it was like sitting opposite the main characters. 

 The show was based around the Flower Power and Free Love scene of the 60’s and was all performed to the music of Simon and Garfunkel.  It was very funny, very sad in places and Martin says it reminded him of his misspent youth!   mmmm ! It was based around 5 student rooms and their inhabitants over a period of time when they discovered drugs, love, sex and music.  I can’t say more really as you need to see it to understand why it was so good.

 The following morning we decided to do the tourist bit and drive around the coast and into the bays from the centre of Wellington.  The wind was howling again, but the sun was shining and we started our ascent of Victoria lookout.   I preferred this area of Wellington by a long shot.  The houses were very pretty, white painted clap board, very pretty gardens and all with lovely views over the sea. I could imagine the first wealthy settlers claiming their stake here away from the hustle and bustle of the harbour and the port. The bays around the side of the lookout were beautiful too, with lovely blue sheltered coves where people were swimming despite the bitter wind. 

 Sutra that evening was a dance come acrobatic show with Shao Lin monks performing with large wooden boxes.  It was on a similar vein to the Cirque du Soleil but much smaller.  Each movement was performed with perfect timing and accuracy as each acrobat relied on another to safely execute his movement.  Very very clever.  Martin described it as Bruce Lee meets Swan Lake,  oh dear, culture and him???????

 Stomachs told us that it was time for brekky and we just happened upon a little café on the corner of a residential area that was heaving with people all having Sunday Brunch, and so we joined them and satisfied our hunger with the most beautiful pancakes, banana, bacon and maple syrup, eggs, mushrooms and coffee.  Weightwatchers here I come…

Wellington was not what I had imagined and Martin felt that he was ready to leave it too.  We had thought we might appreciate some civilisation after being on our own out in the middle of nowhere for so long, but we were glad to leave the following morning and make our way back into the countryside and our next port of call which was Wanganui and the Bridge to Nowhere.