New Zealand: North Island Adventures...

Immediately upon arrival at Auckland Airport the British influence was evident. The language obviously, but also the love of and strict adherence to queues - no South American melees here! In an orderly fashion we made our way through immigration and customs. I don't think they would have cared if we'd presented officials with passports we'd made ourselves in crayon as long as we didn't have so much as a fragment of orange peel on us. A very environmentally protective country.

We were to impose ourselves on Ryan and Cyril's hospitality for an undetermined length of time (no spreadsheet for New Zealand!) which I'm sure was a terrifying prospect for them, but despite it being nearly 2 years since we'd seen them at Karen & Chris' wedding I was happy as a clam to bask in their company once more. In their lovely Zest apartment with views of the harbor we spent the rest of the day catching up, gossiping and drinking champagne.

Next day was sheeting rain so did limited sightseeing and ended up in a bar on the harbor, got "refreshed" and put off collecting the camper van for another day.... Next day was better weather so saw a bit more of Auckland and took the ferry over to Devonport: very picturesque, quaint and ever so slightly English feeling.

Picked up the van but decided to abandon it in a city center pay and display bay for the night in favour of more champagne and a dinner to say farewell to our genial hosts and congratulate Ryan on his new fancy-pants managerial job at Price Waterhouse Coopers. Finally, someone from Aston actually fulfilling the prospectus'' promises and having a high-flying corporate "career". During our catch up session Ryan told me about one guy we knew at Aston, doing some Engineering degree, who has ended up as [Ryan] "...one of those people who dance and clap and sing in the street" [Stef] "What, a Hare Krishna?" [Ryan] "Yeah, or a Buddhist monk or something...". More power to Chris, I bet he is very, very happy.

Next morning finally stopped cluttering up Ryan & Cy's apartment and bade them a fond farewell. Worked out a vague itinerary for the North Island on the back of a supermarket receipt and went for a scenic drive around the Coromandel Peninsular. Despite the winter weather the scenery was gorgeous, and spent the rest of the day marveling at the size of the sheep, cows, trees, in fact just about everything. They build things sturdy in New Zealand. In Devonport we walked past a group of guys who, had they not been in school uniform, I would have sworn were 30 year old bricklayers. If this is the size of the average NZ schoolboy I can only imagine what full grown All Blacks look like, thundering down a rugby pitch, ready to do a tap dance on your face in cleated boots...

Spent the first night in the Camper Van at Wahi Beach in a very lovely motor park, and to greet the glad new day had a stroll along the beach in the sunshine before breakfast. Then on the Rotorua where it was quite literally from the sublime to the ridiculous: ZORBING! On the hearty recommendation of Elf and Joanna we handed over $75 for the pleasure of launching ourselves into a giant plastic ball full of water and rolling ourselves down a hill. Chaos ensues... At one point Paul came from above me and delivered a full body slam so I was face first into a mouthful of water. I'm not entirely convinced it wasn't intentional... I spent the rest of the "ride" trying to scurry hamster-like up to the top of the ball to exact my revenge, but I didn't have the necessary body-mass. One of the Zorb-employees rather aptly called it relationship therapy for couples traveling together...

Couldn't resist a visit to the "Kiwi Encounter" program to learn about these rather stupid and ridiculous looking birds dying out. Without the intervention of the Department of Conservation only about 5% of Kiwi chicks would survive in the wild, so after 40-60 days incubation by the male bird (right on Kiwi sisters!) the eggs are taken to sites such as Kiwi Encounter for artificial incubation. Once hatched the chick is given some delicious bugs to eat and an "artificial diet" called "Mrs Miggins Meatloaf" to bulk it up. For some reason that name pleases me enormously. Once the chicks have reached 1kg they are released back into the wild in the same place where the egg was taken from.

We went into the nocturnal house and got to see a few kiwis up close and personal, not behind glass. They snuffle about delightfully in the undergrowth for bugs (external nostrils at the end of their long bills) and are endearingly ungainly. Had so buy a van mascot soft-toy kiwi - christened "Rod" in honour of Rod Stewart and his hair-don't.

More NZ-style madness the next day. Took a gondola up a hill and took in some lovely views over Lake Rotorua. It must be noted that Rotorua is a hot springs resort town and hence a lot of geothermal activity and sulfurous smells. Less than lovely. What better way to take your mind off the smell than to hurl yourself down a hill in a plastic toboggan on wheels with very basic steering and braking capabilities. This they call Luging and was apparently invented right there in Rotorua. It is actually a typically Kiwi-activity: born out of boredom with little regard for personal safety.

If there are hot springs then of course you must wallow in them. Which we did at the Polynesian Spa. I had a treatment booked so could use all the luxury pools but Paul only had access to the proleterian ones. As I am quite nice really I slummed it with him for a while before heading off to the Hugh Heffner Grotto style open air pools overlooking the lake. In solitude I lay back in 40 degree alkali water and contemplated the starlit night sky. A wonderful memory.

Interesting cultural difference side note: while we were at the spa a tour group of Japanese people turned up. The Japanese are very fond of their Onsen (hot springs) and are to be found in abundance across Japan. A usually reserved people, once at an onsen (usually same sex only) they shed their clothes and inhibitions in equal measure. While they kept their bathing suits on in the spa pools, the ladies changing room was a sea of naked flesh with only Westerners creeping about in towels with eyes fixed firmly on the floor. I was having trouble with my locker so a helpful and nude Japanese lady came over and helped me. I thanked her in Japanese and she responded with a formal little bow. Maybe it doesn't come across in print, but in person it was a very odd little encounter.

Before heading off the next morning we called into town for a few essentials: doormat, drill-bit, pack of multi-coloured biros, tea-light holder, mini stapler, etc etc. On the way to Taupo we had a spot of business to attend to at 5 Wharepania Crescent. We had to hand deliver a post card we had collected from a barrel on Post Office Bay in the Galapagos Islands (http://www.ecuador-travel.net/galapagos.site.postoffice.htm) to Mr & Mrs Albert from their son Ben. They were a little startled and confused, but recovered nicely and it was a fun experience!

More shite weather all the way to Taupo, but the friendliness of the managers of the De Bretts (only time I'll ever get into De Bretts, eh Felix L?) Motor Camp and Hot Springs more than made up for it. Had another hippo-wallow in hot springs water, then more delicious NZ lamb and wine. Now understand why everything here is so big - starting to get that way myself...

Next day we were in our way to Napier in perfectly foul weather. We were looking forward to seeing Napier due to it being a particularly interesting beach town with most buildings in the art-deco style as it was completely rebuilt after a 7.8 earthquake flattened it and changed the local landscape in 1931. What is really impressive, and indicative of the hardy NZ spirit is that the town was entirely rebuilt in 2 years. Real grafters.

However, it doesn't matter how charming an art-deco beach town is, in the pissing rain and gale force winds it looses the majority of it's allure. Undeterred, arranged a vineyard tour of Hawkes Bay for the next day. If it's bad weather you may as well be sauced! Sunday dawned bight and sunny though and Napier was a town transformed! First stop was the Mission Estate Winery, founded by priests in 1851. In 1900 (or so) they decided (or were guided...) to move their gorgeous seminary building and vineyard over the road and up the hill. So they sawed the huge building into 6 pieces and moved them with steam engines and horses. They must have really preferred this view to go to all that effort:
On to Brookfields where we were greeted by a surprised fellow in Wellington boots, clearly not expecting company. Despite not being officially open for tastings or sales he took time out from pruning to guide us through some of their wine, which he evidently enjoyed extensively himself resulting in a fabulous red, bulbous, hardened drinker's nose.

A most toothsome lunch in beautiful surroundings at Sileni Estates, and enjoyed the sight of sheep grazing among the vines. How very New Zealand. After lunch we drove up to the top of Te Mata Peak and drank in the views of Napier, Hastings, Havelock and Hawkes Bay. More wine to be drank though, so on to Te Mata Estate, who provided a 2004 Woodthorpe Hawkes Bay Chardonnay for the Queen's 80th Birthday feast. We bought the 2005 vintage, which the Cellar Door manager assured us was far superior. Well she would, wouldn't she? After a final visit to the Craggy Range winery, not suprisingly, the rest of the day passed with very little more activity.

Moving on, after a lunch stop in Palmerston North (in honour of Toots) we found ourselves in Wellington: wet, windy, cosmopolitan and friendly. The extensive and slightly overwhelming Te Papa Museum had a special Lord of the rings exhibition showing, so I had to get my geek on. Lots of highlights, but mostly it reignited my crush on Viggo Mortensen. Consider the following facts:
1. The swordmaster for the films considered Viggo one of the finest swordsmen he had ever trained.
2. He lived in and personally cleaned, fixed and darned his Aragorn costume for authenticity.
3. When he had a front tooth kicked out during a fight scene he asked for it just to be superglued back in so that they could carry on filming without losing momentum.
4. He forged such a bond with "Aragorn's" horse he bought it it after filming finished.
5. He is fluent in English, Danish, Spanish and can now speak Elvish
6. When he stubs his toe angels weep*
*possibly not true

On a side geeky note, those interested in intelligent CGI software should look into "Massive" that Peter Jackson had created (not personally) to provide realistic mass fight scenes. Fascinating stuff.

Lovely Jacqui had sorted us out with a booking at Logan Brown, Wellington's top restaurant co-owned by one of her mates. Spectacular food, wine (courtesy of Jac and Jesper - thanks again!), interior and service. This served as a fitting last night in and farewell to the North Island. The South Island has a lot to live up to!

Tahiti - where every prospect pleases and only man is vile...

Leaving South America was bittersweet - the 2 months there seemed to have passed in a blur, and despite having a few points (ie: any time spent in La Paz) when I was counting the hours until I could be in a non-challenging beach resort, the amazing sights, experiences, tastes, scents (& smells), people and general life-enriching moments vastly overpowered the couple of negative memories.

Anyway, never mind the bollocks: WE WERE GOING TO TAHITI! One last Pisco Sour before take off and we were westward-ho. After a brief stop off at Easter Island (no, didn't see the stone head thingies. I'm sure they mysterious and wonderous, but frankly we just wanted to get to a sunny beach ASAP), we arrived at Papeete Airport, weather still hot and humid at 11:30pm. Point of interest: as a EU passport holder you don't get a entry stamp for Tahiti. Bloody French: I wanted a glamourous passport stamp!

Everybody else on the plane seemed to have smiling Polynesians waiting for them with their names reassuringly on boards and leis of frangipani. Us: not so much. As there were no ferries over to Moorea til the next morning we were staying at the Pension Puea, the most budget option on Tahiti, short of sleeping in the gutter, at $70. They had forgotton to come and collect us so hopped in a laughably expensive taxi and got a crumpled looking and grumpy lady out of bed so we could get into our palace for the night. Now I'm not saying it's the worst hotel/pension/grief hole I've stayed in, not by a long way, but it's the worst one without a private bathroom and lino on the floor that I've paid $70 for.

Enough bitching, it was only one night and IN TAHITI.

Early next morning caught the catamaran over to Moorea. We looked slightly out of place at the Sheraton (rich honeymooner's heaven) arriving with our dusty backpacks and plastic bags clinking with bottles of Chilean wine and duty free hard liquor. Plus, Paul was quietly despising me for still having my $8 Bolivian sleeping bag strapped to the bottom of my pack, claiming that it made us look "pikey". To be honest I think we had bigger worries than just the sleeping bag...

Despite this being a free points stay I think we were secretly harbouring hopes of an SPG Platinum upgrade to an over water bungalow but no dice (maybe because of the sleeping bag?). But our Garden Bungalow "Natu" (Polynesian for "business traveller who spends 20 nights a year in his own home") was just perfect. Very deep and luxurious bathtub, which has become very important to me after 2 months of tepid trickling showers.

Apparently there are not that many actual beaches on Moorea, but the has one, so better and better! Got into the water PDQ so that I really felt I was "on holiday", then took some time to appreciate the beauty around us.

Of course all this beauty must come at a price, and that price is approx $20 for a Croque Monsieur. Spent a diverting hour or so trading comments along the lines of "F*cking hell, have you seen how much X costs? (Insert exhorbitant price here)".

We had predicted this somewhat though, hence the arrival with plenty of duty free booze. Buy a bottle of pineapple juice, get a bucket of ice, add your rum, and the rest of the day just eases by...

However, the rum didn't help the transition from habitually trying to speak terrible Spanish, to having a go at GCSE level French, mixed with plenty of English with hand gestures. Excellent, I can now look a perfect idiot in 3 languages simultaneously!

In terms of "activites" not much to report really. Unless you would like to hear in detail about sitting in the sunshine, sleeping in hammocks, swimming and reading (my choice of literature: "Roughing It" by Mark Twain. No, the irony didn't escape me). Big props to Paul though for reading a book (those who know him will know this isn't condecending) - John Peel's "Margrave of the Marshes".

Actually, the swimming was intereasting. The lagoon was teeming with sealife: fish, corals, molluscs, all that kind of business. As the water was so shallow at any time you had fish swarming around you. Being intelligent people we worked out that if you went snorkelling with a sturdy bread roll purloined from the breakfast buffet you could excite considerable piscine interest. I fact, I would go as far as to say a feeding frenzy. Which is all very cool, interesting and unique until, say, you get THE FEAR at being totally surrounded by aggressive hungry fish that are effing nipping at you to get the last sodden crumbs. Extra terror-inducing points go to the little pointy barracuda that swim menacingly at the surface.

So really just what you's expect from a week on a tiny French Polynesian Island. Gorgeous, relaxing, sunny and achingly expensive.

The only other incident that stands out was a night out we had at Alfredo's Restaurant, that had been recommended on the strength of it's cuisine and live jazz. Food: excellent, jazz: more along the lines of Country & Western and All American classics. Now a bit of duty free gin had been consumed that day so I was enthusiastically joining in with "The Gambler" before the appetizers arrived...

Restaurants on the island run shuttle taxis to the main hotels, so while everyone left in the restaurant was roaring along to "Hotel California" Paul and I left. Unfortunatly in a shuttle to the wrong hotel. Undeterred, I entertained a minibus full of credulous holidaymakers with some frankly libelous (and possibly true) stories about Eric Clapton. Not sure how I got onto that topic, but I'll say no more in case Slow Hand's lawyers are reading this.

Auckland, New Zealand was to be the next port of call, and a visit with the lovely Ryan, my old University friend, and his wonderful boyfriend Cyril. As you can probably tell from my use of highly positive adjectives we were very much looking forward to seeing them!

Map Thingy...

Progress so far:

More Chile...

Now I realize that the entry for Chile lacked my usual verbosity, and while for some this may have been a blessed relief, my die-hard fans (Hi Mum!) may have been a little disappointed. Actually, you may have noticed on the last Chile entry a comment left by my parents, so I would like everyone to welcome Frank and Vivian to the Internet! It's great to have you guys with us, just be careful in the chat rooms, ok?

Anyway, here are some pictures from our skiing in the Andes at Velle Nevado:
On a less than thrilling to anyone but me, I had some essential "lady maintenance" done in Santiago. Hardcore manicure and pedicure, and other things not suitable for discussion in mixed company. I know it makes me superficial and emotionally deep as a puddle, but I felt so so so much better for it. That, plus a couple of opportunities to wear a dress and kitten heels and I was a happy girl.

On our field trip with Fernando we drove out to the coast and had an enjoyable and entertaining lunch in an exceptionally pretty (and moneyed) little town called Zapallar (I think). I was convinced to try sea urchins for the first time. They look like soft, tongue like pieces of coral, have a delightfully unusual texture and taste delicious!

Apparently the Japanese would pay $250 for this little lot...

We took a drive down the coastline and caught an amazing sunset and finished the day with a cocktail in Valparaiso (birthplace of Tom Araya, singer & bass player for Slayer for the Metal fact fans), then were delivered to our hotel door. Lovely.

Next day after a 4 hour lunch we staggered back to the hotel and realized that we hadn't been to a vineyard yet, so slobbered at the the concierge to "just book us on something" for the next day. Turned out this was to the Concha y Toro Winery, the Microsoft-style wine producer of Chile! Maybe not the passionate owner-tour we had hoped for, but interesting non-the-less. Even got a bit of Vegas show style stuff when we were being told about the Casilliero del Diablo line

After that, one last visit to Mundo del Vino to stock up on wine to drink in Tahiti. It's a hard life...