thermo frolics

On Tuesday morning I had more sulphuric fun and games in Rotorua, sampling the geysers, mud baths, eruptions and other strange looking stuff.

It goes without saying I have never seen anything like this anywhere before, and apart from the rotten egg smell, it is fascinating to walk round what looks like one great big science experiment taking place in some of the most stunning scenery you could hope to come across.

I would only make one criticism. That being I don't understand why the Kiwis charge so much to look at this stuff - $25 to each village/park/reserve. Granted, it's actually worth every cent, and I understand the need to maintain these places and stop the lowlifes from drinking Meths in the mud baths, but these are natural attractions. They don't belong to anybody. At the very least I did hope for some kind of explanation from one of these places as to why, exactly, this stuff is here at all. I can see there's boiling mud being spat into the air, but why is this happening in Rotorua and not in Romford? Some kind of basic scientific explanation - a few sentences would have sufficed - was surely required. Or maybe I should have paid more attention during GCSE Science classes.

Anyway, it was very nice. At around 1pm, I set off on the long drive drown to New Zealand's capital - Wellington - where ferries to the South Island leave from. My guide book put the estimated travelling time at six hours, but I assumed this was based on the journey time of a go slow couple in a huge campervan who stop every half hour to look at gift shops. I fully expected that my dusk at 5.30pm I would be there or thereabouts.

As night fell, I was a full 180km from fucking Wellington and feeling like a bit of a twat. Still, the afternoon's driving had been a pleasure. The scenery in NZ is every bit as breathtaking as you would expect, to the extent that I would openly say out loud how beautiful a view was, even though I was on my own. Or perhaps that's just me.

Driving through this country at night is an altogether different experience. Whilst during the day you can see the full splendour of NZ's terrain, at night you really do get a feel for its isolation. Driving through souless town after town, it reminded me of journeys through Lincolnshire on the A17 coming back from Norwich away games. I considered stopping in one of these places for the night and continuing the journey to Wellington in the morning, but such was their eerie desolation I couldn't bring myself to.

At just after 7pm, I made it to Wellington. It then took me a full hour to find my intended destination, which was a campsite in the middle of the city. The only campsite in the city. After a lot of swearing and several near accidents, I found the place. Only problem was it was a campsite for tents only - there was no space for my van and so I would have to look elsewhere, after all that hassle.

I consulted Lonely Planet and decided to head for the nearest possible site I could stay for the night. Techinally I could park anywhere, but slap bang in the middle of a capital city was not ideal.

Eventually I found a place 13km outside of Wellington. It would do for somewhere to sleep, but there were no shops or anything near by and I was hungry. After another drive, I found a Chinese takeaway and then headed back to the site.

After handing over my $15 for the night, I asked the receptionist to book me a ticket for the 11.45 sailing to Picton in the morning. There was a slight problem with this request. That being there was no such sailing in the morning, only the 8.25am journey. Ouch. Which required my arrival at 7.25am. Ouch. Which meant leaving the campsite at 6.45am. Ouch. Which meant waking up at...etc etc

I retired to the Spaceship for a few medicinal glasses of wine and to watch a DVD. Tomorrow was going to be another long day.