glacier gurning

Sometimes on your travels you come across a place that you instantly feel comfortable in and at one with.

Franz Josef really did tick all the boxes. The township was small, yet well equipped for the hordes of travellers visiting the area. I spent much of my night keeping warm by a roaring fire in a great pub, while other patrons tucked into wintery meals like hot pots and roast dinners - all washed down with pints of local ale. It was great, and I only wish time permitted me the luxury of staying longer.

Today (Friday) I went to see the area's glaciers. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been near anything like it. Access to the glacier at Franz Josef was quite restricted - almost ludicrously so. A rope sealed off the pathway a stupid distance away from it, with a sign saying visitors 'should not' progress any further because of 'possible' dangers. What sort of a fucking warning is that? If you want to keep people out of somewhere, don't beat about the bush with the sort of language somebody uses down the pub when they are debating whether to have one last drink - 'well I really shouldn't have another beer, but as you're buying'. Anyway, you only live once, and so I ignored this weedy warning and climbed over the rope for a closer look at the glacier (when you get right up close there are more severe warning signs). When I made it back unharmed, a group of other tourists stared at me as I came back to the unprohibited side of the pathway. I was half expecting them to have a go at me, but as it transpired one said 'fuck it', climbed over the rope himself and then the others then followed. I like to encourage irresponsible behaviour on mountains.

It goes without saying the glacier was stunning, and I felt slightly cheated as I went back to the van that I couldn't see any more. I cast envious eyes up at the helicopters flying people to the top for a snow landing, although it was $300 a pop to go on one. I just felt like I wanted to see more. It was a bit like pulling someone, getting to the fondling stage, feeling a glorious sense of anticipation, before being told to fuck off home.

Anyway, although I didn't see as much of the glaciers as I would have liked, my drive down to Queenstown in the afternoon was easily the most stunning of the trip so far. I had to stop at least ten times to take photographs of the scenery, such was its breathtaking quality. The highlight was driving around Lake Wanaka (spelling correct), where at times I physically laughed out loud at the ludicrously fantastic views. This truly is the most attractive country I have ever visited.

I arrived in Queenstown at around 6pm, which was a bit later than planned. This is the main tourist town on the South Island, and is famous for extreme pursuits such as bungee jumping. Indeed, this is where the first 'bungee' took place. I have not come here to partake in that. It's never been something I've been interested in doing, and I don't really 'get' why people do it either. A bit like voting Lib Dem.

There was another 'first' for me today, when I sent my meal in a Thai restaurant in Queenstown back to the kitchen for being utterly shite. If I order Chili Chicken, I expect the main component of the dish to be chicken, strangely enough. I do not expect a couple of small slices of poultry to be accompanied by about 456 bits of cauliflower. For the record, I hate fucking cauliflower. When the dish came back from the kitchen, about one malteser sized piece of chicken had been added to the dish. It was a clear 'fuck you' from the chef. I left the restaurant in a foul mood hoping the place burns down sometime soon.

Anyway, Queenstown is teeming with visitors and Friday night revellers. I now intend to get shit faced, explore the area a bit more in the morning and then head to my final destination before flying back to Oz on Sunday - Mt Cook.

God bless Murchison

I set off from Motueka at 10am today, bound for the glaciers on the west of the island.

It was another ambitious attempt for one day - estimated journey time seven hours - but driving in this country is an enjoyable, stress-free experience. It's also the best way of seeing it.

As I headed south, I noticed I had just over a quarter tank of petrol left, but thought little of it as I was bound to come across a petrol station sooner or later. I stopped off for tea and a toastie in a little town just south of Motueka, and read a NZ newspaper to get a feel for the news. There wasn't much of any interest. Like in Oz, news of the Royal Family always makes the papers here. A big story in today's editions was that apparently Prince William has got himself a myspace style web site where he can chat to friends by personal invite only. Well fuck me sideways. Young man uses Internet shocker. Still, he is destined to be NZ's next head of state I suppose...

When I hit the road again, it dawned on me I still hadn't discovered a petrol station and that the gauge was hovering disconcertingly above the empty mark. Time continued to pass and the closest thing to civilisation I could see was a man herding sheep. It was time to panic.

With the nearest town some 40km away - where, in all likelihood, the next petrol station would be - there was every chance I wouldn't make it. Particularly as the terrain was so severe and the roads literally went up and down the side of mountains.

There truly is nothing like an incident like this to shake you out of the 'tourist drives along past picture postcard scenery listening to music' syndrome into full-on, I'm fucked and in the middle of nowhere with only a few sheep for company reality. Add into the mix that my phone doesn't work here, and you truly have a recipe for being in the brown stuff. At best if I was to break down, I would be delayed getting to my destination and may have to re-think the rest of the trip's schedule. At worst, I could be stranded at the top of a mountain with nowhere to leave the car while I went for help. It did strike me, however, that if I managed to break down at a picnic site I was in the best possible form of transport to wait for help. I could lay down in bed, have some lunch, watch a favourite DVD and maybe even have a glass of Chardonnay...

The time it took to get to the next town - Murchison - seemed like an eternity. My mood wasn't helped by the fact I spent a considerable part of the journey trailing a BP petrol van, which probably had enough petrol on board to supply a small army's armour of tanks. It was as if somebody was taking the piss.

Finally, I just made it to Murchison. Never before in my life have I punched the air in delight at seeing a Mobil garage, but today I did. Murchison was one of those typical isolated, desolate towns that just had the one of everything - pub, shop, hotel, petrol garage. I was so happy it had the latter I thought it was a lovely place. When I told the garage attendant I had come close to not making it here, she told me it was just as well I had. There wasn't another station for 100km...

I continued my journey in high spirits. In a perverse way the experience had made me realise where I was, on the other side of the world, surrounded by nothing but beautiful landscape. The rest of the journey was very pleasant, and I finally got to my destination - Franz Josef - at 5pm.

Within a few minutes, I had come to the conclusion Franz Josef was the best place I had visited during my trip. Set at the foot of snow tipped mountains, it is a very small place yet resplendent with great bars and restaurants. My parking spot for the night was in a log cabin park, where the air is filled with the smell of wood fires keeping people warm. It was worth the seven hour drive.

South Island

The best thing about your accommodation also being your transport is that when you have to be on the move at some ungodly hour like 6.45am, you can literally just slip from the bed into the driving seat, stick a few mints in your mouth, drink some water and clear off without all the normal getting ready charade of a normal existence. Perfect.

As I arrived at the port and wind battered the Spaceship, I thanked God I had actually driven all the way to Wellington the night before. God only knows what time I would have been on the road at otherwise.

When I got on board the boat, I was intrigued to see that ferries in New Zealand have all the classic hallmarks of those back home - i.e. being glorified floating tacky seaside resorts, resplendent with amusement arcades, god awful restaurants, a horrible bar and a faint smell of puke. Is it really too much to ask for these vessels to offer edible food? In the 21st Century is the best we can be offered by means of entertainment really a few fucking fruit machines? It was like a Little Chef and a Great Yarmouth pub rolled into one - only this experience cost me $180.

The big, big difference though is that Wellington certainly ain't your average British port. Managing to tear myself away from the temptation of eating in the restaurant, I looked out at the captivating sight that is NZ's capital city from sea. It really does look impressive, nestled at the foot of steep and rolling hills. Arriving in the South Island is no less enjoyable. You can easily run out of superlatives to describe the natural beauty of this place - I think I already have.

After arriving at Picton on the South Island, I headed west to the Abel Tasman National Park. This only took a couple of hours, which was a welcome relief after yesterday. Again the drive took me through some of the most stunning scenery I have ever come across. When I got to Abel Tasman, it was with a tinge of regret that I saw you can do three to five day walks through this coastal park, stopping in campsites or huts en route. I would love to do that, but such is my limited time in NZ I was restricted to an afternoon's walking and a couple of Steinlagers on the beach. This was still fantastic.

I found a lovely campsite in nearby Motueka, which also has plenty of bars and facilities for winding down. An early night was now necessary.

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.

sulphur and spaceships

After a hearty breakfast by the harbour, I go to collect my transport for the remainder of my stay in New Zealand.

I'm hiring a 'Spaceship', which is a cross between a car and a campervan. It includes a double bed, cooker, fridge, DVD, CD and MP3 player. The price is also very reasonable, and I am excited by the prospect of six days on the open road with it. When I arrive to collect the vehicle, it is clear the company that lets them out is staffed by wasters. The girl who took my payment and showed me around could barely string a sentence together, such was the obvious affect of whatever she had been doing the night before. Anyway, after a few formalities I was on my way.

I can't say I would have wanted to spend any more time in Auckland. It is a perfectly nice, pleasant and affordable place. I challenge any visitor to dislike it. However, it is hardly the kind of place you yearn to return to. It reminded me bit of the multitude of river/water side developments that have sprung up in the UK over the last 10-15 years. Lots of apartments, office blocks and bars all offering nice views ... but little character. On Sunday when I was with the Kiwi Who's Name I Have Forgotten, I remarked that much of central Auckland looked like it had been built in the last few years. "That's because it has," came the reply.

After an extremely embarrassing incident when I attempted a u-turn on a one way street by mistake, I was heading south. The only thing north of Auckland is the attractive sounding Bay of Islands, but having taken travel advice from my good friend Lady Corlett of the Refuse Collectors and her sister (who used to live in NZ), I decided to drive to Rotorua, which is in the middle of the North Island.

After a good three hour drive, I arrived and headed to a supermarket to stock up on food and drink. I then drove around trying to find somewhere suitable to park the car for the evening, before deciding that a campsite would be the safer and more practical option than the side of a random road.

Although my Spaceship does have numerous entertainment facilities onboard, I didn't fancy sitting inside it all evening and so instead ventured into Rotorua. The place was deserted. I appreciate it was a Monday night, but I don't think I've ever been to a city (population not an insignificant 76,000) so devoid of human activity.

Eventually I stumbled across a bar that was open and began reading up about the local area. Rotorua is nicknamed the 'Sulphur City' because of the odour of the place - it is a thermal area with active geysers, hot springs and exploding mud pools. As there didn't appear to be much going on by way of nightlife, I headed to the Polynesian Spa to sample my first ever dip in a natural pool. Apart from the stench of sulphur, which can get a bit much after a while, it was a great experience. There certainly can't be more relaxing activities than to lie in lovely warm water by the side of a lake on a cool, crisp evening.

It goes without saying this establishment had a more respectable aura than some of the bathouses I've visited - particularly those of the male only variety. It was something of a relief not to see some old geezer wanking himself off in the baths whilst sniffing poppers. Then, my illusion was shattered. A young straight couple were getting 'intimate' in one of the pools, and although it was dark, the motion by which the girl's arm was moving could mean only one thing - she was tugging him off. It wasn't even subtle. Not wanting to watch straight sex in an egg smelling bath, I got changed and headed back into town. Whatever happened to good old fashioned morality?

I grabbed another beer on the way back to the Spaceship, where I spent the rest of the night eating crisps and watching porn.

Lurpack

I have to admit that until I decided recently to visit the country, I knew very little about New Zealand.

Lord of the Rings was filmed there, they make great butter, it's meant to be amazingly beautiful, but it's a bit like going back 25 years in time. And that's what Australians say about the place, so actually you better make that about 40 years.

It would have been at best regrettable, and at worst downright fucking wrong, to have come all this way and not seen NZ. So I've taken a week away from being bored senseless at work to drive round what is widely regarded to be the most naturally attractive country on the planet. I am indeed a man of sacrifice.

My first night was in Auckland. I arrived there completely pissed having got to Sydney Airport ludicrously early and ignored my dentist's advice not to drink whilst on anti-biotics. Well, I had gone practically two weeks without a drink...

Auckland is a pleasant but slightly strange place. It is the biggest city in the country, but it's about as busy as a market town. It is eerily quiet. Upon arrival I started to understand why people say New Zealand is in something of a time warp.

The people here are, however, unquestionably very friendly. I ventured out to an Auckland gay bar last night, where I 'met' someone who was very 'friendly'. Double entendres aside, today he took me on a long walk around the city, pointed out places of historical interest (there weren't that many) and then took me up the Auckland Sky Tower - where the picture at the top of this post was taken. I'm sorry, but I doubt very much if this person (name forgotten) ever went to London that anybody there would go to such lengths to make him feel welcome in their country. I know I wouldn't. Apparently, and I make this comment based on heresy, it is typical of New Zealanders to want to show off their country to visitors to find out what they think of it. I am told they know their country is beautiful, but because so many people leave it to live in the UK or Australia, they feel a sense of insecurity. I guess it's a bit like knowing you're good looking but never getting a shag. Or something like that.

Anyway, I have seen enough during my first 24 hours in this country to know I'm going to really enjoy it. Tomorrow I pick up my transport for the week, which with it's bed in the back doubles up as my home, and then I'm off to explore...