Hello again to you all and welcome to the first instalment of my adventures of 2002. I hope you all had good New Year celebrations. All a distant memory by now I expect, although I hope any resolutions made have not been so quickly forgotten.
Anyhow speaking of New Year it was about then that my last set of adventures concluded and so I shall pick up from where I left off. As you will recall I had just arrived in Brisbane for the third time on my travels (having passed through it twice before without stopping). When I got there accommodation was a bit thin on the ground on account of it being so close to New Year and so I didn't exactly get a choice about where I stayed. The hostel turned out to be OK although a bit small and most of the other backpackers were 'long termers' which made it a bit cliquey. Anyway I was glad to have a place to stay especially considering all the lightning storms that kept happening. I spent the next day trying to explore the city whilst dodging lightning and periodically sheltering in shopping malls from the frequent downpours. On the upside I did discover some good book shops.
Brisbane itself seemed a nice enough place with a smattering of nice buildings and some interesting street art including a fountain that looked like a table and chairs with the water forming a sort of table cloth. Nice though it was I didn't really want to hang around and so I started to ring around to see where I could get accommodation further down the coast. As it turned out there wasn't anywhere at all (at least no where worth going). Next I thought I would see if Sydney had anything going but it (predictably enough) was booked solid until Jan 2nd. So I was forced to accept my position and stay in Brisbane for New Year. Considering all these problems I took the precaution of booking a hostel in Sydney for the 2nd and buying a bus ticket also. Anyway New Years Eve was an unbelievable non-event as the hostel was quite a way from the city centre and most people had paid to go to clubs in the city. The few of us that remained in the hostel couldn't even watch TV or have a cup of tea as the hostel manager had locked everything up before he went out himself.
Its probably as well that I didn't have a big night out as the next morning I had to get up early to check out of the hostel and then hang around waiting for the bus to Sydney. It was fortunate that I had got to the bus station early as when I did I discovered a mistake had been made and I wasn't booked on a bus until February 1st. So a short panic later I was squished into the last available seat on an 18 hour overnight bus ride to Sydney. As you can imagine not the most wonderful 18 hours but it all became worthwhile as we approached the city centre. Entering Sydney over the famous Harbour Bridge and glimpsing the equally famous Opera House through a haze of smoke from the nearby bush fires.
I arrived at the transit centre and set about contacting the hostel I had booked to get them to pick me up and take me there, only to discover that they weren't answering the phone. I tried a few more times with no success and so sat down to think what to do next. The city YHA was just over the road and so I enquire there but unsurprisingly they were full so I went back to the transit centre where they have an 'Accommodation Board'. This was a large illuminated panel with various accommodations advertised on it. Each advert had a 3 digit number which when dialled on one of the attached phones put you through to the hostel for free. O I start dialling. In all I dialled nine, many didn't answer and those that did expected me to walk across town to find them so that I could sit around and wait to see if anyone checked out. Quite unsatisfactory. Anyway after trying all the hostels on the board I wasn't sure what to do next so I sat down in a state of frustration and semi-panic to have a think. Gazing up at the board my eyes scanned hopefully over the adverts for a hostel I may have missed; but there were no more. But wait! What's this? Suddenly an advert caught my eye, it glinted like a fur covered boiled sweet found down the back of a sofa. It was a nearby hotel (pub) that was advertising backpacker accommodation, I had not noticed it before as it was such a dull formal advert and unlike the funky colourful hostel ads'. I ring the number and a very tired sounding man tells me that as luck would have it someone had just that minute checked out and so there is a space. He apologises for not being able to pick me up and gives me detailed directions. And so with a sigh of relief I put down the phone, pick up my pack and set off. Following his directions I walked out of the city centre through streets of dilapidated buildings. I passed a battered shopping trolley full of random junk; an old mattress under a tree in a fenced off concrete plot (presumably home to the homeless) and a blocked drain with old syringes poking out from under dead leaves. Needless to say I wasn't headed for the Ritz. Anyhow I found my way to the busy taxi depot as directed and crossed the noisy main road to where the hotel was. It was on a corner and that was its only distinctive characteristic; in all other ways it blended in to the surrounding buildings. Featureless; so featureless in fact that I can't even remember its name, although to be fair there is a good reason why. The name on the building, barely readable through years of built up grime, was no longer the name of the hotel. The place had been renamed when it had been bought some years before but no new sign was ever put up and the old one never taken down.
I knocked on the door to the bar and was let in by a weary looking old man, he was a friendly chap and surprisingly cheery given his apparent fatigue. Whilst he checked me in and took my details a second weary old man turned up (slightly less portly than the first) and started to interfere - explaining his new way of filling out the receipts so that they could keep better records. The first man couldn't see how this differed from what he had done and so the dispute continued whilst I waited for my key. Eventually they seemed to understand each other and I got my key and headed upstairs only to find my room already fully occupied. I return to the bar and explain and one of the old men, thinking someone is staying without paying, storms upstairs to give them hell. I turned out that one of the girls had moved rooms without telling anyone and so I get her old room. I go in to find the other four beds are occupied by sleeping Japanese guys, none of whom were keen to practice their English. Anyway I stash my stuff in a locker having been warned about thieves and head out in to town to explore. I found Sydney to be a lot smaller than I expected and it was no problem getting around the place on foot. After some general wandering I headed for the river, camera in hand, to get my touristy pic's of Opera House and Bridge. I had heard mixed reports about the Opera House, some liked it others thought it was over rated. Some found it was smaller than expected others larger. I have to say that for something I have seen so many times on TV I was surprised at how impressed I was and it isn't until you walk right up to it that you realise just how big it is.
In total I had just under three days in Sydney and spent much of my time exploring. I went to the area known as 'The Rocks' which is the closest thing Sydney has to an historic sector. I walked over the bridge and found (quite by accident) the huge clown face of Luna Park Sydney's troubled amusement park, currently closed (again). And I could hardly leave without checking out the Kings Cross area. This is where a lot of backpackers end up as there are many hostels there and if I had started my trip in Sydney its likely I would have stayed there also. I am really very glad I didn't. It's a scary place full of sex shops, strip clubs, transvestites and people who look like heroin addicts, and its probably worse at night.
So Sydney definitely has a dark side, it is the only place in OZ where I have seen white beggars (all of whom I assume liked begging as there is no need to in OZ). I am of course glad that I visited Sydney after all no trip around Australia would be complete without it but I am also glad I was only there three days. So at last my time had run out, I had been travelling Australia for 10 months and now the time had come to say goodbye, to get on a plane and fly across the Tasman Sea to Auckland, New Zealand.
Before I get started on my NZ adventures I would just like to mention that after Part 7 was released I had a comment back from one of my readers (you know who you are) asking if I could write shorter e-mails more frequently. Apparently finding the current format a bit like reading 'Lord of the Rings'. Well I have tried to send this one out more promptly than the last one (which was apparently late) but with regard to length I am afraid there is little to be done. I simply keep writing until the story is told and in a fashion that I hope is interesting. But for anyone who may need a break now would be a good time. Go get a cup of tea or perhaps you would like to pick up here tomorrow.
Anyway the flight was excellent and after having my tent inspected by customs I wandered out to meet up with my uncle and aunt. For those of you who don't know, unlike Australia where I know no one, in New Zealand I have a number of relatives dotted about the place. As we drove away from the airport it was dark and raining so I had to wait 'till the next morning before I could get my first look at the place.
Auckland the 'City of Sails' (there are lots of boats here) and more importantly my introduction to New Zealand. Although I had bought a guide book for NZ when I was in Ayr in OZ some 2 months before I hadn't actually done much in the way of concrete planning. I had flicked through and looked at all the pictures and read up on a few of the more famous places but was basically just as badly organised as I had been when I first arrived in OZ. So after doing a quick tour of Auckland and sorting out some kiwi dollars I headed for the museum to swat up on the country's history and Maori culture. It was rather a good museum and it contained many ornately carved and decorated Maori objects. It also made me realise just how difficult it is to pronounce Maori words; something which had continued to be an issue as so many places here have Maori names.
During the remainder of my time in Auckland I had intended to go to one of the nearby islands but my decision not to go had in part been made by the weather. Since arriving in NZ (during their summer) I had seen an enormous amount of rain. The weather men on the telly had started by exclaiming surprise at the unseasonable downpours and as time progresses started to murmur things like "wettest summer on record". All in all not a good sign. It wasn't all bad though as at least it gave me a chance to do a little planning so that I could get on the road again.
After some initial problems getting booked on to a bus I found myself passing through the lush low hills of New Zealand's Northlands region on my way to the unremarkable small town of Whangarei. This was really just a functional stop to get me back in to the swing of backpacking. I did a few walks in the bush and got rained on a lot and so after only one whole day there I set off further north to the town of Paihia in the area known as 'The Bay of Islands'. This as you can imagine is a bay where there are a lot of small islands. It is in my view NZ's version of the Whitsundays in OZ and therefore Paihia could be seen as their equivalent to Airlie Beach. In many ways this is true as both towns are small and touristy and have a glut of hostels and tour booking places. The main differences are that Paihia actually has a beach and is generally a far nicer place. It had rained heavily (again) on the bus journey there and had started again as I wandered towards my hostel somewhat spoiling the view of the bay.
The next day started out much sunnier although there were still plenty of clouds about as I walked along the coast to Waitangi. It was here in 1840 that the Waitangi Treaty was signed by 45 Maori chiefs and William Hobson, the British authority figure. Later the treaty was carted off around the country to be signed by all the other chiefs. Having seen the Treaty House and more recently built Maori meeting house (Whare Runanga) I had had my dose of history for the day and so took a little boat trip around the islands to see them whilst the sun was out.
OK prepare yourselves for a complicated set of circumstances. I had originally planned to tour much of the Northlands right up to NZ's northern tip and back down the west coast via the karri forests. However partly (once again) due to all the rain and partly due to a change of heart I decided to cut my Northlands trip short. So what had changed my mind? Well it wasn't that the places weren't as beautiful as I had been told, it was more that they weren't different enough. I had on my travels already seen many gorgeous islands, countless capes, waterfalls galore and hundreds of towering karri trees. What I wanted was to see things I hadn't already seen that I felt were more unique to New Zealand. Of course things weren't as simple as that. The bus ticket I had bought to take me all around the Northlands and back to Auckland only allowed me to continue travelling around the loop in the same direction that I had started. This took me via the west coast and the karri forests which was fine by me but busses only went that was 3 days a week. The next day there was no bus and so I thought it would be nice to spend the day scuba diving on the wreck of the Rainbow Warrior. The ship, once Greenpeace's flagship, had been deliberately blown up near Auckland Harbour by agents of the French government in 1985 to prevent it protesting about French nuclear testing at Moruroa. Of course it wasn't supposed to get out that it was the French that were responsible. Anyway after it had sunk it was moved to the Cavalli Islands and has since become a diving attraction. So I went to the hostel reception to book the trip. When I got there the girl behind the counter said that she couldn't phone just then as the boss had gone off with the phone, so could I come back in half an hour. I was soon to discover that I had been staying in Faulty Towers. When I went back the phone had returned but the girl was unwilling to use it, I think because she hadn't made bookings before and her English was very poor. Anyway I wait around while she goes to get the boss to help her. The boss also spoke very little English and was also a raving lunatic. Amid much arm waving and the asking of many irrelevant questions, an act that I felt was supposed to make you think she was doing a great many urgent things (whilst achieving nothing) she phoned them up. Apparently it was engaged and so I was told (in no uncertain terms) to come back in 45 minutes by which time it would be sorted out. 45 minutes later I return to find reception unattended. I gave the bell a vigorous ring and then waited for an eternity. When the boss turned up again she was still in a fluster and seeing it was me shouted "I am busy doing something else! You come back later!" and rushed off. Well this was all getting a bit beyond a joke and the day was running out so I set off to town to find the dive shop and sort it out myself. The whole incident was also rather irregular as hostels get commission for selling tours and to keep accommodation prices down many of them rely on this commission to make a profit and so are usually all too helpful. I couldn't find the dive shop and later learned it had moved across town. At this point I had pretty much given up hope and as I walked back to the hostel I decided to book my bus ticket for the day after next. I present my bus pass and explain that I want the next bus towards Auckland that I am allowed to go on. She typed all the details in to her computer with incredible speed and it wasn't until I had left the office that I realised what she had done. Instead of putting me on a bus the day after next via the west coast I was booked on a bus the next morning going back the way I had come (which shouldn't have been possible). "Oh well" I think, perhaps its for the best after all I couldn't imagine I was ever going to get booked on to the dive trip. Indeed when I returned to the hostel it still hadn't been sorted out and so the next day I left.
I was pleased to discover when I got back to Auckland that there was a bus leaving shortly going further south so I bought a ticket and a few hours later stepped off on to the rain drenched streets of Rotorua. I took a deep breath of the foul smelling air in a town nicknamed 'Sulphur City'. Having arrived somewhat unexpectedly I hadn't booked a hostel and so I set off only to find the first two were full. The third one wasn't full but was expensive on account of it being unnecessarily plush but anything to get out of the rain. By the time I had had a cup of tea the sun had come out so I seized my chance, grabbed my camera and headed for the nearby 'Kuirau Park'. It was here that I at last found exactly what I had been looking for. Something different, something interesting, something that smelled appalling and was the source of the towns reputation. So what was it? Well Rotorua is in the middle of the most energetic thermal region of New Zealand and dotted throughout the park were a great many steam vents, bubbling mud pools and boiling lakes. All of which was accompanied by the (very atmospheric) smell of sulphurous gasses billowing forth from deep within the earth. This was much more like it and I wandered around until dusk fell.
Next morning I got up and checked out of the expensive hostel (without having made use of the mezzanine lounge with its glazed climbing-wall viewing gallery). I went across town to a caravan park just near Kuirau Park and set up my tent. Later that day I went to explore the edge of Lake Rotorua to see more thermal features including sulphur flats and yet more smelly bubbling pools. Amongst these were a couple that early European visitors would bathe in for some imagined therapeutic benefit. Apparently the sulphurous gasses and carbon dioxide bubbling up used to create a light-headedness similar to that of laughing gas which caused some people to pass out and occasionally to drown. The practice today is discouraged especially as the pools are now much hotter than they used to be.
By now you may think that I had seen enough thermal features but the most spectacular feature of all was yet to come. I was pleased to be greeted with sunshine the next morning as I walked out of town to the 'Maori Arts and Crafts Institute' located within the Whakarewarewa thermal reserve. Here amid yet more bubbling and steaming pools was built a reconstruction of a pre-European Maori settlement and also a modern Maori meeting house and store house. Before I got to all this though I headed straight for the geysers. There are two active geysers in the reserve and I was delighted to arrive whilst they were going off (which they do quite frequently). The larger of the two is called the Pohutu Geyser and can exceed 20m in height and its smaller neighbour is the Prince of Wales Feathers Geyser. Having now seen and photographed the full spectrum of thermal sights I returned to the courtyard in front of the meeting house where a crown had begun to gather in anticipation of the Maori concert. Whilst I waited I took the opportunity to sample some of the local ice cream. I only mention this because throughout my childhood various relatives who had been to (or lived in) NZ had raved on about the country and always made specific reference to the wondrous ice cream and how vastly superior it was to English ice cream. It appears that many countries around the world believe their own ice cream to be the best but one thing they will all agree on is that English ice cream is the worst. Well I had never been all that dissatisfied with the ice cream I had grown up with but I was keen to find out what (if anything) I had been missing. Now in order for it to be a fair test I felt I should try a flavour that had an English equivalent. I was to discover however that the familiar flavours of vanilla, raspberry ripple and mint choc-chip weren't on the menu. In the end I had to settle for one scoop boysenberry and one of passion fruit (it's a hard life) and I have to say that it really was very nice although didn't quite fulfil my expectations given its reputation.
Anyway after concluding my socio-gastronomic study it was time for the concert to start. We were all instructed to gather under a sort of porch at the far end of the Marae (forecourt) where some Maori customs were explained. A tribal chief was chosen from our group to take part in the required greeting ceremony. After this we were all allowed to approach the meeting house and after taking off our shoes, went in. These meeting houses are extensively carved both outside and in; this one having taken several years to complete. Once we were all seated we were treated to half an hour of traditional style Maori song and dance. I have to admit that I hadn't expected it to be all that good and so was pleased to find that it was both culturally interesting and all in all a pretty good show. It was certainly better than anything I ever saw an Aborigine do. I know it isn't fair to compare these two peoples but its hard not to.
Anyway once I had my shoes back on I headed for the final attraction, to see something that every visitor to NZ would hope to see. Of course I had hoped (and still do) to see them in the wild but as I had been assured that I wouldn't I felt it would be foolish to pass up the chance to see them captive. I am sure by now that you have guesses that I am talking about kiwi's. As I entered the enclosure I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark whilst gazing through the glass at what appeared to be a forest floor. Well it took some determination and a little help from a passing Dutch girl but in the end I saw the little blighter scratching and prodding around in the dirt. I was very glad to have seen one in its native country even if photos weren't permitted. It did amuse me a little though that in order for us to see them awake their enclosure was dark in the day and light at night. Therefore they were living on something resembling GMT, meaning that I was living on their time and they on mine. (Well it amused me).
Having done the thermal region I packed up my tent and headed further south to Taupo. Taupo is the main resort town on the northern edge of Lake Taupo, NZ's biggest lake. Here I was camping again and got a great spot in the local caravan park next to the river with views of the boats and distant snow capped volcanoes and frequent visits from the ducks. Although the weather had been improving it took a bad turn and rained until morning. After exploring the town and seeing a bit of the lake, spotting along the way a 1951 red double-decker bus originally from Bristol, I set off out of town. I was on my to do a walk along the Waikato River to see the Huka falls. The river is incredibly on account of it being crystal clear, so much so that you can see the trout sunbathing on the bottom. The falls are also impressive but are not like your conventional waterfall. About 100m before the falls the river suddenly narrows and the water is forced between steep sheer rock sides causing a great deal of white water. This in turn shoots out the other end over a fairly stout drop in glorious frothing effervescence. I continued beyond the falls on a beautiful riverside walk; it must be said that New Zealand is excellent walking country.
I mooched about Taupo for a day or two more hoping the weather would brighten and then made a move to the southern end of the lake to a little village called Turangi. The reason for going there was to get me much closer to the Tongariro National Park. In so doing I was also getting much closer to fulfilling another childhood dream, for within the park are a number of active volcanoes. It seemed by some happy accident the summer had suddenly started and it was perfect weather to walk the Tongariro Crossing. At the start of the walk the gentle first section was positively crowded with walkers (it's a popular track) but once we hit the first steep climb the long snake of walkers separated out. At the top of this the land levelled out and we got our first good view of one of the volcanoes. It was a relatively young one and had no vegetation on its steep black slopes. Near its peak there was a ring of fiery red lichen and the crater was rimmed with white sinter. It was a seriously imposing beast. Later on the walk having passed through various craters I came across the emerald lakes and blue lake (so named for obvious reasons) before the long walk back down the other side through the bush. The whole area is a truly incredible place.
And on that note I shall leave you all to get on with whatever it was that you should have been doing instead of reading this. After Turangi I headed to Wellington for just 1 day before getting off the beaten track and going to Greytown to stay with my grandmother and to meet up with another uncle and aunt.
So until the next time (which may very well be the last time as my travels are nearing an end), farewell.
David.