Going Places

Ah, Hong Kong. Hustle, bustle, noise, and people, people, people. EVERYWHERE. I'm trying to walk, get out of my face!

In such spirit, we decided that today was a good day to escape the chaos and visit the nearby, small and quiet Lamma Island. We'd heard great things about it from the Astrids, and apparently it was a roadless and carless little haven of calm only half an hour away. Perfect! This would be a chilled day. It started promisingly, with a nice lie in, during which I had some vivid doze-dreams about teaching Mark how to play tennis and having a Ferg Burger (shit, it's so well publicised it even infiltrates your dreams! Is nothing sacred?!). After getting out and about, we grabbed the customary cheap croissant and jumped on the ferry across to HK island, from where we hopped on board another to take us to Lamma.

After docking at the end of the wooden pier we emerged to behold Yung Shue Wan, one of Lamma's few villages. This 'skyline' of ramshackle, one-storey buildings backed by softly rising hills could not have been in greater contrast to the glitz and glamour of that of Hong Kong island. Lamma is essentially small, green, undulating and almost untouched. There are only two fishing villages and one strange industrial complex that was thankfully for now tucked out of sight in another bay...and everything else is, well, nature. No skyscrapers. No development. Still tourism, but a slight percentage of HK itself, and people mainly come for the seafood. As we moseyed around the tiny streets of Yung Shue Wan, perving at the basic restaurants with tank upon tank of all kinds of exotic, freshly-caught marine life, at the puppies and small children running amok, and at the little houses with outdoor shrines that haphazardly dotted the hillside, we felt a sense of familiarity, and a little pang of reminiscence for some of the places we'd been to two months previously. The delicious-looking seafood in unpretentious surrounds was a definite echo of Mui Ne, and the dogs padding around everywhere was just like any Southeast Asian street. This was old-world Asia again. Asia minus consumerism and modernism, minus men in suits rushing through the crowds to catch the metro, minus the stylish Hong Kong teens walking around with head bowed to iPhone, and plus all the enchanting sights and smells of basic, honest living. It was crazy to think that just thirty minutes away there were people carrying pampered rat-dogs in designer handbags around vast and resplendent underground shopping malls, looking at chinchilla coats for £6,000. So close, and yet worlds apart.

Amongst all of this Chinese rurality, Jess and I decided to be very English and have a cup of earl grey in an appealing little place called Bookworm Cafe. Once fueled, we went for a pleasant, slow-paced hike across the island, along a route leading to Sok Kwu Wan, the other fishing village. Part-way we stopped for a picnic on a peaceful beach, before continuing up and over the ridge of the island, taking in constant views over green coastline and the hazy South China Sea, sparkling in the sun and dotted with big freightliners, seemingly motionless as if engaged in a real-life game of 'battleships'. We passed two little temples, (one in each village), both of which were dedicated to the god of seafarers/fisherman, Tin Hau. (People here definitely pray in an admirably practical fashion). At walk's end, there was a beautiful view down into the bay at Sok Kwu Wan, with its floating boathouses. In the far distance you could just make out the skyscrapers of Hong Kong island - a fascinating contrast if ever there was one.

We killed the time before the ferry back to HK by pottering around the restaurants that lined the one street in the 'village', wishing it was late enough to warrant a delicious but reasonably priced seafood dinner (bad planning). Oh well. We'd just have to continue our quest for good Dim Sum back in HK instead. As our boat pulled out and the sun went down on Lamma, we were happy to have spent a day of peace wandering around the quiet fishing communities, and felt prepared to throw ourselves once more into the heady neon metropolis just a few minutes across the bay.

Later on, as we made our way slowly through the dark bustle of Central, we couldn't help but notice that something most odd was afoot. Everywhere you looked, and in the strangest places - under road bridges, in doorways, and anywhere else there was a place to sit happily in the street - there were women. They were gathered in groups, sat around on cardboard or throwcloths just playing cards, eating dinner, and having a drink and a natter. It was truly bizarre - seemingly all the women of Hong Kong had suddenly decided to try out homelessness for an evening. Why not, eh? Perplexed, we decided we'd ask Al about it when we saw him, and continued on back to City Hall to see if we could finally procure some reputable Dim Sum at Maxim's Palace. When we got there we found out they'd stopped serving it much earlier, and that the grander and more expensive menu had come into play. Shit.

Back across the water to Tsim Sha Tsui we hurried, and ended up dining instead at the Wu Kong Shanghai Restaurant in Kowloon, another one we'd spotted before. It was the best Chinese meal we'd had so far...but still not a patch on some of the spiced and subtle flavours we'd had in Southeast Asia. We'd been trying desperately to find some genuine Chinese food that we really liked. At home, 'Chinese' takeaway often means gloopy, deep-fried, and msg-laiden food, (which in itself is no Thai...), but everything we'd experienced here was completely different again. It was all bland dumplings and unrecognisable, inexplicable 'meat'. Best of all though, the commendably literal and honest way in which Chinese menus often translate their dishes into English does little to whet the appetite. But it does make you smile.

After emerging back up the stairs into the street, Jess noted with much interest that the man in the turban who had been stood outside doing nothing as we went in was still there. He had been on that exact spot every time we'd passed it in the last few days. Always leaning on the railing, always mute and still. Something odd going on there. We decided not to ask him what, going instead for a long stroll up the infinite Nathan Road towards the 'Ladies Market' in Mong Kok, the next district up from TST, which we browsed at leisure. Having procured a few presents for people, it was time to head back for a Tsingtao tinnie in our cute little room. Today had been a good day.

Meetup with Alastair Day

The next cold, sunny morning we had a croissant (standard) and headed for the Museum of Art on the harbourfront. After a browse around a pretty dull section on caligraphy and traditional scroll painting we discovered the far more engaging ceramics display. It housed all kinds of pots, plates and sculptures through most of the Chinese dynasties, with a few real treasures. One big vase had me particularly stunned, not by its beauty - it was re-built from shards and completely faded - but by its very existence, because the date on the card said it was four thousand years old. This bastard pre-dated Christ by two thousand years! There was also a great section on auspicious animal symbolism in Chinese tradition. We learnt how animals like the bat, monkey, crane, magpie, and butterfly each represent an aspect of 'luck', (for instance longevity, wealth, happiness, or prosperity), and often for the simple reason that the Chinese word for the animal sounds a bit like the word for the aspect. So that's why they're all over Chinese art, clothes, ceramics and temples...to bring that luck to the owner.

Bathing in the chilly sunshine on the Tsim Sha Tsui promenade we devoured a bakery lunch and a starbucks doughnut, before heading back to The Box to re-energise for the evening ahead. That done, the Zoological Gardens were our planned time-filler before we met up with Al, and so we headed HK island-wards to go and stare at some animals. We stared at racoons, giant tortoises, flamingos, several howling lemurs and an apparently empty orangutan enclosure, but were particularly mesmerised by one funky little monkey. He kept reaching his little man-hands through the cage to grab at some grass, sniff it, and then decide it wasn't edible. This amusing process was repeated indefinitely, and we were stood there marvelling at him and inventing a 'monkey commentary' for about a quarter of an hour before we realised we were massive losers and should probably move on.

We had time for a pint before we were due to meet up with Al and the Dickies, and so moseyed awhile around Soho trying to find one that was less than a fiver. It's a ludicriously awesome place, but it ain't cheap - all of the 'happy hours' generally mean a drink is around £4 instead of the normal higher price...eep. We struck luck after a valiant search, however, in a place that was technically a Japanese restaurant, where we sank a crisp pint of Asahi before hurrying down to metro stop D to find the Dickster. And there he was, head and shoulders above the sea of people flowing down the pavement, waiting with his parents, in the middle of Central Hong Kong. How surreal! It was lovely to see them all, and to catch up in such exciting surrounds, as we glided up and down the giant outdoor escalators of Soho looking for a nice place to eat. We ended up at an Italian called 'Verve' that Jess had spotted before, where we had good food, good beer, and good company, before moving on to a bar called 'The Pickled Pelican' for some more good beer - and to top it off this was all Tom and Janice's very generous treat. After we'd all had a jolly chinwag, Al, Jess and I retired to his rather civilised and plush hotel room at the Langham to drink more good beer and hang out until the wee small hours. After we'd said bye to Al at the end of the surreal and sublime soiree, we were amazed by the sudden freedom of the streets, which were practically ghost-like by Hong Kong standards. Why, there were only around a thousand people on this pavement...where had the other nine thousand gone?! I suppose that's what you get at 3am.

We went to bed very aware that we'd just had our last proper night of the whole trip. Scary. I was glad it'd been such a great one.

Tues 18th Jan - THE LAST DAY OF THE TRIP!

And so the final day of our epic journey began a wee bit groggily. Having risen inevitably late, we demolished our customary croissant and made swift plans to make the most of the little time we had left, deciding to go and check out a temple called Sik Sik Yuen Wong Tai Sin (quite a mouthful), a fair way to the North down the MTR line. It was an awesome experience. The place was much bigger than I'd expected, and more beautiful - a feast for the eyes, full of vibrant Chinese reds and golds, animal symbolism, and intricate details wherever you looked. It also housed the tranquil 'Good Wish Gardens', a haven where we sat in the sun for a while watching the little terrepins messing around in the murky pond. Simple pleasures.

The peace out there was a huge contrast to the chaos within the temple, where serious hordes of people were busy making excessive incense offerings. There was a very 'conveyor belt worship' feel, as a constant flow of people dropped in for a minute or two on their way home from work. We theorised that each were probably praying for luck in some specific and practical capacity, like good health for a new baby or happiness in a new job - a quick fix of offering to tide them over. In contrast to this flow of people, there were many others who were clearly taking their time, having settled down on the floor and meticulously constructed their own shrines of food and drink. Some comprised just an orange and a glass of tea, wheras others were really quite extravagant - to our amazement one woman had laid out an entire roast pig. Maybe she was praying for a new car...

Yet more people were engaged in a different activity altogether - fortune telling, with 'Chim' sticks. This is a process where you shake and gradually tilt a pot full of thin sticks until just one falls to the floor. Then you read the inscription on that stick, and go and take it to a fortune-teller to interpret its meaning for your future, probably at a price. Hong Kong strikes me as so funny that way. It's a modern metropolis, a mecca of logical and forward-thinking capitalism, and yet these seemingly incompatible ancient Chinese beliefs somehow fit in with all that. A great example would be the official opening date of the Bank of China Tower. This beacon of modernity first opened its doors on 8/8/88 because, according to traditional superstition, the number eight signifies prosperity. It's a really interesting juxtaposition, and all so alien to us Westerners. It was with thoughts like this that we stood around the temple just observing for a good while, peacefully looking on at all the people making their offerings and conducting their divination rituals, soaking up the wafts of incense and the amazing atmosphere of the moment. What a place.

We left the temple feeling very happy to have squeezed it in as one of the final experiences of the trip. The next plan was to celebrate in style by going to take afternoon tea at the incredibly grand Peninsula Hotel. It was an end-of-journey treat that we'd been scheming up for a week, and it was simply delectable, darling. We felt all posh and pampered for a change, sitting and supping in the regal hall, to the gentle, ambient tinkling of fine cutlery, savouring every morsel and lapping up the luxury. Om nom nom nom. Afterwards we watched the night descend and the lights of the famous skyline come alive from a nice spot on the harbourside, before taking in the 'symphony of lights' show for a second time.

After having pensively basked in the glow of the city for a long while, we agreed that it had been a magnificent day, to end a truly magnificent journey. In contrast to the luxurious afternoon tea, we found some strange, greasy dim sum in a litte cafe for supper, and headed back to have one last beer in the room as we packed for the return journey. It felt very strange, but we were so happy. We'd done it. It had been epic. How to summarise it all? Well...

We'd scratched the surface of six countries, explored a bunch of ancient and modern temples, eaten a plethora of awesome food, made a lot of temporary but lovely friends, immersed ourselves in exotic culchers, went to some gigs, learnt how to cook Vietnamese style, wandered amazing markets, kayaked and sailed around tranquil bays, thrown ourselves out of a plane, driven a campervan 700 kilometres, walked through a million-year old rainforest, had a lot of cheap beer, as well as the odd really expensive one, learnt the meaning of 'Manchester' to Australians, learnt how to cross a road in Vietnam without dying, scuba dived on the Great Barrier Reef, chundered everywhere, taken some hair-raising motorbike taxis, relaxed with the lovely Mallinders, been on the 'world's steepest railway', horse-trekked through rivers, snorkelled with sharkies, hiked on a glacier, relaxed on pure white beaches, avoided death by jellyfish, death by spider, death by earthquake, and death by skydive, wined and dined in some seriously cool cities, as well as some seriously tiny backwaters, learnt what things like 'schooner' and 'chur' mean, seen a whale dive, sneakily photographed several theravadin monks, had a sunny christmas barbeque, brought in the New Year 13 hours ahead of the UK, and travelled through time for that matter, mastered the art of the haggle, pranced about in flipflops 90% of the time, sweated our arses off, frozen our tits off, met some Maoris, walked across two active volcanoes, been there, done that, and bought several T-shirts...And I'd loved every minute, because I'd got to share it all with Jess.

But now it was time to go. When all was backpacked up, we settled down for our final night together, with feet sticking out of our cosy, dinky-chinky bed, in Room D, Lee Garden Guesthouse, Flat B, Fook Kiu Mansion, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, China, Asia...The World.

Bring on home, and the next chapter.

We left Auckland for Sydney very early on the morning of the 11th January 2011. It was strange to think that before we reached Hong Kong, we would have to re-visit Australia. Granted this was only for a few hours as we waited for our connection and we never left the airport, but still pretty strange to be going 'backwards'. Our eight hour flight from SYD to HK passed by very nicely - good old Qantas. This was our second to last flight of the whole trip! We'd got seven flights under our belt already, so you could say that we were part of the Frequent Flyers club now, darling.

I was obviously excited about the Hong Kong chapter since we knew it was going to be a wicked place. I was filled with trepidation; however, as I knew it would have similar characteristics to South East Asia but be different because it would be incredibly modern, overpopulated and well... Chinese. It was going to be a blend of East and West, a mixture of both cultures we'd experienced so far on the trip. I didn't know what I'd think to this place...

We landed at 6pm local time, itching to get to our guesthouse to sleep (woo). Once we'd grabbed some Hong Kong dollars, we went to find the bus that goes to Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon. We could tell before we'd even left the airport that it was going to be a much cooler here than in New Zealand. The people around us had coats, boots, scarves and hats on! Dave and I were going to need layers, fast. We boarded the bus which took around an hour to cross from Lantau Island to Kowloon on the mainland. Mad, long, neon-packed streets were our first glimpses of life in Kowloon as we drove down to our stop. My first thoughts were 'this place is mental!' and it certainly was. It was a big 21st century technological city combined with that Asian craziness feel we had grown accustomed to in South East Asia. This place was pumping, and so awesomely alive! If I hadn't have been so sleepy, I would have jumped off the bus, compelled to explore this urban jungle at once. Alas, we decided that would have to wait until tomorrow.

We received a very warm welcome at Lee Garden Guesthouse, 8th floor, Fuk Kiu Mansion (HA!). We were greeted by the owner 'Charlie Chan' and his smiley helpers. The 'guesthouse' was tiny. It had a small arrival area and then three short corridors where the rooms were. Space is an issue in Hong Kong, that’s for sure. In fact, it has the highest world population density at a poky 51,000 people per square kilometre! So I expected our room to be small...but it was comically tiny. The space issue was made worse by the fact that we had our backpacks on, which made the room seem smaller still. But it was 'cosy' and very clean. I was sure we'd get used to it... Right now we both needed sleep, as we'd been up for over 24 hours. So at 9.30pm we wrapped ourselves up (it was 9 degrees outside!) and fell into a deep slumber. Zzzzzzzz...

Probably the smallest room EVER

Our first official day in Hong Kong kicked off at 1pm as we'd had a massive lie in to combat jetlag and compulsory showers to get rid of the plane juice we'd been harbouring. The plan was to take it easy today and explore at our own pace. We had 7 days here so we didn't have to start running around trying to see things instantly. Besides, you couldn't run anyway - too many people! It was still a chilly 9 degrees outside so we both had to layer-up as many t-shirts as we could before bracing the outdoors. They don't do heating in Hong Kong either. Classic Asia! The streets below Fuk Kiu mansion were chaotic with thousands of people, shops, hotels and eateries. We strolled about trying to take in the chaos, our eyes attracted by all the signs and lights around us. We paid a visit to the nearby and infamous Chunking Mansion and wandered the ground floor arcade. We'd heard a great deal about this dubious budget accommodation joint from fellow backpackers. Most hated it. For those who don't know, it’s a high rise building in which each floor is occupied by an individual guesthouse. There are a plethora of budget guesthouses contained within this building, ranging from ok to horrific, or so we've heard... You're lucky to get hot water in some apparently! Aside from this the entire building is scattered with Indian men, just hanging or wanting to sell you suits/watches/handbags. It can be quite unsettling. Dave and I weren't fazed though as we'd been in situations like this before in South Each Asia and were used to being touted by odd folks. I was glad we'd not opted to stay here though... it was very grim. Dave did, however, acquire a brown 'leather' jacket from one of the stalls there for 12 quid. He assumed it was probably taken from a guy who died at the mansion or something. Oh well, it look good and it was another layer at least.

It's rather chilly!

Afterwards, we headed down to the bottom of Nathan Road (the stupidly long road which runs right through the heard of Tsim Sha Tsui) to the harbour side for our first proper gander at the Hong Kong skyline. Wow, what a harbour indeed! It’s only a narrow stretch of water which separates the Kowloon peninsula from Hong Kong island so the cities' skyscrapers just kind of jump out at you. Victoria Harbour is buzzing with ferries, chug boats and naval ships coming and going from the South China Sea all day long. It’s very easy to see why this is one of the world's busiest and most spectacular harbours. We basked in all its glory for a while amongst fellow European and Chinese tourists, until we decided that a coffee was in order. We spent ages in a Starbucks on the harbour edge, Dave writing his journal and me reading our lonely planet guide. It was a great chance to reflect on our first impressions of Hong Kong and plan activities for the days ahead. Later we continued our walk back along he harbour side and passed the famous Star Ferry Terminal which takes commuters and tourists across to the island for roughly 20p. How good is that?! Hong Kong public transport is very impressive and its dirt cheap - woo! On our walk we passed an imposing colonial style building which used to be the old Hong Kong Maritime Police HQ. It was now a decadent outdoor shopping/dining plaza which was a feast for the eyes. As the evening drew in, we wound up on Nathan Road again, strolling through the neon lights in search of the Temple Street Night Market and somewhere for dinner. Dave was on a retail win today and bagged himself some socks and a little camera tri-pod which bends so that you can attach your camera to basically anything without the need for coercing members of the public to take your photos. I don't know why they haven't graced our shores yet... Anyway, what a great first day we'd had in Kowloon and we'd barely scratched the surface of this place, let alone the mighty Hong Kong Island itself.

The next day was much warmer, thank god. After grabbing an obligatory croissant at our local 'bakery', we headed to the waterfront to visit the Hong Kong museum of History. We were both eager as a beaver to learn about this place and attempt to understand its fascinating, complicated history. Well, as you can imagine this took the best part of a full day. The museum was epic, spanning three floors which guided you through the history of Hong Kong from prehistoric (!) to the handover of sovereignty back to China in 1997 and the apprehensions about what will happen in 2047 when Hong Kong officially becomes part of the Peoples Republic of China. The museum blended a mixture of geology, natural history, folk culture, ancient empires, British colonialism, Japanese occupation and post Wold War II. I really enjoyed all the fascinating displays!

Feeling much more clued up about Hong Kong in general and absolutely bushed, we decided to get some fresh air and hop aboard the famous Star Line Ferry for our first taste of life on the main island - ooo! It was a short, choppy ferry across Victoria Harbour along with fellow tourists and a mixture of Chinese/European commuters. The Hong Kong skyline is rather impressive and like so many big cities, standing amongst them makes you feel like an insignificant ant scouring around a magnificent urban jungle. The mainland certainly felt more up-market and 'businessy' than Kowloon, but that was to be expected. All the major banks, electronic and communication businesses occupy a large area of the island, which means that millions of people come to the island for the old 9 to 5 slog. Dave and I had the opportunity to witness the horrendous surge of people on the streets and walkways after work hours and oh-my-god there were so many people EVERYWHERE! This made it more difficult for us to get our bearings and find somewhere for dinner (that and the fact that we hardly ever found a Chinese dish we actually wanted to eat!) So we wandered around in a daze, pretty drained from all the learning we'd done at the museum earlier on in the day. It was too late in the day to form an opinion of Hong Kong Island yet as we'd docked at a slightly awkward time and we were not in the right frame of mind to explore extensively. Instead, we decided to grab a dinner, any kind of dinner (which ended up being a microwavable spaghetti Bolognese) and head back home to chill. We'd do a formal day of exploration tomorrow.

We were up out on our way to catch the ferry, croissant in hand, by 9.45am. Today would be more successfully. The weather was much warmer and the sun had promised to make an appearance late in the day. Awesome. We headed straight for the Bank of China tower, which has a public viewing deck on the 43rd floor. Granted, we had to hand over our passports, have our backpacks checked by security and receive visitor passes but it was totally worth it. The perspective of the city and the harbour up there was great for giving us a sense of perspective. We got a proper view of the massive construction ongoing near the Central Pier on the Harbour in which land was being 'reclaimed' from the water in order to extend the Island further and create more space. Wow, desperate indeed. After leaving the Bank (we really didn't want to outstay our welcome), we headed to the nearby St John's Cathedral, a tiny old Anglican Church lost amongst the modern metropolis. It triggered memories of our great homeland, which we would be returned to in no less than five days time! From one tranquil place to another, we headed to Hong Kong Park for a little nosey around. The park prides itself on being incredibly artificial, but it is located in a very unnatural setting amongst the concrete jungle of skyscrapers, hotels and shopping malls which make up Hong Kong Island. The park is gorgeous with its waterfall, terrapin pond and a spectacular aviary. It definitely rivals other great parks we'd seen earlier on in the trip.

Afterwards, we headed to the close-by Peak Tram stop which takes you on a very steep journey up to the top of the hills which hug the city of Hong Kong. From there we took in the AMAZING views of the city below and the Harbour in its entirety. We looked out towards Kowloon and mused about the misty China mainland in the distance. There was plenty to explore beyond Kowloon, that’s for sure. The Peak once was the exclusive haunt of rich European expats living in Hong Kong but has since opened its gates to the floods of tourists (like us) wanting to take in the spectacular views and do a little shopping/eating alongside. Dave and I escaped the crowds and did a recommended loop walk around the Peak which took in the epic views of the city and the out towards the mysterious South China Sea. People still live on the Peak in old colonial properties hidden away behind huge gates and intercoms but purpose built apartments have also been built up here for affluent city dwellers. It would be a dream to live up here. The Peak is a rare slice of tranquillity in this futuristic megacity. I loved every minute up there. But alas, it was time to descend back to the hectic life below and explore some more of Hong Kong's famous districts.

We walked to Lan Kwai Fang and Soho (there's one in every city!), taking in the atmospheric hill-streets with their cool bars, restaurants, shops and markets. Dave and I finally felt like we clicked with this place - at last! We rode up and down the huge outdoor escalator, which is the worlds biggest in fact. This is one insanely cool city. Around Soho there is a good blend of European and Asian culture with sophisticated wine bars and vibrant stalls selling anything and everything. The majority of bars in the Soho area were filled with Europeans/Americans doing what we do best, drinking. Ahhh, this is where people unwound after work/a day of exploring. On our return journey back to Kowloon, we decided to take the speedier MTR underground. It was only slightly more expensive than the ferry at a whopping 80p a ride! And I can safely say that it was the cleanest, most efficient transport I've ever taken. The London tube badly needs a rejuve. Back in mental Kowloon, we grabbed some dinner which was yet another uninspiring Chinese cuisine experience and then headed to the Harbour to catch the famous Light Show at 8pm. 'A Symphony of Lights' is the name of the show which takes place very night on Victoria Harbour and has been dubbed the 'world's largest permanent light show' by Guinness World Records. It was spectacular to watch the buildings on both sides of the harbour flash their lights in an impressive multimedia display. It was a slightly bizarre experience I must admit, as the music which the lights 'danced' to was very cheesy in the hilarious Asian way. But it’s good fun and gets much better as the show progresses. It had been one of the best days in Hong Kong so far and perhaps one of the best days of the entire trip. We'd felt like we really got to see what makes Hong Kong such a fascinating and stunning city to explore. We'd fallen for this place, big style.

The following day we opted for a Danish from the weird, yet wonderful bakery on our street and headed to the nearby Kowloon Park. You would never believe that this pretty huge park is nestled amongst the madness that is Kowloon and Nathan Road. For me, this is an example of a classic Hong Kong contradiction. Other examples include the insane modernism of the city's architecture, yet the local builders like to use scaffold made out of bamboo. A second would be the need of some Chinese to wear surgeon’s face-masks to protect themselves from germs due to the overcrowding and traffic pollution, yet the majority of Chinese who sneeze/cough in a public place don't cover their noses/mouths! Very perplexing (to a westerner at least) Anyway, the park was delightful and full to the brim with people (standard) engaging in a spot of Tai Chi as part of their morning exercise. Kowloon Park had a surprisingly genuine community feel to it with the oldies Tai Chi-ing, a group of aspiring women singers learning a song, a long-bearded bloke teaching a kid some martial art or other and a camera club out in force taking snaps of local birds. Nice. After this we headed to Central Pier to have a nosey in the Hong Kong Space Museum. Surely with China being at the forefront of science and technology we thought the museum would be awesome but it was surprisingly outdated and uninspiring. It was 'neat' learning about rocket launches though...

The rest of the afternoon we spent on the main island exploring the alleys, ladder streets and hills of Lan Kwai Fong, Soho and Sheung Wan. We followed our noses, as our guide book suggested, to the incense overload that is Man Mo Temple in Sheung Wan, the older part of Hong Kong. The temple was extremely smoky (a safety hazard some might say) and absolutely full of locals, buzzing around in this small place making incense and paper offerings for good fortune, health and happiness. This kind of worship is a hectic contrast to the tranquil aisles of silent prayer at religious houses back home. Although I couldn't stand and observe amongst the fumes for too long, it was a very memorable experience. The people here stop by at this temple and make offerings every second of the day; they always find time for worship in their busy schedules. Our next stop was at the close-by Cat Street Market for some trinket browsing and then a stroll through the old town; past countless dried seafood shops (Shark's fin etc... yum). This area of Hong Kong was only a stone throw way from the high-rise business and shopping district, yet it had an old-world feel to it. I was very glad we'd seen this area of town where the 'real' people of Hong Kong live, shop and pray. What a treat.

Mmm dried fish!

The Year of the Rabbit is upon us...!

Satisfied with our day's ambling, we decided to have a night in with an instant noodle dinner, tortillas and plenty of Tsingtao beer back at the guesthouse. It was nice to stay in and 'cook' dinner for a change since wandering the streets for eateries in HK had been quite an effort so far. We chilled all evening in our cosy little room and watched Saving Private Ryan (in English not Cantonese!) on TV. Awesome film, awesome day.

[Since Dave will be signing off this blog once and for all, I'm going to slot-in my own thoughts on the trip as a whole very cheekily below:

IT WAS THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE!

Fin.]

Kaikoura - Waikawa
We'd had a whale of a time in Kaikoura (LOL), but it was time to leave our tiny Puhi Puhi campsite and head back up to North Island. I drove. The journey was mainly right by the sea and thus very good-looking...livin' the dream! We stopped once or twice, first to check out some more seals, and second to fuel up in Bleinheim. The ferry journey back across the strait was better than the first, the day being less windy and allowing a nice bit of top-deck air-catching in the beauteous Marlborough Sounds. I even spotted a pod of dolphins in the distance, frolicking in the wake of the boat. (I say I spotted them, someone else did of course, but I did see them...) Pretty cool.

Jess drove Tawhirimatea off the boat, through Wellybobs and out the other side, and off we went up the never-ending state highway 1. We stopped somewhere I can't remember the name of to get some supplies, before blitzing on and finding a DOC campsite called Waikawa, just North of Otaki on the edge of Tararua Forest Park (about a third of NZ is some kind of protected parkland - you can't go far without hitting one). The campsite was another basic option - again just grass, a river and a longdrop toilet or two - but it was larger and much quieter than the one the night before. There was a strange old scraggly Kiwi gypsy man and his big mastiff dog sat outside the one and only nearby tent. He was friendly enough, coming over for a chat about what our van name - Tawhirimatea - meant. It's the name of the Maori wind god, but he insisted that he interpreted it as meaning 'the one from across the water'. He spoke in a painfully slow slur, which added to his mysterious and unhinged aura. If anyone's seen the film Amores Perros, he reminded me of the hobo assassin bloke in that. He spent the whole evening just sat outside his tent, like a redneck on a porch, chatting to a young apprentice - I think he lived there. All he needed was a shotgun. As we passed the night with more campstove dinner and red wine, we both agreed that Mark would have loved him.

Waikawa - Whakapapa
The aim of today's drive was to make it to Whakapapa, (pronounced Fuckapapa...teehee), a teeny township on the base of the mighty Mt Ruapehu in the Tongariro National Park, where we'd probably stay two nights in order to do one of the area's many walks. This was the area south of Taupo that we'd passed through on the Kiwi bus on the way down, and having not really seen it due to the shit weather, vowed to return to. It boasts three volcanoes and what is meant to be one of the world's greatest one-day walks, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. So that was our potential plan.

I drove for ages, and then after a McCoffee from the 'American Embassy', Jess took over for some more ages. We drove through varying degrees of greyness and rain, vainly hoping for a bit of blue which never came, and by the time we reached Tongariro it was lashing it down. We saw the peak of Ruapehu reasonably well for a short while on our way around it's edge, but things worsened and we reached the Whakapapa Motorcamp tired, surrounded by unrelenting rain and mist again, and understandably disheartened. Were we ever going to be able to see this bloody place?? The imagination game was wearing pretty thin.

Almost considering just carrying on North, but checking in against our better judgement, we were informed that the forecast for the next day was good and that the Alpine Crossing walk was a go ahead. Sceptical but slightly cheered, we played cards in the dry of the camper for a while, before deciding to definitely do the walk, and going to book our minibus transfers at reception. It isn't a loop track, it's a 'crossing' that starts and ends in different places, so we needed to get our bus places booked. Having done that, we felt very positive, and celebrated by taking a short walk up the nearby 'ridge track', which in better weather would have afforded us good views of Ruapehu and also Whakapapa back down the hill. Today it just gave us a bit of much needed excercise after all the driving. In the evening we made a huge omelette, and the weather finally cleared up quite a bit. We went outside and there he suddenly was, Ruapehu, beaming down through the remaining clouds, and getting us all excited about the next day's 'tramp'.

Cloudless blue sky was what greeted us the next morning, and we couldn’t have been happier. We were bussed to the start point and were walking eagerly by 8.40. What followed was a day of constantly changing terrain and interesting, ever-spectacular scenery. Touted as one of the greatest one-day walks in the world, the 19.4 kilometre track cuts a route between two of the National Park’s epic volcanoes, Mt Ngauruhoe and Mt Tongariro. It was certainly the best walk I’ve ever done.

The walk started with a gentle ascent up to Soda Springs, a waterfall by the base of Mt Ngauruhoe, a.k.a. ‘Mt Doom’ in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, used for its classic volcanic cone. Looking back down the valley, in the distance we could see Mt Taranaki, a mountain on the East Coast of North Island. It was just hovering there above the haze of the horizon, but was itself clear as day despite being about 140 kilometres away. Truly amazing, considering that yesterday we could hardly see ten feet in front of us. Next came a steep ascent up a pyroclastic flow (!) that swept down into the valley between Ngauruhoe and Tongariro. We were walking along the hardened remains of Ngauruhoe's most recent eruption, in 1975. Crazy! After the hard ascent, we were rewarded with a nice flat bit, across Tongariro's huge South Crater. It was suddenly so very flat and barren, and the landscape around us was becoming increasingly alien. By the time we climbed out of South Crater, to reach the walk's high point at the edge of Red Crater, we might as well have been on Mars. Emerging over the crest of a hill, a chasm of deep red and black rock spread out below us, steaming all over the place, hot to the touch, and smelling like Rotorua. And all of this had both the peak of Ngauruhoe and miles and miles of views into the distance for a backdrop. We truly are on top of an active volcano! I've never seen anything like it before, and doubt I will again. It was just unbelievable.

Around the crater's edge the path took a steep descent down to the Emerald Lakes, and it was clear where they got there name from. Again, I've never seen anything quite like it - bright green pools, surrounded by all this Martian, barren rock. We had our picnic lunch amidst vents of volcanic steam, overlooking a green lake (surely the most epic picnic ever?!) before crossing Tongariro's Central Crater to ascend to the much larger Blue Lake. Looking back from up there, the view was insane - Tongariro's Central Crater expanded out below us up to Red Crater, steaming away in the foreground, with the conical peak of Ngauruhoe nestled in behind that, and then furthest still was the snow-capped Mt Ruapehu, the area's biggest volcano, peeking at us from behind the other two. Just wow. After skirting Blue Lake we emerged on the other face of Tongariro and began the last part of the epic walk, complete with the first foliage we'd seen in ages. On the winding descent we had a completely different - but almost as awesome - vista, looking out over Lake Taupo and the vast, flat expanse to the North. The track passed the Ketetahi Hot Springs, another thermally active area producing huge clouds of steam, before heading through forest to the end point. This forest part seemed never-ending - we'd now been tramping for nearly 8 hours and were feeling it, especially all of this downhill, and for the very first time there wasn't all that much to look at. But end it did, and we arrived at the finish line feeling weary but amazing. We'd just walked about 12 miles, in 8 hours, and across two active volcanoes. What a day! In the evening we relaxed with some overdue beers in the cosy van, our little heater blaring, and felt happy, healthy and so so so grateful that the weather gods had finally given us this amazing opportunity.

Whakapapa - Raglan
The weather was still fine the next morning, and as Jess drove us away we enjoyed - for the first time, even though we'd now done it three times - a great car's-eye-view over the Tongariro National Park. As we trundled past the epic, landscape-dominating cone of Mt Ngauruhoe, we both felt sad to be leaving the place, and I declared that I thought it all very fine, very fine indeed. Perhaps the Tongariro National Park was one of my favourite places on Earth. I did mean it.

The plan was to head up along Lake Taupo on the opposite shore to where we'd been before, and from then on there was no plan. We needed to be in Auckland, about 300 kilometres away, by the next day to drop the van off, but that could probably be done pretty easily and we didn't quite know where we wanted to stop on the way. We just thought we'd see how far we got, and then decide on a whim. We stopped early on at a wicked lookout point with views over the lake, where we chatted to a couple of lovely Kiwi ladies for a while. Then back to the open road, and an enjoyable, winding journey through quiet farmland roads to the West of the lake. Jess stopped for petrol and I took over, just as we rejoined the slightly less interesting State Highway 1 (how convenient...!), a road which had dominated our campervan experience because it runs all the way from Christchurch to Auckland - if we'd been less adventurous we could have taken it the whole way. Mustn't grumble though - any road in New Zealand is preferable to the motorways of home. Their SH1 is the equivalent of our M1, and yet it looks more like an English A or B road - smaller and more fun. They have no motorways in NZ, hardly any traffic, and stunning scenery, so it makes the whole campervanning experience a dream. We loved the drives almost as much as the stops.

Stopping at a little town for some shopping, we saw a Kiwi bus. Aw! That was us not long ago. This was all very well until we realised that the Kiwi stampede had pretty much bought the shop dry...little buggers. After having some lovely banana and nutella 'bruscettas' (food supply was dwindling) at a picnic stop a few k up the road, we carried on until we hit Hamilton, where we pulled up briefly to consider our options. Our decision to head directly West, to the coastal town of Raglan for the night, turned out to be a blinder. The weather was still great, and Raglan itself was reminiscent of Byron Bay in Oz. We liked the feel of the place. Before finding a campsite we had an ice-cream and a wander about town, and also down to the beach where hundreds of people were enjoying the sunshine. A lot were flinging themselves repeatedly off a footbridge into the bay below, which looked like fun. Suddenly it dawned on us that we were in a minority for a change - about 90% of the people around were Maori, or at least Polynesian of some kind, overwhelming the whiteys for the first time. And when we arrived at our campsite later, we found that to be totally Maori-run too. This was all an interesting, refreshing change.

Finding the campsite proved to be a bit of an issue. It was called 'Te Kopua Whanau Camping' (The Kopua Family Camping), and as we soon found out, it had been the actual home of the Kopua family for a long time. They'd only recently opened their gates to campers, and as such the place was not signposted at all. On the road, there was not one 'campsite' symbol. The only signs they had on their outer gates said 'No Fishermen!' and 'Drugs and Alcohol - Strictly Prohibited'. O-kay.... After feeling like we were tresspassing for a while we eventually located the entrance, were welcomed with a hearty 'Kia Ora!' from an attendant lady, and found ourselves a space. We were joined by Daniel and Kate, a pair of Aussies also in a van who we'd met trying to find the damn place, and Dan came over for a natter, which was nice. Then we sat reading in the sun for a while, enjoying our last real evening. The friendly lady who approached us to collect our measly campsite fee had the traditional Maori tattoo, or Ta Moko, on her chin. These were people seriously in touch with their heritage. We'd not seen anything this genuinely Maori the whole time we'd been in NZ, and felt very happy to have stumbled across the place. Whacking out the campstove for the final time, we fried up some bangers and onions for an al fresco hot dog dinner, before taking a stroll in the increasing darkness to the nearby black-sand beach. The whole dusk had been beautiful, but the sunset that awaited us on the beach was just phenomenal - red sky, golden sea, pink haze on the headlands. This striking sight, combined with the feeling we both felt - that the New Zealand chapter, and the whole epic trip, was drawing to a close - made for a very romantic, contemplative time for us right there. As the sky's brilliant colours slowly faded, we mulled over what we'd done, considered what was lying ahead in the unknown, and felt so lucky once more to have been able to do all of this, and to have each other to share it with. It was a precious moment, and I'm getting emotional just remembering it.

Raglan - Auckland. Last day in New Zealand.
Leaving the Kopua family behind at 8.30, we made easy progress and were on Auckland's inner-city motorway in no time. Jess had this driver's delight, while I navigated, but bar the long waits in the town traffic (the first we'd really had) it all went fine. On the way to the Escape depot we called back to the peak of Mt Eden (where we'd stopped a month before, on day 1 with the Kiwi bus) to give the van a once over, relive some memories, and take a walk in the sun around the crater. I remembered a great practical joke that Morrie had told us someone played - they chucked a whole bunch of tyres into the volcano's crater and set them alight. I think Auckland pretty much crapped itself, much to the amusement of the rest of New Zealand. While we were up there, to our great satisfaction a Kiwi Experience coach appeared, and parked right behind our campervan. Everyone emerged to take photos and leave. And thus the circle of life goes on!

After tearing ourselves away from our beloved van at the depot (we'd come 762 kilometres in that badboy...sniff...), we walked to the i-site at the base of the mighty Sky Tower to figure out where to get a bed for the 'night'. We were due to leave for Hong Kong at 6am, and so would have to be at the airport at 4, and thus on a bus by 3.30, and up by 2.30...ouch. Having found out there was no sleeping lounge type jobby at the airport, we checked into Nomads, with its lively Maori receptionists, and just chilled out for a while. We struggled through the kitchen's many obstacles in order to make ourselves a brew (no mugs, no spoons, nothing clean, no washing up liquid...urgh) and thanked our stars that we weren't going to cook there, having run dry on things to cook. Instead we headed out and stumbled across Food Alley, an Asian foodcourt where we procured some incredibly hot and tasty curry, before a pint and as early a night as we could muster.

Up fresh and feeling like death, we caught the 3.30 nightbus, and were happy to find it driven by the same cheery Maori guy who'd picked us up from the airport a month before. Beautiful symmetry. Then we had a bacon and egg bagel, flew to Sydney, had a McDonalds, and flew to Hong Kong. Standard! It was odd to be back in Oz for just an hour or two, but it didn't really register in our brains as it was just another airport, and after a quick lonely-planet-HK-guide purchase we were on our 8-hour romp back to Asia. We were going back to Asia. This hadn't quite registered either, as the end of NZ had almost felt like the end of the trip - there was only a week left after all. As we passed the time with the in-flight movies (The Social Network - amazing! And a bit of Avatar, and Dinner for Schmucks...it was a long one), it slowly began to dawn on us that it wasn't quite the end, and that we had a whole week to go, in a whole new place. A new country. A once Chinese, then British, now Chinese again mega-city, with all the intriguing and complicated culture that that implies. There would be a lot of people. More people than in the whole of NZ, and possibly only in one street. It was going to be interesting. We couldn't wait!

This post, like Dave's previous post on Australia, is poignant. Only last month, Christchurch suffered another horrendous earthquake which cost the lives of hundreds of people and caused wide-spread destruction across the city. It was New Zealand's deadliest disaster in 80 years. Having visited Christchurch at the beginning of this year and witnessed the destruction from previous quakes, I can only pray that the lovely people of Canterbury do not have to endure the wrath of mother nature again. Here's hoping that they can attempt to rebuild their city and their lives in the not too distant future.

We inevitably arose late to greet the first official morning of 2011. What an excellent New Year's Eve it had been in Queenstown, NZ of all places. This was certainly one to remember. After the obligatory 'Full Monty' breakfast, which simply must be consumed NYD to soak up the atrocious amounts of alcohol consumed the previous night, we headed down into the town for a stroll. Before this, back at the room, I had a surprise phone call from my Mum and Dad at precisely Midnight their time. But it was 1pm our time, the next day! We'd already celebrated the stroke of Midnight, danced some more at the festival, been to sleep, got up and had a very late breakfast. Crazy, but awesome to hear them nonetheless.

Once in town we bumped into The Astrids (two Danish girls we'd met on the Kiwi bus) and chilled with them in the sun, while nattering about our activities the night before. Then, much to our delight, we ran into two of the Welsh lads as well (Queenstown is very small!). After swapping stories and respective 'Happy New Years', Dave and I had a lovely walk through the town's central gardens and around the lake's edge. It was a terrifically sunny day. Afterwards we headed back to the hotel and commenced tedious activities such as laundry and packing. We were leaving Queenstown early the next day for Christchurch to begin the final stage of our NZ adventure; the Campervan! Our last night in Queenstown was spent consuming more delicious food and wine (of the pink sparkling variety) and saying farewell to our fellow travellers in town. This was where we all went our separate ways. The Astrids were renting a car and travelling further south and the Welshies and Coventry girls were staying in Q'town a while longer to figure out their plans. Although I was excited to be leaving the Kiwi Experience bus behind, I was saddened at the thought of not seeing these lovely people again. But that is what the travelling game is all about; discovering new places and people and then at the drop of a hat, dashing off to consume the next adventure.

Central Queenie

NZ at its best

Morries' bus picked up the next morning to take us and another bunch to Christchurch. We thought it incredibly apt that we finished the last leg of our Kiwi Experience with the same guy who'd picked us up in Auckland in the beginning. Sweet as. It was even more apt and also slightly weird as well because of all the gossip we'd heard on our bus about the antics he got up to with a girl from London on the journey down through the South Island. Apparently this ginger-dreadlocked, horrendously opinionated Kiwi is something of a heartbreaker. Who knew?! Moving on, we stopped at a cute little town in the Canterbury region called Geraldine for lunch. It had a rather 'English village' flavour in that there was a brigade of old ladies attending to little stalls on a patch of greenery, selling brick-a-brack. Must have been a town ritual on a Sunday or something. Awe. Hopping back onboard, we found the drive through the Canterbury Plains on our way into Christchurch a very surreal experience because the landscape became so flat all of a sudden. Where had all the mountains, hills and forests gone that we'd grown accustomed to in Queenstown? Apparently they do not exist in Canterbury. It's worlds apart. For me, this is one reason why NZ is such a unique place, because you can be surrounded by green countryside one minute and amongst mountains and glaciers the next!

On arrival into Christchurch, Dave and I were shocked by the blandness of the town and outer suburbs. It reminded us of both of Manchester or indeed any dull, grey British town. The town centre or CBD was spookily quiet as well as we drove through on the way to our hostel. This, Morrie delighted in explaining, was down to the rise of American-style shopping malls located out of town, which has sucked the life out of Christchurch's retail scene. Not to mention its job opportunities. We also knew that the devastating effects of the September earth quake and the rumble on Christmas day accounted for some of the tumble-weed effect present in Christchurch. Indeed, the hostel Kiwi Experience would have normally booked us into was closed for the foreseeable due to the damage caused by the Xmas day quake. Instead, we were booked into Frienz backpackers a couple of streets away. Safe to say we were in strange moods that evening in Christchurch. We decided to eat out that night having spent all day on a bus surviving on bread and Nutella. As we walked to Cathedral Square, the heart of the town, we were bemused by the bent street signs, dilapidated buildings, scaffolding and rubble that we passed on the way, especially down Manchester Street. For me, Christchurch was in a bad way already and this was of course before the horrific quake which happened just recently at the end of February. We ambled through town in search of an eatery and finally ended up at a place called Winnies where we both devoured a pizza. Mmm! There wasn't much choice, however, in the way of eating joints in central Christchuch, not compared to say Wellington or Queensown. Many places were closed with it being a bank holiday still in New Zealand, so perhaps this was a factor which contributed to the lack of atmosphere in town. We hit the hay early that night in anticipation of a proper discovery the following day.

Our first full day in Christchurch was much more satisfying. First of all, it was a lovely hot and sunny day which raised our spirits. Second, we decided we'd hit the Arts Centre and explore the town's huge botanical gardens. In case you readers haven't noticed already, the Southern Hemisphere does botanical gardens rather spectacularly, hence our obsession with checking them out! The Arts centre contained a series of craft shops, exhibitions and cafes within a beautiful quadrangle building built to evoke an Oxbridge college. So it should come as no surprise that Christchurch (which is said to be more English than England) is also popular for punting along its lazy river which skims the botanical gardens. There were lots of people on the punting boats today, as the weather was really sublime. It looked like a very relaxing activity to do on a hot day. Dave and I continued to stroll through the gardens and sat on the grass for ages writing the Kiwi Experience feedback forms we'd been given the day before. I think we got a little too into providing the most feedback, criticism, praises that we possibly could. Oh well, we had a voice and we wanted to be heard damn it! Next we had a paddle in the kid’s pool which was swarming with families and then we had a little nosey in the Art Gallery, located just at the entrance of the gardens. We were feeling pretty knackered by then and very aware that the next day we would be getting up early to go collect our campervan - cue buckets of nervous excitement.

'Oxbridge'

Campervan pick-up-day was upon us. We made a swift exit out of our hostel and ambled down the street with our bags to the Escape Rentals office only to find that it was closed due to earthquake damage from the Christmas day seismic activity. So we had an inadvertent taxi ride to the depot where we were checked-in, so-to-speak, by a brash garage Kiwi lady and a fast-talking vehicle maintenance man. They were lovely folks. We dithered for a while over two Mazda vans and in the end we chose 'Tawhirimatea' which means 'God of Wind' in Maori. Aren’t we the culturally sensitive ones? To be fair, it was the more attractively spray-painted one of the two manual vans we had to choose from. I was sure he'd do fine. And so time to hit the road...! Dave took the wheel first since he'd won our coin toss. It certainly felt strange travelling in a van all of a sudden, which incidentally was also going to be our home for the next week. But it was incredibly exciting! We'd planned to head north along the east coast of the South Island to a popular coastal town called Kaikoura. On the journey there we stopped at a gas station to refuel and swap driving for a while. The van was so loud compared to our own cars back home, it had a sticky accelerator and the lower gears were particularly difficult to work with but we both took to it rather quickly, as you do. Despite the van's name - 'God of Wind', it didn't seem to react well to wind in general on the road. On several scary occasions I felt the wind pulling the van on open roads to the left and right as I drove... or maybe it was just my erratic driving? Anyway, we arrived in one piece at our campsite/holiday park in Kaikoura at around 2.30pm. Kaikoura is famous for its beautiful stretch of rocky coastline and the abundance of sea life which lives in its waters. Here you can see fur seal colonies, dusky dolphins, albatross birds and perhaps most importantly, whales all year-round. Suddenly New Zealand doesn't sound quite as similar too England now does it? This was why we had come. That afternoon we booked ourselves a 'whale-watching' tour for the next morning and checked out what the town had to offer. Kaikoura is pretty small - just a strip of shops, bars, cafes and accommodation line the front of the town. It was rather bland and reminded me of a standard British seaside resort, minus the ghastly amusements. Having said this, because the weather was so overcast we weren't seeing the town in all its glory. Apparently on a clear day you can see the epic mountain ranges which hug this particular stretch of coastal line of New Zealand. Poo. I kept reminding myself that it was the awesome marine life which hung out around here that we had come to see and I couldn't wait to set eyes on Kaikoura most celebrated resident, the sperm whale. Our first night of easing ourselves into life in the campervan went great and I was growing fonder of the thing every minute.

Our 'kitchen'

As we arose (early) the next day we were gutted to notice the rain pouring outside the van. Here we go again! Was today going to be another wash-out NZ experience? But thankfully, the rain cleared up by the time we had breakfast so we could go spot some whales without getting wet. Phew! We checked in at the Whale Watching place for 11am and got taken with our group to the marina where we hopped aboard our speedy catamaran. We were all warned that although it was a perfect day for whale spotting as the sea was very calm, the waters around here are notorious for sea sickness hence the obligatory paper bags which were never far from hand. I was sure I'd be fine anyway...

On our speedy journey out into open water, we were entertained by our guide who was full of fascinating facts:

• Sperm whales are the fourth largest whale in the world, but the largest of the 'toothed whale' family.

• So called because of the mass of white oil found in their heads which was initially mistaken for sperm but is actually their buoyancy regulator and therefore found in females too.

• The Sperm whale can dive down up to 1000 metres, altering its ribcage to cope with the insane pressure, and holding its breath for up to 2 hours 17 minutes!

• The sea canyon just off Kaikoura's shore drops suddenly to 1000 metres. Where we stopped to 'whale watch' was about 1,600 metres which is big enough to fit in four Auckland Sky towers (i.e. the tallest building in New Zealand) on top of one another. Flippin' heck!

• Males are less sociable than females. Of course! The guys tend to prefer lonesome bachelorhood until they realise they need to procreate. Typical.

• Toothed whales eat other mammals like sharks, whereas non-toothed whales (e.g. the Blue whale) just eat tonnes of tiny Krill fish.

Fellow whale watchers

Like a GPS, but for whales!

We saw Mr Sperm Whale not once but twice. Our guides were extremely skilled in their ability to predict the patterns of the resident sperm whales who habit the waters of Kaikoura. They use hi-tech gadgets which detect the whales' calls which help the team locate where they are and whether one is about to surface. Our particular Whaley was just chilling, floating in the water and taking in plenty of oxygen in preparation for his mighty dive deep down into the ocean. I was in awe of this creature which was about 200 metres away from our boat. This was a whale in its natural habitat and we were spying on him. Our guide was filling us in with facts about their life habits and told us that this particular male was waiting to dive down into the depths. And sure enough he did, right before our eyes! He arched his huge back and lifted his spectacular tail fin gradually into the air and then glided gracefully down into the water, leaving behind a massive, calm circle of water. Wow.

Albert the Albertross

Unfortunately the motion sickness did affect me in the end. Big time. I was sick shortly after our first stop on the tour, while we were scouring the ocean for Mr Sperm Whale. I don't know why it affected me so much; I've never been particularly prone to sea-sickness. So why now? And why so epically? I was sick again at the second stop of the tour too. Safe to say Dave hadn't found his sea legs either - what a pair! Anyway, it certainly didn't deter us from this truly incredible experience. We didn't just see a sperm whale do a dive (twice!), we also saw a seal splashing and diving into the depths and a whole bunch of albatrosses which were awesome but slightly evil looking. Apparently these birds have the world's largest wing-span in excess of 4 metres! What a treasure trove of wildlife there is in Kaikoura. We arrived back on land feeling very satisfied with our Whale Watching experience and I felt slightly better post-chunder fest. The remainder of the afternoon we spent exploring Point Kean, the peninsular tip, from where we had a walk along the cliffs spotting seals on the rocks below. There were more seals in the colony than I'd initially noticed, as they often just look like rocks because they're always sleeping. I remarked at the time that when they're laid down, they also resemble giant turds. Unlucky for them. After our delightful walk along the peninsula, breathing in the fresh Pacific air, we returned to the campervan, grabbed some groceries from nearby 'New World' supermarket and headed 9km north up the coast to our overnight stop.

Seal Colony

It was called Puhi Puhi scenic reserve and it was our very first experience of 'real' camping, Kiwi style. We located the site in the indispensible Department of Conservation (DOC) handbook. Many of the sites are free and have really basic facilities such as longdrop loos, picnic tables and water usually provided by a flowing stream. Most people who have camped before in their life will know that this is pretty standard stuff for a campsite; some might even say that a longdrop toilet is a luxury. I've never properly camped so all this was, to me, kind of a big deal to get to grips with. The site at Puhi Puhi was lovely. It was full to the brim with fellow campers and even a fellow Escape Campervan which had been spray painted with a selection of Andy Warhol masterpieces. Obviously it still wasn’t as cool as 'The God of Wind'. The atmosphere at the camp was really great too, everybody just going about their own 'camp' business if you'll pardon the expression. What's more, there seemed to be a nice mix of foreign travellers like us as well as thoroughbred Kiwi families on a little holiday perhaps. How nice. We made dinner on our little gas ring and sat on our chairs munching away amongst nature. Afterwards we paid a trip to the nearby stream to 'do the dishes' which was great fun. We also took advantage of the scenic loop walk next to the campsite which was a cute tramp through some bush lands. I had such an enjoyable night at our first proper Kiwi campsite, especially after a bottle of beer and a Hot Chocolate, which tasted like it'd been sent from heaven because I had to boil the water from cold myself. At last, Dave and I had finally found nature, freedom and adventure, hurrah!

Puhi Puhi Scenic Reserve

Eco washing-up

Westport - Lake Mahinapua, Boxing Day 2010
What better activity, for a hot and sunny Boxing Day morning, than a good old traditional bit of horse trekking? Yes, this is wrong. B-Day morning is a time of lie-ins, leftovers and hangovers, but somehow we were out by 8.30 to go for a bit of a canter. Steady on. The trek was good fun, although the horses pretty much did what they wanted, especially mine, who seemed to think it was a grass buffet, stopping for a munch at every opportunity. The route was great though, through meadows, bushland and rivers, and we all had a bit of a (painful) trot and canter, and possibly gallop too. Someone told me I was galloping but I find that hard to believe.

The first stop of the day, on the school trip that is Kiwi Experience, was the Punakaiki Pancake Rocks and Blowholes. We took a short walk to the coast to ogle at these striking, stratified limestone stacks. The tide crashes through the maze of weathered rocks and coves with great force, causing huge upbursts of spray. Ooo. Next stop, further down the West coast, we called at the shops in Greymouth to stock up on costumes for the night's fancy dress party. This was to be held at the infamous Lake Mahinapua Hotel, a.k.a. the 'Poo Pub', run by NZ's oldest (and most eccentric) publican, Les. Or Liz, if you say it in a Kiwi accent. He's at least 80, and every couple of days he copes valiantly with an onslaught of 20-somethings from the Kiwi bus, feeding them dinner and plying them with alcohol. It takes a certain type of loveably crazed octogenarian to want to do that. Since it was boxing day, the party's theme was 'leftovers'. Jess and I, feeling knackered and really not in the mood, just bought some tin foil while in Greymouth. We'd think of something later.

We were welcomed to the Poo Pub in late afternoon by Les, who was a bloody funny old bugger, as he might have put it himself. Our cabin accommodation had the slightly fusty smell that a place run by a grandad might be expected to have, and the 'pub' itself was a surreal but characterful place, tiny but with hundreds of photos around the walls and even more hats pinned to the ceiling. After assessing the place and wondering quite how weird the evening's party was going to be, me and Jess went to check out the lake, which turned out to be really peaceful and pretty. We sat on the jetty's edge, feet dangling, enjoying a tranquil moment, until it started to piss down. Back to the pub for us, and a jug of happy hour local lager to have with dinner - a huge steak and 'veggies' feast whipped up by the man himself. It was the biggest steak I've ever seen, and damn tasty. Full of meat and beer, we staggered to have a peek at the nearby beach. It had that grey sand that a lot in NZ seem to have, which combined with the weather gave it a bit of a bleak feel, but that just made it interesting. Shame the sea wasn't going to tempt us in! Back in the room it was crunch time - we needed to costume up. Jess went for a stylish foil apron, earrings and handbag, whereas I decided - under the vague pretence of going as a bit of leftover turkey - to try and wrap my entire top half in tin foil. This had mixed success. It was good marks for effort, but I pretty much looked like a burn victim.

The party was good fun. Many more jugs were consumed. Our chums Lucy and Kristy went as 'boxing day sales', having nicked a bunch of sale signs while in Greymouth (nice!); Gary as a turkey, impressively fashioned out of a feather duster, a rubber glove and a traffic cone; the Astrids went as plates of leftover food; Kelly as a cracker, which won her first prize - a 'canyon swing', one of Queenstown's 101 bungy variants. Rather her than me - I'm glad I made no effort!

Lake Mahinapua - Franz Josef
Today, the light drizzle turned into pounding, thrashing, menacing rain. Zooming through it we arrived at the Bushman Centre in Pukekura, another obligatory stop with an optional activity, which I decided to pay for and Jess didn't. It was easily the most bizarre place yet, topping even the farmshow. The little museum informed us about the NZ deer industry, and the inventive but odd lengths that bushmen used to go to in order to catch them, like...jumping out of helicopters onto them. The whole place was a veritable quirk-factory, covered in amusing posters and notices. We saw and fed a few possums (scourge of New Zealand - thanks Australia), as well as a wallaby and some goats, for reasons completely unknown. There is no way I can describe the experience and have it make sense to anyone. If you're intrigued, you'll just have to go - the address is 'Bushman Centre, middle of nowhere, South Island, NZ'.

Once more into the rain, and on arriving at Rainforest Retreat in the tiny township of Franz Josef - at the foot of the Franz Josef Glacier, which of course we couldn't see - we contemplated a day indoors and the possibility that tomorrow's glacier hike might not go ahead. Glum. Along with the skydive, this was something we'd wanted to do from the outset. Luckily, our spirits were lifted by bumping into Fay, a friend who'd stayed on Morrie's bus and who we'd now caught up with. We spent the day hanging with her, the Astrids (two nice Danish girls), and the hostel's resident ginger cat, and then passed the evening in the bar over a couple of Tuis (A NZ ale named after one of their many unique bird species). The bar's slogan of 'it rains, we pour' couldn't have been more apt. Blog was done, films were watched - classic rainy day. I had a skype session with the whole family late that night, all still round at Christine's house after christmas - it was the morning for them. Was amazing to see them all, especially the grandparents, mastering technology, and I felt a real pang of homesickness for the first time. Went to bed still not knowing if the hike was going to happen the next day.

It was still throwing it down as we rose at 7am to find out the verdict, expecting the worst. After a further dither, it was finally announced as all systems go - surprising and delighting us. The Astrids and the Welshies decided to pull out and come back after New Year, hoping for better weather. Not having the same kind of time, Jess and I decided to just go for it. Besides, the Southern Alps are pretty damn wet - the glacier itself is one of only three in the world to descend into temperate rainforest. So it was now or never. We layered up, and at the tour office we got kitted out with overtrousers, heavy-duty jackets, hats, gloves, boots and crampons. We'd be fine. There was a 45-minute flat walk, through forest and then a wide rocky plain, to reach the glacier's terminal face, before we scaled a harsh ascent up a hill of rock and stepped out onto the ice. It was beautiful, blue-white and sparkling - we'd been reassuringly told that it's good after rain because the ice is washed clean and the colours really come out. It was a shame that it still had to be raining, but the jackets and trousers were hardcore and stopped us getting even slightly wet. It wasn't too cold either, apart from times when we stopped for a while, but they never lasted too long, and the weather did actually clear up nicely twice, once briefly on the ascent and then again for the walk's high point and the entire descent - win. The hike itself was awesome - along the surface, through crevasses, up steep steps, between towering blue ice walls - and the weather never restricted the visibility, so the views up and down were spectacular. It was an amazing feeling to be up there, tramping around on a glacier. We had a whale of a time. Our guide, an Aussie girl also called Jess, was great too, helping carve the way, making sure we kept a similar pace, and telling us a few facts about the glacier along the walk. It was named after the Austrian emperor of the time by a bloke called Julius Von Haast, who left his own name on several places in NZ too; it is 12k long, descending to less than 300m above sea level; it is incredibly fast-growing, and frequently advances and retreats; and the Maori name for the glacier is Ka Roimata O Hinehukatere, meaning 'the tears of Hinehukatere'. The story goes that Hine, a mountain-loving girl, brought her slightly less mountain-able lover up here for a bit of a walk. He died, and she cried in mourning for so long that her tears were frozen by the pitying gods. Bless.

Back at the accom by early evening, the sun came out. Naturally. Not complaining though! There was an epic rainbow, and we could now see the glacier and surrounding peaks from just outside the room. We made a tuna pasta dinner, and so had the cat for company again. And then once more at breakfast...

Franz Josef - Wanaka
Today's activity was basically a very long drive putting up with Bex's shite taste in music. The whole way, though, the scenery was ridiculously beautiful, and the slog was broken up by several stops. After a view of the Fox Glacier, the first and best stop was an hour long break in order to walk around Lake Matheson, an atmospheric spot with several stunning views and reflections of snowy Mounts Cook and Tasman, South Island's (and New Zealand's) highest peaks. The next, a short walk to a waterfall called Thunder Creek Falls, was mesmerizing - the water dropped at a phenomenal rate, and if you stared at it for a few seconds and then looked at the rock to the side of it, you got an optical illusion whereby the rock seemed to melt and flow upwards. Trippy. We couldn't stare for too long because the river bank was a hotbed for those little Kiwi pests, sandflies, so after a while doing the ankle-slapping dance we couldn't bear it any more. After a picnic in the tiny township of Haast we carried on through Mount Aspiring National Park, and made little stops to take in the simply sublime scenery around lakes Wanaka and Hawea. It was at times like this that we resented the Kiwi Bus - it was like a big tease, pulling up at the side of the road for us all to file out like sheep, take a photo and then immediately hop back on, never doing any view justice by just looking for a while. I realise we had a schedule to keep, but the best thing about beautiful places is that elated feeling you get by just taking a peaceful moment to breathe them in. Unfortunately, that's pretty hard to do when you have about one minute, and are surrounded by others trying to do it too. The perennial problem with places worth seeing, this trip had already taught us, is that there are often 300 other people seeing them at the same time. Often the place has been snapped up by some tour operator or other who will make a mint out of it and ruin it. In NZ though, while that is sometimes true, there is also just so much amazing scenery which you can have all to yourself for nothing at all, which made the Kiwi Experience's hit-and-run style lookout points all the more frustrating. Still, I'm not really complaining, (it was better than not stopping - we kept having to pinch ourselves that we were even there at all), I'm just saying that me and Jess were the last two back on the bus more than once...! But we didn't care. We were looking forward to campervanning soon, when we could look as long as we liked.

The number of these short breaks mounted up on the clock, though, and we didn't arrive in Wanaka until 4pm. This was another picturesque place that we wouldn't be able to do justice to, needing to leave for Queenstown the next morning. That was not Kiwi Ex's fault but ours, for wanting to get to Queenstown for New Year, but it's just one of those sacrifices that needed making. If we ever get back to NZ, Wanaka is definitely to be done justice. It's a great-sized lakeside town, with a relaxed vibe and mountainous surrounds (like everywhere down here), and we felt bad to be staying only for an evening. We spent the time walking through town and down by the lake, having a lakeside beer, making dinner, and having another beer in the hostel bar. We were staying at a 'Base' again (a huge chain of backpackers' that are more a place to stay awake than a place to sleep, with crappy bar/clubs that pump out thumping choons from about 8pm til early, shaking the walls and possibly your bed too). They are normally fine, but this one had a particularly tiny and under-equipped kitchen, so we struggled through preparing a dinner. Against all odds, it actually turned out pretty awesome, if we do say so ourselves. Dave and Jess 1 : Base Wanaka nil. But that's quite enough about our dinner.

Wanaka - Queenstown
One thing about Wanaka that we did get to take advantage of was 'Puzzling World', a kind of museum of optical illusion. It has the most amazing holograms; a room with hundreds of 3D heads that seem to turn to follow you; a slanted room in which balls seem to roll uphill; and another room which looks normal but if you walk from one side to the other along its subtly angled floor, you appear to the observer to grow from a midget to a giant. It's all a bit Lewis Carroll. There's also a huge 3D maze, complete with stairs and towers, which I wandered around helplessly before bailing out of one of the 'emergency exits', put there for those with no patience/a desire to get out alive. From how the place had been hyped to us by Bex - and also recommended by Hannah Gibbs - I maybe expected it to be a bit more extensive, but what it does have is all pretty trippy and impressive.

Journeying on through the rugged and rocky Kawarau Gorge, we arrived at the site of the world's first bungy, the 47ft high Kawarau Bridge just out of Queenstown. This was a compulsory stop for those who were doing a jump to sign up, so a lot of us had to just hang around, but it was entertaining to watch the bungy-ers fling themselves off. There was literally a jumper a minute, with a stream of people being continually processed. At $180 a jump, A.J. Hackett must make an absolute killing. We were surprised at how many young kids seemed to be doing it - it was all a bit reassurring, really, and we were almost tempted. But then we remembered that it's 90 quid for about 4 seconds of thrill, so were content to just watch. On a tight budget, we prefer being able to eat.

Nestled on the bank of Lake Wakatipu, with a view of the Remarkables mountain range (and they are, like a giant upturned sawblade) across the water, Queenstown is one geographically blessed place. Since it was the end of the line on this bus's route, Bex organised us all into a big human pile-on by the lakeside and had a photographer snap us - cheesy, but it's a nice picture, and we can look back on it in years to come and remember the goss about those people we'd forgotten. Jess and I had booked our own accomodation for Q-town about a month in advance, panicking because it was New Year time and not knowing that the Kiwi Pass would guarantee us 3 nights of sleep in Nomads, so Bex dropped us off last at our place - Reavers Lodge, slightly up a steep hill behind the town. What a blessing it turned out to be. For slightly more money, we had bagged ourselves a bit of privacy, a lovely double room with fridge and TV, tea-and-coffee-making facilities (!) and an awesome view over the town - just what you want for a bit of a longer stay. We knew it was going to be a good New Year's the moment we got there. Happy bunnies, we strolled the 10 minutes back into town and went for an early dinner at a bustling place called Ferg Burger. Now, it would be an understatement to say that Ferg Burger's reputation preceeds it. We'd heard about it from an Irish guy in Cairns. Our friends the Welshies had heard about it back in Wales. People pretty much say - 'Oh, you're going to Ferg Burger?? Sweet. You should check out New Zealand while you're there.' We can safely say now, that it does that rare thing of very much living up to its mighty hype. It did the biggest, juiciest, tastiest burgers we've ever had...and let's not even talk about the sauce, I'll be here all night.

Back at the pad we digested, recouperated and dolled up for a night on the town. Controversial, but the night before NYE was going to be pretty big, as Bex had some drinks deals sorted for us. We met the group, and had some free (i.e. weak) shots in Altitude Bar, before a healthy stint in a cool place called World Bar which has a gimick of serving cocktails in teapots. They were expensive and small so Jess and I stuck to beer, but I think the Ferg Burger was preventing any alcohol from going anywhere near our heads, so we remained full and sober but happy, nattering away with people. On the corner before we left to head up to Reavers, we had a good laugh with the Welshies - Darren and Jeff disclosed their secret love for Leonardo DiCaprio, at great length, much to mine and Jess's surprise and amusement. Aw.

New Year's Eve
After a morning wander around town, we stocked up on beers and bubbly for the night and grabbed some lunch back at the lodge. The plan for the afternoon was to get out and do a bit of 'tramping', as the Kiwis call it, up Queenstown Hill, one of the local peaks. The route was about 2 hours up and 1 hour down, through pine forest and out to the windy summit, which afforded us fit 360-degree views over Queenstown and lake Wakatipu in one direction and distant snow-capped Alps in the other. Being up there was such a good feeling, like we hadn't felt in a while - a bit of freedom, a sense of achievement, a chance to sit and breathe it in. As we sat munching our supplies, it was literally just me, Jess, a cairn, and the world below. Perfect.

We whipped up a tasty thai stir-fry over a few first beers, before watching bits of a couple of films while getting ready and ploughing through our crate. Admiring the evening view over Queenstown, we planned to crack open the bubbles before heading out, but didn't quite fancy it in the end having had almost all the beers, so instead we wandered down to town at about 9.30, tipsy and happy. We'd learned a bit of Kiwi slang from Bex, who'd said it approximately 900 times on the drive here - 'Bogan', meaning basically the same as chav, scal, pikey. A lot of bogans descend on Queenstown around New Year, driving continually around the blocks in their souped-up player-mobiles shouting at people, and we experienced one such idiot, staggering around the pavement, on our walk into town. Already too far gone to be still out, this guy was engaged in a raucous but probably deeply intellectual debate with another fellow across the street from him. Having clearly not registered our presence, he threw his bottle down in anger as we were walking past - much like a petulant baby, but with a beer - and it smashed about a foot ahead of us. Moving swiftly on and thanking our stars that we'd been a second too late for stitches, we carried on into town. Good old NYE! (I should point out, mum, that this was the most dangerous situation we were ever in for the entire three months. Not bad going!).

At first the night proceeded in the way of many New Year's Eves. We tried in vain for a while to meet up with bus people, but the place they were in was having a laugh with its admission charge so we bailed on that idea and just went to somewhere free, hoping we might catch them later. That never happened, but it didn't stop us from having a great night. There was a great atmosphere down by the lakefront, with a band playing and hundreds of people milling around listening or waiting for the countdown to 2011 and the fireworks. We grabbed ourselves a lakefront spot and went through the compulsory New Year motions together, reminiscing about 2010 and what a genuinely awesome year it had been, what 2011 might hold, and how lucky we were to be here, to be doing this, to have each other. The countdown was counted, and the year started with a bang. The fireworks were brilliant; we were in beautiful Queenstown on the literal other side of the world; we were with each other...it was a happy moment.

The party carried on with the brilliant covers band on the main stage. It was like being at a festival for NYE, but all free, and without the longdrop toilets and rain. Later, on our way back up the steep hill towards bedfordshire, we took a moment to stand and admire the starry night above us. It really was a great New Year.

Three days before Christmas we arrived in Wellington, the windy but wonderful capital of NZ. We'd booked to stay in the YHA Central which was central by name, central by nature, and thus an ideal base to do some city exploring.

Our first impressions of Welly when we arrived on the Kiwi bus in the late evening were extremely positive. It helped, i think, that our driver Morrie was from Wellington himself, so naturally he bigged the place up... a lot!. But he was quite right to do so as the city is simply gorgeous. It's positioned at the southwest tip of the North Island, on a bay looking out towards the Cook Strait which seperates the North Island from the South. The heart of the city is quite flat, perched on the harbour edge, but the rest of the town sweeps back into the surrounding hills, giving the residential parts a glamourous 'Hollywood Hills' feel. Like most major cities in Australasia, Welly is effortlessly cool, aesthetically pleasing and full of sickeningly chilled out locals. I knew we'd love it here.

The morning of our first full day involved a semi-lie-in and a fry up. Just what we needed after a week of rushing breakfast and jumping on the Kiwi bus ready to leave a place by 9am. After our leisurely breakfast we headed into town to find the famous Wellington Cable Car (essentially a vintage tram) which takes you up on a steep incline to the Botanical Gardens. It was very quaint. When you disembark the 'cable car' at the gardens you are rewarded with a lovely view over the city and the bay. Welly was looking good today. We were pleased that the weather was much sunnier in the captial than it had been for most of our entire trip around the North Island. Moving on, we spent a good few hours exploring the picturesque gardens which were very hilly and leafy. Nice. We checked out some sculptures on the way, including one by Henry Moore, as well as the Rose Garden and some huge Redwood trees before walking back down into town. As we headed back through town we walked past the 'Beehive' building which houses the New Zealand Parliament and the more attractive Government Buildings nearby. I found it hard to believe that this was the political centre of NZ as the buildings aren't imposing or particularly magnificient like say The White House or the Houses of Parliament. But I guess it's because NZ is all about being low-key in everything it does, so why make a fuss about politics, ay?

Rose Garden

A Henry Moore spesh

The 'Beehive'

We then checked out a tiny little church called Old St Paul's which we'd been advised to have a peek in by our driver, Morrie. The church dated back to 1866, making it the oldest church in Wellington and it was beautiful. Its interior had been designed in an English Gothic style with a selection of NZ's finest stained glass windows. The place was peaceful and full of interesting information on its colonial heritage. Afterwards we decided to hit the shops to find Christmas presents for each other - a more difficult task than it sounds. We obviously had limits in terms of budget and space in our backpack so things such as porcelain plates or DVD players players were a big no-no. Thankfully we both found something for one another and were able to wrap it up until the 'big opening' on Christmas day - ooo! Worn out by having to think so strategically about presents, we headed back to the hostel for the evening, made a delicious dinner, consumed a bottle of vino and played some fooseball. Sweet as.

Day two was another sunny one, but being Welly it was of course massively windy at times too. Because of its geographic position, the city receives all the wind which gets caught up in the Cook Strait between the two islands. It's certainly the windiest place I've ever visited and that includes Chicago, the self-proclaimed 'Windy City'. Anyway, the plan today was to head up nearby Mount Victoria, up an incredibly steep street and track. After huffing and puffing up through forest we reached the summit where we enjoyed a 360 degree view over Wellington, the bay, out to the Cook Strait and the surrounding mountains. I couldn't help but think at the time what a wonderful place this would be to live and work...

Windy Welly

Atop Mt Victoria

After much pondering we headed straight to the Te Papa museum, NZ's premier cultural hotspot dedicated to showcasing the geological and cultural history of Aotearoa. The place is an epic 5-floor affair with plenty of hands-on exhibitions and spectacular displays. We thought it best to prioritise what we wanted to see/learn about so that we'd be able to leave the place by Christmas 2012! We had a peek in the volcanic section first which was fascinating. I remember remarking to Dave that I wished I'd had a crash course in geology before we'd come to New Zealand so that I could fully understand what a geological marvel this country really is. After experiencing a mock earthquake, also in the volcanic section, we checked out the Maori culture display, which was interesting but again hard for us to fully get to grips with. I particularly enjoyed the next section we explored which focused on the British influence in New Zealnd over the centuries. Colonialism is such a strange but intriguing thing and I absolutely love delving deep into its significance whenever the opportunity arises. We left the museum rather drained as per but fully satisfied with our Te Papa experience. Time then to go our seperate ways and do a little more last minute xmas shopping. It still didn't really feel like Christmas. Aside from the obvious warm, sunny weather, the streets and shops in NZ just weren't that Christmassy either. There wasn't much in the way of festive decorations around, and people weren't frantically trawling the High Steet desperately for presents like they do at home. As always, NZ keeps things low key; no fuss, no stress, no worries. Later that night we did a little festive food shop in preparation for the next few days, as we'd be on the move with Kiwi Experience once again. We stocked up on booze and some nice treats like Ferrero Rochers and mince pies to see us through the festive period. Earlier that day I'd also bought a Santa hat from a $2 shop to get me 'in the mood' as it were. Bring on Christmas in the South Island!

Te Papa

Where's your Christmas spirit Dave?!

We arose early the next morning to leave Wellington and catch the Interislander ferry to Picton. We were pleased to be commencing our South Island adventure with a new driver but familiar pasengers who we'd met on our journey through the North Island, including the three lovely Welsh lads, the two adorable Coventry lasses and a bunch of awesome Danes. They ferry was packed full of people, clearing making a last-mintute commute to visit friends/family in time for Christmas. Views from the top deck of the boat of the Marlborough Sounds heading into Picton were spectacular. It's certainly a more visually interesting ferry journey than the one from Dover to Calais! By lunchtime we'd arrived in drizzly Picton and after a boring wait at baggage reclaim, we boarded Becks' bus bound for Nelson. At this point I donned my Santa hat to lift spirits as it looked like Christmas in New Zealand was going to be a wet one. However, as we drove out of Picton into the stunning vinyards of the Marlborough region the weather suddenly improved so we enjoyed sun and clear blue skies for the rest of the journey to Nelson - score! Dave and I were immediately blown away by the the South Island landscape, it was so lush with dense forests surrounding spectacular valleys, gorges and crystal blue rivers. We made a brief stop at Havelock ('the Green Mussel capital of the world') for wees and poos before arriving in Nelson around 3pm.

It was far to early to early for Xmas Eve...

The 'sounds'

South Island baby!

Becks, our new lady Kiwi driver had checked us all into Fern Lodge, a gorgeous old pub/inn/hostel near the centre of town. After settling in we headed into town to do a food shop with the Welshies and the Coventry girls for our planned group Christmas BBQ the following day. We'd been told that the next hostel we were staying at had BBQ facilities and that the current gorgeous weather conditions were here to stay! Cue immense happiness and joy. Dave and I then spent a while adorning our room with the decorations sent by our parents and creating a mock 'Christmas tree' on the spare bunkbed under which we placed our presents to each other. Awe. We then attended a beer tasting in the pub's lounge, hosted by a rough and ready lady from Leeds, believe it or not. Later we cooked a delicious Thai stir fry for our Xmas Eve supper and got ready to go out for some drinks in town with the group. After several pints in several bars and a few games of killer pool, we called it a night and walked back to the hostel under a rather festive starry sky.

'Christmas tree'

Christmas morning! We arose early to board the bus once more and head to Westport. This was a Christmas on the move but we didn't mind one bit, as we were with other travellers doing exactly the same thing plus it was never going to feel like a normal Christmas anyway. The bus had been tarted up in tinsel though and Becks was head-to-toe in a pixie-like Santa suit, which was a great effort. After all, she was away from her family too. We headed basically straight to Westport, minus the usual stops and activities, through the Buller Gorge along the jaw-droppingly beautiful west coast. Wesport was, conveniently, small and dull and as such was a perfect place for us to spend Christmas day and do nothing but eat, drink and of course be merry! Our hostel, Bazil's, perfectly suited this too as it was homely, cosy and had a great kitchen and garden area for us to congregate in. I instantly whacked on my new dress, a present from Dave which i'd opened on the bus. Then we both kicked back with a cuppa and watched some Wizard of Oz on TV (yay!) The weather was hot so we spent the majority of the day outside in the garden chatting to the others over several bottles of vino. We both had to apply sun lotion! Now this was a Christmas to remember.

Next, Becks had arranged for us all to do Secret Santa so that everybody would receive something on Christmas day. The gift had to be under $5 and you could use anything you could get your hands on to wrap it up. My present came from Becks herself and was handed to me in a left over pizza box - inspiring! She'd bought me a plastic farm-yard set (so NZ!) and a bag of chocolate gold coins. I was made up. Other Secret Santa gifts included shower gel, playing cards, washing powder and of course plenty of sweet treats. The whole experience was a lot of fun. Then our group of eleven commenced preparing our BBQ feast which again was incredibly fun and social. They were our surrogate family for the day. The girls took care of the salads and the guys took care of the meat BBQ-ing, just as nature intended it and our al fresco, 'alternative' feast turned out lovely. After stuffing outselves silly, pretty much everyone retired to the sitting room and watched Shrek. Dave and I ploughed through some more vino before a quick walk round the nearby park at sunset. Around 11pm we both did a Skype with our parents, which was bizarre since their Christmas day had only just started. I got a tad upset when I saw my dad on the webcam because I realised how much I missed him and home. But at the same time I was happy too because Dave and I had shared our first ever Christmas together... and what a lovely Kiwian-style one it had been!

The 'alternative' Xmas day

Auckland, 14.12.10.
Being at about midnight, our first taste of New Zealand was surreal. We weren't quite braced for a whole new culture yet, and it was hard to believe that just hours after leaving the Aborigines behind in Cairns we were suddenly being whisked away from Auckland airport by a Maori bus driver. Arriving in the town centre at 2am, we rounded the corner to our hostel, found the key that had been left for us, and crashed - we'd get our heads round all this in the morning.
And so after a long sleep and a late rise, we tried slowly to adjust. Going out for a big explore around the CBD and then down to the docks, we eventually headed into an art gallery which proved very rewarding. It housed a collection of paintings by New Zealand artists Charles F. Goldie and Gottfried Lindauer, both of whom had primarly painted touching photorealist portraits of Maori men and women. Very cool stuff. After a wander through the hilly Albert Park, we stumbled across an outdoor photography exhibition in Aoteroa Square - 'Earth from Above' by a bloke called Yann Arthus-Bertrand, comprising about 100 amazing aerial photos from all around the world, each with a thought-provoking factoid and a plea to the reader to think about how we are destroying the planet. Kind of depressing. But really fun to look at, especially the photos of the Whitsundays and Great Barrier Reef where we'd been frolicking just days ago. We killed most of the afternoon there. In the evening, we took our hostel up on its promise of 'free beer' (!). All you had to do was follow the events bloke to a cool local bar (with around 300 other backpackers who'd heard the phrase 'free beer'), where you received a voucher and had a drink. We were too stingy - and tired - to actually buy a second. Well done us!

Auckland - Whitianga
The morning brought the start of the much anticipated 'Kiwi Experience'. This backpacker coach trip was to be our mode of transport for the next two and a bit weeks, and as we'd hardly done any 'tours' thus far, we were looking forward to being able to sit back, be driven around and have accomodation and activities sorted for us for a change. We were especially looking forward to meeting a whole bunch of other travellers our age, but still we didn't quite know what to expect, so the feeling was one of nervous excitement.

Our driver guide turned out to be a mousy-red-dreadlocked chappie called Morrie. On first meeting him we misheard it - as Conchords fans we subconsciously wanted this ginger Kiwi to be called Murray, it was too perfect! After collecting 30 or so others, the big green bus headed up to the top of Mount Eden, for spectacular 360 degree views over Auckland, its bays and its burbs. The 'mount' is actually one of Auckland's many volcanoes, this one dormant and grassed-over, but with a pretty mighty crater that is considered sacred ground and must not be entered...intense.

The night's destination was Whitianga (pronounced Fit-i-unga), a small town on the Coromandel Peninsula, and the long journey was filled by a mixture of gawping at the dense forest scenery and getting to know our fellow Kiwi Bussers. Morrie got everyone to rotate around the seats for a good hour and a half, which was really great for finding out everyone's name and home country (a few English and Yanks, 3 Welshies, 2 Koreans, 1 Brazilian, and thousands of Scandinavians of all varieties), but really bad for feeling sick when coupled with winding NZ roads. We pulled up atop some craggy limestone cliffs, from where we walked down a bushland path to meet the sea at Cathedral Cove, a gorgeous bit of beach with epically eroded rocks - including an archway - and islands out to the misty sea. Hello Pacific! After relaxing there for a while, Morrie swept us off to a tiny winery run by a strange friend of his. I've never heard anyone talk so quickly and incessantly, and it was a good bonding experience for us simply because nobody had a clue what he was saying. But we were happy to be plied with a lot of taster shots of wines and liqueurs, and pretend like we could tell the difference.

The cute hostel in Whitianga, 'Turtle Cove' was run by a Big Kiwi Momma who brewed up a cheap but epic spag bol for us with her team of helpers. After dinner me and Jess hit the hay, like the oldies we are. We'd enjoyed the day, but felt slightly strange to be suddenly part of a big, organised group. Having been travelling at our own pace and on our own terms in total freedom for 2 months, this somewhat rushed, speed-socialising whirlwind was going to take a little getting used to.

Whitianga - Rotorua
The next day's journey to Rotorua wound through more thick jungle, dotted with Kouri trees (world's 2nd tallest species after Redwoods), and we called first at the small town of Paeora. The place, we discovered, was 'World Famous in New Zealand' (!) for producing an iconic Kiwi soft drink, 'Lemon and Paeora', which we found out tastes exactly like any other kind of lemonade. With hindsight, two interesting things were to quickly dawn on us about NZ's middle-of-nowhere small towns: 1) that they are seemingly all in a strangely 1950s American clapboard style that means they would be indistinguishable from the next, if not for fact 2), that they are all 'World Famous' for something - i.e. they each have a die-hard gimick, and often announce it proudly with a giant version of the object by the roadside. Here in Paeroa, they have a giant bottle of L&P; in Ohakune there's a giant carrot; in Havelock, some giant green mussells. It lends everywhere a slightly batty, parochial feel, and it makes you wonder how it all happened that way. In Matamata, where we stopped for lunch, the gimick was that the Lord of the Rings Trilogy's 'Hobbiton' was filmed there. There was of course a nice big statue of Gollum in the village centre - classy.

After driving through more endless rurality (wow, there really is noone in New Zealand), we stopped at the Karangakhe Gorge to take a walk around the old gold-mining tunnels there. Even in the light drizzle the place was a beauty, and in the pitch black of the tunnels we could make out hundreds of glow-worms above our heads, each a tiny greenish pin-prick of light.

During the morning's drive Morrie had regaled us with the Maori creation legend, and also introduced himself formally in Maori language. He was truly down with all of this heritage, despite being a Pakeha (the Maori word for European New Zealanders). We'd noticed that NZ's indigenous culture seemed more comfortably interwoven with its Western culture than what we'd experienced in Australia. In Oz, they have an 'Aboriginal Problem'. There's a palpable social awkwardness whenever you bring up Aborigines in conversation. There was a sense of sad purposelessness, of separation from society, in the Aborigines we'd seen in Cairns. And there was the atrocity that is Australia's 'stolen generations' - some haughty white bloke thought it a great plan to remove as many Aboriginal children as possible from their parents and try to 'civilize' them, which naturally left thousands of families tragically torn apart, and thousands of kids (now adults) not really knowing who they were any more. This didn't stop until 1970. Great. So after pondering this bleak situation a week before, it was a relief to learn that the plight of the Maori in NZ had been far less, and that there seemed to be a real respect for their heritage in the greater Kiwi consciousness. Thank God for that, how hard is it for people to get on?

So it was with great anticipation that we arrived in Rotorua, one of the North Island's most Maori-populated towns, where our evening held in store a 'Maori cultural experience', about which we were intrigued and excited. Before all that, Jess and I spent the afternoon wandering around a nearby park, which was much more exciting that it sounds. The whole of North Island is volcano central, and Rotorua, where the Earth's crust is pretty damn thin, is famous for being especially geothermally active. Think hot springs, geysers, and steam coming from people's gardens. (We later met a couple of Rotoruan ladies who remarked jovially that 'one day the park just sort of blew up, ay?). In this particular park we ambled around gawping at the pools of boiling mud, bubbling and steaming away, and sending out the lovely sulphurous odour that earned the place the nickname 'Rotten-rua'. This was all just so alien to us.

The night's cultural experience involved witnessing traditional challenges and greetings, haka, poi, songs and dances, a recreation of an old tribal village including art and craft demonstrations, and a big dinner. It was all very interesting, informative, and fun. It's just a shame the size of the tour group had to be so vast, but that in turn did make for an epic meal. We were all treated to a hearty 'Hangi' - a feast of meat and potatoes that is cooked in a pit in the ground over piping hot rocks - with a few mod-cons like stuffing and salad thrown in too. It was basically a normal roast, but all with this lovely subtle smoky taste. Nom nom nom. My favourite thing about the evening was the few Maori words we were able to pick up - we now know how to actually pronounce 'Kia Ora!' (meaning 'hello', 'how are you', 'I'm fine', etc). Good achievement.

Rotorua - Waitomo
In the morning we discovered another of NZ's odder quirks - its love of the 'farmshow'. This is basically a form of bizarre entertainment that shows off what the country is best at - sheep. The one we saw involved about 20 sheep of different (mainly huge) breeds, as well as 4 lambs, 3 sheepdogs, 3 ducks, 1 cow, 1 strange Kiwi sheep-shearer, and 1 disgruntled Korean woman that he picked from the audience as a 'volunteer'. Only in New Zealand.

After this hilariously perplexing diversion we rode on through the undulating green countryside and farmland we'd grown accustomed to. The volcanic bits aside, much of North Island is really quite reminiscent of English countryside, were it not just that little bit bumpier. Think tellytubby land, but with more sheep. The other difference is that there just aren't those quaint little villages that regularly dot our own countryside - here, there is so much emptiness. It prompts you to wonder where everyone lives, until you realise that they don't. There is no 'everyone'.

Tiny little Waitomo turned out to epitomise this notion. With six houses and about two hotels, it made Agnes Water look like a bustling metropolis. The real attraction of the place is its incredible caves, which we had decided to forgo in favour of later thrills and save a bit of dollar. So we spent a while wondering what on earth to do - it had rained every day since our arrival in New Zealand, and today was no exception. When it cleared a little we braved a hike up a nearby hill and actually really enjoyed it, rewarded with moody and mysterious views over the 'town' in the drizzle. The weather meant we got a bit more chance to hang with bus folk, though, and a great evening of card-playing ensued.

Waitomo - Taupo
After a nice jungle-y, cave-y walk the next morning, we were back on our way through greenery and scenery to Taupo, in the middle of North Island. Taupo is one of the many places in NZ where you can throw yourself out of a plane, and it was the place that me and Jess had put our names down for. Most of the journey it was still grey and wet though, and Morrie was doubtful it would happen today. As we arrived at the airfield to arrange times, however, as if by magic the clouds had cleared and the sun was beating down, and the girl that met us said 'now is the time'. They had no idea how long this clear spell would last, we should do it while we could. So we bumbled straight off the bus without any time to contemplate what we were about to do...which helped. Argh! Screw it, here goes.

After a bubbly lady (from Rochdale, of all places) gave us the intro spiel and sorted us into groups, it all began to sink in. Jess and I were in the 3rd group to go up, so we had plenty of time for it to really sink. Thus followed what seemed the longest wait in the world, as anticipation, excitement and nerves brewed up while we watched all the others land. When our time finally came, we suited up in ridiculous red jumpsuits and met our partners-in-sky - mine a bloke called Amos - who all shared a very encouraging sense of deadpan humour. Moments before boarding the plane, Amos suggested I get a different harness, as this one was a bit loose...but oh shit, no time, never mind. Very funny, Amos. I'm laughing outside, but praying inside. Another guy aparently had a mid-freefall conversation with one of our mates that went along the lines of: 'Oh shit.' 'What???' 'The parachute won't open'. BLOODY HILARIOUS!

Packed up like sardines into the tiny tincan plane, with me going in last and sitting right by the door with its big reassuring EXIT sign, I didn't even notice us take off I was so distracted. Amos kept joking around, and showing me the altometer on his watch. It sounds stupid, but it was only when we hit about 7,000 feet that it suddenly dawned on me that I was about to fall out of a plane. I mean actually fall out. Strapped to an idiot. And clearly, being next to the door, I was going first. Oh my god, what are we doing?! The build up was intense, as I knew I was first and that I'd be going when we hit 12,000 feet, so all I could think was 'oh God is it now yet, is it now?'. And then 12,000 came and the door opened. It opened, right next to me! This is a plane, are they sure that's allowed??! And - oh Jesus - cold, rushing wind. 'Legs out, mate', Amos barked bluntly, and I kindly obliged, feeling them buffet around like a rag doll. Then he tucked my head back, there was no time to think anything, and BOOM! Out we dropped. Shit.

Well, there's no feeling like falling through the sky at 200km per hour. After that mind-bending sensation when you actually tumble from the plane, the first few seconds are a blur until your brain catches up with what your body is doing, by which point the cold air is twatting you in the face and you can't stop whooping ecstatically. It's a bit good. After just a second or two he gave me the shoulder tap that let me know I could let go of my harness and spread my arms, which I resolutely didn't believe for a good few seconds more, clinging on for dear life. The views were incredible once I'd got used to the thrill, and then poomph - chute's out, bit of a halt, and suddenly all is serenity, like sitting in a chair in the middle of the sky, not even descending, just sitting. This peaceful, stately glide down was another unbelieveable sensation, feeling light as a feather while taking in the epic Lake Taupo, the town and the volcanoes below, thinking how amazing it is to be alive. Magic.

We came to earth with a bit of a thud, literally, and then I got to watch Jess floating down from the clouds, following a nice Norwegian called Marie Irene, both of whom landed with a little more elegance. Oh well, at least my legs didn't break! I blame Amos. We all exchanged exhilarated quips - Jess, of course, had got to see me leave the plane, a harrowing experience that I'd thankfully been denied - and toddled off in a happy daze, chuffed to bits. Later we went to see the lake from a rather more terrestrial angle, reverting back to a simple old stroll along its edge where we had a paddle in its chilly water, and a celebratory pint at a characterful lakeside bar. The drizzle had returned, and we realised our good fortune at having pounced upon that small window of good weather to fling ourselves earthwards.

The next morning we had a rather more normal goal in mind - to have a good leg-stretch walking along the Waikato River from Taupo to an awesome waterfall, Huka Falls. On the way we passed an area of hot springs, into which I toe-dipped and was suitably amazed by, but it wasn't enough to tempt us in for a spa session on this, another rainy day. Instead we walked on, alongside fantastically clear, deep green-blue water, until we reached the awesome, bright blue, powerful falls - an 11m drop over which 220,000 litres of water crash per second. Quite a sight. What was not such a great sight was the constant drizzly mist that had hung over Lake Taupo since we'd arrived, depriving us of a supposedly amazing view. This 'imagination game' was unfortunately to become a trend.

Taupo - River Valley
We left Taupo, driving South along the vast lakeside, and Morrie gave us an almost incomprehensible thought to ponder. The huge lake (big enough to fit Singapore inside) actually lies in a massive caldera created by a supervolcano, whose most recent major eruption, in 180 AD, was the biggest in history. The eruption column was twice as high as that of Mt. St. Helens in 1980. It entirely devastated North Island, and its ash turned the sky red for a week, as noted by ancient civilizations in Rome and China. Rome and China, these being in an actual different hemisphere and pretty bloody far away. Mind-bogglingly big, then. And it's currently considered dormant. Not extinct.
To the south of Lake Taupo we drove through Tongariro National Park, home to three more pretty awesome volcanoes (including the one used as 'Mt. Doom' in LOTR, for all those who care), and the world's 4th ever World Heritage site. It's also the only one in the world to have a double accreditation - one for geographical beauty and one for cultural significance, the latter stemming from the fact that a Maori chief, recognising its beauty, actually volunteered the land to the white government for conservation and public use, which also makes it the world's first ever National Park. Pretty cool. So it's a shame that we couldn't bloody see any of it as we passed through, thanks to the ever-present drizzly mist. Still. After a quick walk to a waterfall, and having just about got over this frustration, suddenly there came the slightest gap in the clouds and we actually got to see a bit of the giant, snow-capped volcano that was right beside us - Mt. Ruapehu, N. Island's highest peak. YES. On our brief stop in Ohakune (carrot capitol of the world...), Jess and I vowed that this would be one place we'd definitely return to later in the campervan, hoping for better weather and an actual chance to get out and hike. It's unmissable, and we were currently missing it.

River Valley, our destination, is an 'adventure lodge' in the absolute middle of nowhere. Only Kiwi Experience seem to know how to find it. The setting is lovely - the lodge is in a steep valley right beside the Rangitikei river, which some of the group would be rafting the next morning, but there it little else to do. All River Valley held in store for me and Jess, though, was a failed walk in the rain, followed by a brilliant night of abusing the bar's happy hour and playing daft games with the group. For me, a bit of noodling on the lodge's guitars was also long overdue. We stayed in a 16-person bunk dorm in a kind of barn, a hilarious experience in itself, as half the bus descended on the same room, pissed as farts at no-idea-a-clock. It probably wasn't even that late, but it'd been a long day.

River Valley - Wellington, 21.12.10
The next morning we had time to chill in the lodge before leaving. Jess asked me for a guitar lesson, which was really fun, and she did well. Back on the bus, we passed through yet more green and undulating pastures on the long journey to Welly, which was broken up by stopping at two more small towns. The first, Taihape, is the 'Gumboot Capital of the World', but the second, a place called Bulls, was the worst yet. Bulls capitalises on its odd name to a degree that makes you want to kill things. Every shop, restaurant, and convenience has a tagline. A cafe is 'Delect-a-bull', the police station is 'Const-a-bull', the toilets 'Relieve-a-bull', and my personal favourite because of how badly they've got it wrong, the town hall is 'Social-a-bull'. We got out of there as quickly as possible. On arriving in Wellybobs we said goodbyes to friends, as we were leaving Morrie's bus to stay in the capital for a few days before catching another one around South Island. We'd see most again soon. After dinner and a drink out for a change, at a trendy Mexican place called 'Sweet Mother's Kitchen', we headed hostelward to prepare to tackle Wellington the next day.

On 8th December we arrived at stupid o'clock (6.30am!) at our final and most northerly destination in Australia. We'd come to the end of our Aussie east coast adventure, but thankfully there would be no more overnight greyhounds (a blessing since the one up from Airlie Beach to Carins we both barely slept a wink). As Dave mentioned, the spiteful driver had decided that 5am would be an ideal time to turn the radio on - wakey wakey! Piss off.

Anyway, we were very pleased indeed to have made it all the way up the east coast, god knows how many miles we'd covered in under a month. Without delay we ambled through central Cairns to find our hostel, Northern Greenhouse, which would be our home for the next 5 nights. There are so many hostels to choose from in Cairns, since it's a town fairly dominated by backpackers and tourists all hell-bent on exploring the Barrier Reef and the surrounding rainforests of northern Queensland. But a helpful German traveller had recommended this place to us back in Agnes Water and he said it was the best hostel he'd ever stayed at. And we couldn't have agreed more. The hostel was formerly holiday apartments in a courtyard design, with a pool and a suspended deck which housed the kitchen, pool table, sofas and free internet teminals - WIN. This was going to be a nice base from which to chill-out and explore Cairns. After grabbing some free breakfast at the hostel we freshened up and headed out to explore the town, despite being very tired post sleep-deprived greyhound journey. The town is quite small, no high rise buildings or anything, instead it has a relaxed holiday/coastal town feel about it. The streets are incredibly flat and mostly lined with homogenous shops selling Aussie memorabilia and millions of tour companies desperately trying to sell you Reef excursions. Throw in some more retail shops, bars and cafes and you've got Cairns. One aspect of the town which we weren't prepared for was the sudden presence of Aboriginal people walking the streets and sat in public spaces. This was strange for Dave and I, as up until now we had not come across one obvious Aboriginal person during our whole time in Australia. What's more, these people we unlike any other race we'd encounterd before, so it was a very intriguing experience for us both. It doesn't take a genuis to notice that most of the Aboriginal folk in Cairns are part of the lower echelons of Australian society. They appeared to have nothing to do except sit and observe the world around them while occasionally bickering amongst themselves. Indeed, these folk in Cairns looked lost and very much isolated from the white Austraila and tourist industry which surrounds them. Very bizarre.

Anyway, our first day was spent scouting out what the town had to offer, which includes a rather large public Lagoon right by the harbour edge where everyone can hang out and do a little swim. Similar to the Lagoon at Airlie Beach, it had facilities such as public showers and BBQ areas for dining al fresco and parties. How wonderful. Later on we popped into the local shopping plaza just outside of town to pick up a few essentials and have lunch (but mainly i think to escape the heat!) Cairns is ridicously hot most of the time thanks to its position amongst the dense tropical rainforests of Queensland. It was 30 degrees plus every single day with extremely high humidity. I'm breaking into a sweat just thinking about it.... That night we relaxed with dinner at the hostel and turned in early to catch some much needed Z's.

Cairns Harbour and Lagoon

Day two inevitably started with a lie in and it was off to the Wildlife Dome which was housed above the Reef Hotel and Casino, believe it or not. But from the flyer we'd seen in our hostel it looked like a pretty cool and cheap way to see some native Aussie animals which we were just desperate to do. We saw snakes, interesting birds like cockatoos and lorikeets as well as pademelons, fresh water crocs and a ginormous saltwater croc, aptly named Goliath. But the guys we'd mainly come to see were the KOALAS! Indeed, the Dome kept 3 incredibly cute koala bears (Harvey, Bailey and Quiggley) and they were all frantically busy... er sleeeping. That's right, koalas just love to snooze all day long for up to 18 hours, arising only to adjust their postion on their branch and munch some eucalyptus leaves. Nevertheless, we stared at these guys for ages. They are adorable, if rather boring creatures. After catching some informative shows on birds and reptiles in the Dome, we headed back to the hostel for lunch, laundry and a chill by the pool. It was early December and i was sat in a pool with 30+ degree heat beaming down on me! Now THAT was awsome. Later we headed in to town for a wee snip each at a hairdressers and a lovely stoll along the Esplanade at dusk. That night we took advantage of the $3 (insanely cheap by Aus standards) beers at our hostel, which were delightful. They had quirky names such as 'Reef Pilsner' and whatnot because they were brewed just down the road. Loved that hostel.

Wildlife Dome

Rockin' Cockatoo

Sleepy McSleeperson

Goliath

Our third day in Cairns was one of those days you know you're going to remember forever. The time had come to expore the Great Barrier Reef and lose our combined diving virginities. BRING IT ON. The day started early - we were on our boat and ready to start our day trip by 8.30am. The boat was huge, staffed by a sizeable crew of naturally laid back Aussies, and full to the brim with keen reef explorers such as ourselves. One member of the crew was solely employed as 'resident joker' to entertain/mock us passengers throughout the day. He went by the name 'Elvis' - and what a hilarious creature he was. Anyway, as we headed to our first destination at Saxon Reef (one of the favourites of the outer reefs) and on the way we received a 20 minute prep talk on what to do on our introductory dive. The expert diver-guy who instructed us epitomized the classic 'Aussie male' - he was blond, buff, tanned, loved water and above all he was a massive joker. This was all very well, but i was becoming increasingly nervous about the prospect of sinking myself in the ocean and having to learn essential diving skills this quickly so as not to harm/kill myself during the experience. Also, it didn't help that during the 'lesson' i was experiencing a bad case of motion sickness. We both were. I barely got time to recover from that once we'd stopped at our first reef, before i had to get in my wet suit and do a dive. Uh oh.

I got in the water all very well, went down the safety ladder to practice some of those essential skills we'd learned prior, and began the descent arm in arm with my group and our dive-guide. But then i panicked. As we descended deeper i forgot to equalize my ears (like you do in a plane) so i suddenly felt a sharp pain in my left ear. I was very conscious of my ears since i'd had an infection near the beginning of our trip. I quickly turned to our guide, gestured upwards, and with a quick pull of the tab on my inflatable jacket she sent me back to the surface. After being ushered out of the water and out of the way, i was quickly stripped of my dive gear and told i couldn't go back down and join my group. Tears filled my eyes, as i'd left Dave to continue with the dive without me when we'd wanted to do this together. I was also upset that the staff had been so harsh in pulling me out of the water so quickly. I'd later realise that this was because they have so many people to look after and safety issues to consider etc that i'd messed with their organised system. Drama Drama Drama. While i was waiting for Dave to resurface i asked the dive co-ordinator-guy if i could try again later in the day and he said 'yeh, leave it with me'. Thank god there was a chance i could get another shot at it because this was why we were here! Dave resurfaced safely with our group and came to assist me in my melt-down. He said i had to do it, as it was incredible down there. I said to myself 'right, time to toughen up Miss Lane, you can do it!'. Within 10 minutes of saying this the dive-guys said you can have a another go now with this group, who were the last lot to dive at Saxon Reef. And sure enough it happened. I had a few minor issues and adjustments with my mask, but luckily for me so did the rest of my group! Remembering this time to equalize my ears every metre downwards, i got to thoroughly enjoy my first ever dive. Anyone who has dived before i'm sure will agree that initially it's a stange sensation to be 10 metres under water, breathing with all this bizarre (but essential!) gear attatched to your person. But it was all worth it and i allowed myself to soak up the wonderful marine world before me. I saw intricate corals close up, tropical reef fish such as a Moorish idol (there's one of those guys in Finding Nemo!), a giant Maori Wrasse fish in the shadows and best of all, a second reef shark encounter! The little devil swam right under us just minding his own business. Wow, i loved it down there. Afterwards, i rejoiced in the fact i'd conquered my fears and actually done a dive in the Barrier Reef. Ahh, time for some well deserved BBQ lunch, and an afternoon of relaxing snorkel time at Hastings Reef.

We had 4-5 hours in total out at the reefs which gave us plenty of time to see some of the incredible coral and marine life that inhabits this part of the world. I immensely enjoyed an afternoon of snorkelling at my leisure, equipped with only flippers and a mask. As the day drew to a close we de-wetsuited and chilled on top-deck with a glass of vino, bound for Cairns once more - what a day. We were exhaused by the time we disembarked the boat, collected our Intro Dive certificates and strolled back through town. Incidentally, before we left the boat i'd been patted on the back more times than you can shake a stick at by the crew who were all too aware of my diving ordeal and now very proud of me. How embarrassing for me, but of course very kind of them to say so. Fortunately for me, at the end of the day i could be smug in the knowledge that i wasn't the only 'Aquatard' in this relationship; Dave had had a chundering session after some tame snorkelling in the afternoon. Ha! What a pair were were; Miss Make-a-scene and Captain Chunderful.

Reefs!

The next day we planned to visit Cairns Botanical Gardens, as we'd heard great things about this place which was a short 5km bus journey out of town. We managed to hop on the right bus and arrived at the gardens at around 11.30am in the already steaming heat. Well, these botanical gardens were unlike any we had visited on the trip so far as it felt more like you were in a tropical jungle rather than a 'garden'. All kinds of extraordinary plants, trees, flowers and insects lived here, it was wonderful. We walked around the spectacular tropical forest at a leisurely pace since the heat from the sun and the humidity was exhausting. There were different sections within the gardens which we found interesting, such as Aboriginal plant-uses (which explained how the plants before us was used by the native pop in order to survive ect). Propbably the most fascinating section was called 'Gondwana' where you 'go back in time' by looking at the evolution of plant life in this part of the world. I found this completely mind-boggling. Plants have been around for a looooooong time, you know. 'Nature boy' (Dave) naturally loved all this stuff; he pranced about amongst the flora and fauna which filled him with joy. Awe. Next, we decided to do a recommended loop walk called the 'Red-Arrow walk' which led us up a steep hill to a fantastic look-out point over Cairns, the bay and the less interesting airport. Boy was i glad when we reached the top as the intense humidity and heat in the forest was almost unbearable. I couldn't believe how tropical Cairns was, but it's no surprise when the town is completely surrounded by dense rainforests, built up over 1000s of years. After i'd decided that was quite enough nature for one day, we hopped on a bus back to town. We grabbed some food supplies, ate and got dolled up for a night-on-the-town. It was Saturday after all and our last weekend in Australia. Perhaps it was the heat we'd endured in the day, i'm not sure, but we had 3 pints (inc. 2 at the hostel) and we were done for the night. We were falling asleep on the sofa at 'The Woolshed' in town, while others were dancing on the tables. To be fair though, these guys go to bed at 3am and rise at 12 whereas we were too tired to go out 'on the lash' because we had such full and exhausting days. Each to their own.

Botanical Gardens

View over Cairns

Sunday was our final day in Cairns so we naturally spent it chilling and grabbing ourselves some tacky Aussie merchandise to take home, otherwise people will never believe we'd been right? We both picked up the obligatory 'stubbie cooler' which seemed to be omnipresent throughout the Southern Hemisphere. For those unsure, its simply a little holder for cans or 'stubbie' bottles of beer which helps to keep them cool and saves your hands from getting wet. I also bagged myself a boomerang keyring and a mini koala bear holding the Australian Flag - i definately paid homage to the Tourism God that day. Early morning/lunch was spent at the Cairns lagoon, sunbathing and swimming to our hearts' content. Later we popped back to the Wildlife Dome (our ticket allowed us to go back as many times as we liked within a week) to catch a feeding tour of the enclosure. Again, it was a lot of fun, plus we got to say hello to the koalas again - WIN! They were, of course, still sleeping. That evening we had dinner sorted; a free BBQ that our hostel hosts every sunday, and it was bloody awesome. You hear 'free hostel BBQ' and your expectations immediately plummet, thinking it can't be that good when we're only paying £16 a night etc. But it was delighful and the staff even go to the trouble to prepare salads and such to accompany the meatfeast. The atmosphere was really nice too, as naturally almost the entire residents had shown up for the free grub. After this, our minds were made up... Northern Greenhouse had to be THE best hostel of the entire trip. I'd advise any other traveller out there to set up camp there if they are headed Cairns-wards. Moving on, that night we spent chilling at the hostel and preparing for our New Zealand flight the following day. Was it that time again already? Time to leave another country behind? 'Fraid so. Luckily we'd been sharing a room with an Irish guy called Owen (of course!) who had just come from New Zealand, and he was eager to get rid of his Lonely Planet guide. As it turned out he was off to South East Asia after Oz so we quickily put forward the idea of a trade; his NZ guide for our SEA guide. Everybody wins!

Koala Kuddler

Fave hostel

Farewell Australia!

Monday morning we spent gathering our things together, having a nice final breakie and one last stroll into town so i could send some postcards. It was another glorious, scorching day in Cairns and yet again i wasn't really ready to leave. But it was time to jet off to a land so incredibly far away from home, we may as well be on the moon. The Australia chapter was over, and we'd barely scratched the surface of this monster country. We found ourselves thinking about where else we'd like to explore in Aus if we got a chance to return one day. But the east coast had been a perfect way to taste what Australia is all about and i honestly loved it all. New Zealand would have plenty to live up to...

This post is poignant, as at the time of writing Queensland is going through the worst flooding in its history. It's greatly destructive and tragic, and puts the relatively little rain we encountered there a month before into alarming perspective. Here's wishing QLD, and now Victoria too, a swift end to the devastation. 20.01.11.

Byron Bay - Mooloolaba, 27.11.10.
We stayed only one night in Byron, since there was no room at the inn - any inn - because our visit had coincided with 'Schoolies', a week in November when all the recent high school graduates annually descend on the Bay to celebrate. Thus, the next morning we set off on a Greyhound bound for the brilliantly named Mooloolaba, a Sunshine Coast town an hour or so North of Brisbane and home to the Mallinders, Jess's family friends.

On that note, I'd like to take this opportunity to make a brief but affectionate detour to pay tribute to the place names of Australia. Juxtaposed with the British (and blatantly lifted) Warwicks, Liverpools and Brightons, there are the wonderful Aboriginal names - the Mullimbimbys, the Woodenbongs, the Mooloolabas, the Woolgooglas. There are also downright oddities, like my personal favourite, Beaudesert. And the chuckles aren't restricted to place names. From the moment we set foot in the country we began to realise how much the Aussies love a pun when it comes to monikers for shops, cafes and businesses. From the hordes we saw, my favourites are as follows:
'Cotton On' - a ubiquitous clothes chain
'Opal-Minded'
'Nauti Buoy' - impressive punnage.
'After a Fashion' - recycled clothes. Brilliant.
'Lentil as Anything'
'Waffle On'
'Moo' - gourmet burgers, and finally
'Don't be a tosser!' - a helpful sign on a bin.

Anyway, back to Mooloolaba. We journeyed North past seemingly endless bushland to the left and sea to the right, and through the development-mad Gold Coast, the area south of Brisbane that comprises several resort-style towns, notably Surfer's Paradise. We stopped in Brissy for a quick transfer and a shameful McDonalds, and were in the much anticipated Mooloolaba by mid-afternoon, where Sam, Richard and their son Ben were waiting to pick us up. Well, what a welcome it was. We were swept off in the car back to their stupidly beautiful house (spacious but homey, funky but tasteful, and with a pool - as is standard in the area), amid smiles all round and the buzzing of conversation. They insisted that we just relax, 'recharge the batteries', stay as long as we like, catch up with a bit of forward-planning - basically just do all the things that we really needed to do after one and a half months on the road. It was so nice to be in a proper home again, in the real world with real people - and real comfort - after so long backpacking around guesthouses and hotels full of other smelly transient beings. And we were made to feel so welcome. If there was any beer left in their fridge at the end of the week, said Richard, he'd be sorely disappointed in us.

We supped a long-deserved brew on their fresh patio, and had the wonderful surprise of lots of mail to open. Our parents had sent us both a card each for our birthdays and for christmas, as well as a christmas package... ooo. Exciting! The guys went out to a party and left us to settle in, which we did in style, making swift use of the trampoline, the pool and spa. For dinner we were treated to a tasty Thai takeaway. Heaven for two weary backpackers.

The next morning we had an actual lie in...until 9 am! Woop. This was followed by the first proper breakfast we'd had in ages - a fry up on the industrial barbeque parked in the garden. Hearty. (Yes, this is a BBQ breakfast, in late November. Pinch yourself...). We all headed out to Mooloolaba beach for an introduction to the Aussie family way of life, where we chilled out, arsed about, and caught some sweet waves (dude) with Hayley and Ben. Jess made a scene on the way into the sea, shrieking copiously and dancing around, amusing several onlookers and freaking out one nearby small child. Yorkshire lass + hefty Sunny Coast waves = hilarity. After the swim we promenaded through Moo, where we coffee-and-caked ourselves into contentment before heading back to The Mallinder Mansion. We messed around in the pool with Ben before a lovely chicken salad a la Sam and Richard, complemented by nice white wine and chats, before slumping in front of the TV for a bit before bed. Aaaaaah. That night we also heard amazing news - that Mark had proposed to Esma! They were engaged!! Awww, guys. What a day.

Kangaroo spotting was the first item on Monday's agenda. We joined Sam on the school run to drop Ben off and call at her work, the University of the Sunshine Coast, where the famous marsupials are to be found every day just bouncing around campus. Mad! It's like York, but instead of ducks, think Joeys. As a result they are unphased by human presence, so we could get really close to them. It was amazing for us to see them for the first time, and 'in the wild' rather than in some zoo or other. After we'd fed our need to gawp, Sam took us on a lovely driving tour of Mooloolaba's surrounds, taking in the Alexandra Headlands, Buderim, and the simply idylic Cotton Tree, where we stopped for a walk through golden, hot, soft sand and clear blue waters, surveying the sandbars and paddleboarders out in the bay. We passed a bloke with a pile of freshly-caught fish, who had the biggest bird we'd ever seen as an unwelcome guest, eyeing up his catch and flapping its humongous bill about threateningly. This monstrous pelican was almost as tall as us, looking like 'a man in a suit', as Jess put it. We had a 'schooner' of cool lager (one of Oz's 100 different sizes of beer glass, somewhere in between a half and a pint) to calm the nerves.


Back at the pad we swam, sunbathed and awaited the family's return. Ben had a little 3/4 sized guitar, and I taught him one of the first tunes I learnt - 'Nice One Cyril' - getting a little teaching practise in for when I'd return to Manc and actually have to work. Forgetting all that for now, we all went out for an amazing steak dinner at 'Hog's Breath' on Mooloolaba Wharf. Later on in the evening, Jess and I had a good old skype session with the recently engaged Mark & Esma, who were just waking up. Lovely to see them.

After a day of pottering, the next evening saw in a veritable feast on the BBQ - good food, good beer and good company as Sam and Richards Kiwi friends Teresa and Roger (plus kids) were over. The childer were all playing in the pool, in the evening, in the dark...and this is the last day of November. What a country.

Brisbane, an hour south of Mooloolaba, was our day-trip destination for the following day. We caught a train out early and arrived into a grey, rainy city. The weather probably didn't help, but it struck us as the most English city we'd seen yet, just in the feel of the place. We browsed around Queen Street Mall and the Southbank Parklands with its cool artificial beach and pools before heading in the rain to the Queensland Performing Arts Centre. It's a horrible 60s monstrosity (much like York campus), but the outside was irrelevant as we were heading in to see West Side Story (!), and were incredibly excited. It was a great experience (it's always going to be for me...) - the band we're kickin', the dancing was exceptional, the leads were all good with great voices, the scenery was effective. There were some odd things going on with the overall flow - they rearranged the order of the numbers slightly, much to my mild discontent - but all in all it was massively enjoyable. As usual I almost did a little cry at the end...gets me every time.

Our last day at the Mallinders' was mainly spent relaxing and sorting things out for the dinner we were preparing them. Here was a chance to make some spring rolls and refresh the Vietnamese cooking class memories! It went reasonably well... Our 'thankyou' present of dinner, a card and a bottle of wine each for S & R seemed a humble reward for all the kindness, generosity and hospitality they'd showered upon us. We'd been completely taken care of all wonderful week long, for which we were incredibly grateful. (And I know you're reading this, so once again, thankyou so much from both of us guys! Look, you're famous!)

Agnes Water & 1770, 3.12.10.
It was Hayley's 13th birthday (the biggie) the morning we left, so we bowed out early to leave the fam in peace before celebrations got too hectic, saying our goodbyes and heading out to Maroochydore with Richard to hop on our bus North. We all had a quick peek at the sea before waving a sad farewell to the 'Sunny Coast' and to Richard, and setting off for our next destination, tiny little Agnes Water, another 400ks up the road. The journey was our first one in the daytime for a while, and long but fine. I'm constantly in awe of the foreign bushland that whizzes by, and since the Great Dividing Range is never too far to the left, nor the sea to the right, any stretch of East Coast makes for a pleasant romp. It got progressively greyer and wetter the further we went, however, and by the time we arrived at Agnes in the early evening it wasn't just cats and dogs that were falling - more like rhinos and...grand pianos. We sprinted into a minibus to our backpackers for the night - 'Cool Bananas' - and enjoyed the 3-minute tour of 'downtown' that we were given on the way to our digs.

'Agnes Backwater' might have been more fitting a name for a 'town' which consists entirely of two small convenience precincts, one pub & bottleshop, and a handful of houses and hotels. It is very small, with a population of 3000 or so, and really quite nice - a lot of city slickers from Sydney and Melbourne trek all the way up here to holiday in a bit of seclusion. 6k up the street lies its partner 'town' of 1770, which is even smaller, as apparently this is actually possible. 1770 is the home to 63 proud residents, who are probably all pensioners.

Our short stay in Agnes was dominated by downpour, so we did all we could considering the weather. This generally revolved around consuming our bodyweight in tea, sitting out under the 'Cool Bananas' porch and playing battleships, and listening to the friendly but loud owner and receptionist barking jovially at passing backpackers. At times the rain did ease off and we got to do actual things. The first night saw us have a little session at the Agnes Tavern (not just a pub...the pub), and the next morning we took advantage of a short but free minibus tour of town that the hostel put on. The guy doing the talking in the van was a (surprisingly) humourous German, who informed us in deadpan fashion about the 'metropolis' that is Agnes Water, taking us on a tour of both the 'CBD' and the nearby town of 1770. The oddly-titled, miniscule 1770 has two claims to fame. Firstly, good old Captain Cook, seaman extraordinaire and mapper of the Pacific, landed there (funnily enough, in the year 1770). Secondly - and more importantly - it's where the idea for 'Finding Nemo' was born. Whilst diving at the reef by the town, some guy observed a clown fish interacting with another species in an interesting way, and BOOM - Disneytime. Apparently there is an homage to the town in the film - the beach in the background behind the seagulls when they are cawing 'Mine! Mine!' is supposedly the beach at Agnes Water. Fact.

After the tour we brewed up and beanbagged ourselves to watch the chucklesome Taledega Nights in the cosy hostel lounge, as the rain beat down outside. When it eased we roamed down to the beach, which is a lovely spot, before being rained back towards the CBD to get some hearty pizza and prepare for our next overnight coach. Before it arrived, we took a stroll up the hill in town to enjoy some romantic windswept embraces and sweeping views over the darkened town and bay below.

Airlie Beach & the Whitsunday Islands, 5.12.10.
We arrived at Airlie at 7am, feeling nicely minging after the night bus, but thoroughly pleased to see that the weather was glorious. After checking into 'Beaches Backpackers' and waking up, we made the most of the sun by heading straight to the Airlie lagoon, a gorgeous outdoor landscaped pool, complete with beaches, grassy verges on which to sunbake, and views across the beautiful bay. Australia really gets it right when it comes to swimming pools. There are many of these lagoons (like the one in Brisbane, and in Cairns as we'd later encounter) that are completely public and completely free, and often providing bbqs and outdoor hobs and the like. They give people a great place to congregate, relax, excercise, hold parties for adults and kids alike, and the atmosphere is always good. Oh, to live the Australian lifestyle. It may seem daft that these places exist on the very seafront, as if the actual sea is not enough, or maybe just slightly too far for your average obese Aussie to waddle to. Usually, though, they exist in places where an actual beach is non-existent, making sea-swimming a little impractical. Bondi Icebergs club is an exception. Airlie Lagoon is not, which seems ironic since the actual town is called 'beach' and yet distinctly lacks one.

The lagoon completely makes up for the lack of beach, and we spent a good two hours doing nothing but lying in the sun and swimming in the warm water - just what was needed after the downpours we'd been through. We followed up with a stroll around the bay to a pretty marina, had an afternoon schooner at a bay-view bar/restaurant, and then a potter around town. Airlie is a simple but charming resort town with a backdrop of forest-covered hills, and in the sunshine the day passed with ease.
Up early for brekkie the next day (nothing like a hostel kitchen to mean you have to eat cereal with a fork), we were whisked off to a jetty at 9am - it was time to visit the Whistsunday Islands. After grabbing a 'stinger suit' each (the encouranging Queensland word for a wetsuit...stops the 'stingers' you see, a.k.a the deadly-and-practically-invisible box jellyfish...) we boarded an epic and bouncy raft-come-speedboat contraption and raced off, sandwiched by equally blue sea and sky. Ivan the driver, and Will the guide/entertainer were cracking all kinds of jokes - relentless is the word. Will was an odd, dark and wiry Kiwi fellow with a toothy grin and a thirst for attention, but in a good way - he was a great guide, full of facts, quirks and the occasional song. After calling at the sickeningly-named Daydream Island - one of the thankful few that have resorts on them - to pick up a couple of incredibly tanned Swedes, we made our way past Hook Island to dock at Whitsunday Island itself, the biggest in the archipelago, where we walked up through its bushland to Hill Inlet Lookout. The view was just incredible. It was a stunning day for it, and I've never seen bluer seas and whiter sands in my life, sweeping around the bottom of forest-clad, mountainous islands. While we gawped, Will informed us that the islands are the tops of mountains which used to be part of the mainland before the water-level rose and cut them off. Their sands are 98.9% pure silica, hence their incredible whiteness and softness, and that also explains why they don't get piping under the scorching sun. The Americans have pinched sand from here to craft varied masterpieces in silicon - stuff for bombs, stuff for spacecraft, stuff for boobs. When we got down onto it to tuck into lunch, the sand was unbelieveable, even softer and finer than what we'd walked on at Byron. Wow. Post-picnic, we donned our stinger suits, prayed to ward off 'death-by-jellyfish', and jumped into the crystalline water for a paddle and a walk across a giant sandbar round to another small, secluded beach, surrounded by epic rocks including one huge slab of lava-rock. Will was trying and failing to tempt a nearby eagle down from above by waving a chicken wing about and shouting at it, which is as surreal as it sounds. Apparently he normally had more success...


Back in the boat we found our first snorkel destination, Mantaray Bay just off Hook Island, where marine life and coral are especially pretty and abundant. It suddenly dawned on us that we were about to swim in deep, open water, in the company of all kinds of weird creatures. For Jess, being a decent swimmer, I think the creatures were more daunting, whereas for me it was the knowledge that this was no swimming pool, and there was no shallow end. Those of you who have heard me refer to myself as 'Aquatard' will know why. Let's just say I was always last, even behind the fat kid, when it came to swimming lengths in the school pool. I believe my technique leaves something to be desired. After sucking it up and jumping in, and then floundering around for a few minutes feeling a little nervous and helpless ("I'm a child of the soil - this is not my milieu!" - Bill Bryson, 'Down Under'), I got my act together. Jess was having perhaps more of a mare, but Will, who turned out to be sweet and helpful when it was called for, reassured and encouraged her in. After a moment or two getting used to plunging our head in, we both swiftly began to love it. There were hoards of all kinds of fish, everywhere - tiny little tiddlers, medium sparkly ones, and giant stripy Maori Wrasse, as big as a small child, and one of which I'm pretty sure I kicked - with a hefty thud, or as hefty as a thud can be under water - immediately upon jumping in. One of these huge beasts suddenly sped right towards our faces, its goal being a piece of feed that a cackling Will had strategically chucked. Just his way of gently easing us in to the marine environment. The fish were spectacular, in particular the many luminescent, rainbow-coloured ones, nibbling away at the coral, and the little shark we spotted below us at one point. We were strangely unperturbed by his presence, as he was clearly just drifting about his daily business, and it was an amazing feeling. After 40 minutes floating about observing this multicoloured underwater kingdom, we snorkelled another spot which boasted even more spectacular coral (all shapes and sizes, textures and colours...spongy ones, hard ones, nobbly ones, wavy ones, round ones...and all so foreign to us) but apparently had fewer fish. There were still a lot, and one had a cheeky accidental nibble at my finger instead of one of Will's food pellets. Bless.

We enjoyed the views (including spotting a giant turtle and a small pod of dolphins in the distance) and Will's inane ramblings on the zippy boat ride back. Thus followed a brilliant evening tucking into a tasty steak and following it up with a couple of jugs of Victoria Bitter in the cool hostel bar, listening to the live singer/guitarist do a decent job of some classic covers...what more could you need in a day? We got all reflective and grateful about the trip again as we sat there. Good old beer.

The next day we just relaxed and filled with a bit of journal-and-postcard-writing by the sea, and another trip to the bar/restaurant by the pretty marina where we had 2-4-1 gourmet pizza (yes please!) in the atmospheric dusk before catching our final overnight Greyhound - this one bound for our last stop in Oz, Cairns. The journey went well until the clearly quite evil 2nd driver who took over at around 3am decided it was a great idea to put the radio on. And he wasn't going to turn it off - he actually said the words 'you can't sleep your life away'. Well, no, mate, but I think we'd all quite like to maybe get just a little bit of sleep right now. It's night time. That way, we can be awake in the day time. Bastard. I rammed home my earplugs and welcomed the end. Now that we'd seen the beautiful Whitsundays and had our first taste of sub-marine magic, we couldn't wait to get to Cairns and go exploring underwater on the big daddy - the Great Barrier Reef. Eeeeee!

Sydney, 23.11.10.
On the 12 hour, 900+ kilometre journey from Melbourne to Sydney (yes, that's a long way), I turned out to be sat next to a German called Eddy. He was friendly and talkative, but happened to be one of those people whose face oversteps the personal space boundary ever-so-slightly when they chat, and whose eyes seemingly bore deep into your soul. So I anticipated a slightly uneasy 12 hours. He was a lovely guy though, if a little odd, and after an hour or so of nattering away about how 'very cool' and 'crazy' he thought the lagoon at Brisbane was (endearingly pronounced 'Bris-bain'), the intense conversation thankfully relented and we could both try and catch some sleep. These overnight Greyhounds - with their sit-up-seats - were actually a surprising downgrade from the sleeper buses of Vietnam. Who'd have thunk it?!

And so to Sydney. On arrival we went for a bite to eat and one of Oz's fantastically smooth 'flat white' coffees, planned the next few days, and gathered our composure at the hostel, before heading out into the smiling sunshine to meet up with Jess's cousin Jordan (who she hadn't seen for about 10 years) and his mate Danny. They were both out in Oz for a year on working holiday visas, and as they were currently living in the King's Cross area of Sydney they'd offered us a little insider's tour of town. The four of us wandered out towards Circular Quay, chatting away excitedly, until we emerged from the CBD and all of a sudden there in front of us was the bay, the magnificent Harbour Bridge, and the Opera House creeping in from the right, all glistening attractively in the sun. We had a similar feeling to arriving at Angkor Wat or Halong Bay. When you are suddenly presented with these simply iconic places - places you've seen hyped up in 2D on hundreds of postcards or screens before arriving - the feeling upon actually standing before them and trying to take them in is very surreal. It takes a good half hour before it starts to seem real. We couldn't believe we were most of the way round the world, stood next to the famous Opera House, basking in its glow.

From there we headed through Sydney's beautiful Botanical Gardens, which curve around the harbour and eventually lead to a picture postcard view of the Opera House and bridge. On the way to said view we paused to feed the park's resident Cockatoos (Jordan had brought some bread, and coaxed us into letting the exotic birds land on our arms to munch it), and having stood gazing over the harbour for a while we went for a caffieine fix back in the CBD before emotional goodbyes to our lovely tour guides. It had been a brilliant day. After dinner at the hostel, we rounded the evening off with a promenade around the nearby Darling Harbour (Sydney has so much water and so many bays), where the lights of the skyscrapers glittered in the water and made the night sparkle. What a lucky, beautiful city.


The next day, after a walk up to Observatory Park and a view overlooking the bay to the other side of the bridge, we had a mosey along the bridge itself to gander back at the city, and then headed back to the bridge's base to explore the area known as 'The Rocks'. This is where Sydney began, as a penal colony in the 1780s, and as such is considered steeped in history. Ha! Oh Australia, how youthful and sprightly you are. It was indeed vastly different from the other areas of the city we'd seen - a quaint maze of cafes, old pubs and houses tucked down little alleys. We had a look in an old cottage before heading back through the CBD to Hyde Park (one of the many familiar names...) where we picnicked and lay in the sun in front of St. Mary's Cathedral, listening to distant buskers. The next plan was to take a bus out to Bondi to visit the famous beach. We had anticipated a slightly underwhelming strip of sand crammed full of bronzed posers, so were pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a really nice bit of coast, with a fair few fat backpacker whiteys mingled in with the Greco-Romanic God-like locals. Reassuring. We had a paddle and a sunbathe before a coastal walk past the famous Bondi Icebergs club (a swimming pool right by the sea) along to Tamarama beach round the gorgeous headland.

Blue Mountains
We played a bit of ping pong in the hostel the next morning while waiting for our Blue Mountains tour pickup. Steve, the middle-aged tour guide who showed up, was the epitome of Aussie. Sandy haired, smiley faced, and wearing a khaki safari suit and bush hat, he directed us jovially to the bus and we were on our way Blue Mountainsward. Almost everyone else on the tour, as it happened, was Asian, and as such seemed less interested with information and more so with strange photo opportunities. Oooo - call me stereotypical, but one camera-happy lady felt the need to film most of the journey out of Sydney, some of it over my shoulder. I'm sure her morbidly dull 15-minute film of nondescript road and blurred houses will go down a storm back home. Maybe it was because by comparison we seemed a little interested in what he had to say, maybe not, but Steve seemed to take a shine to me and Jess. Among his fun facts of the day were the following:
- Sydney's population is 4.something million. (i.e. quite a high percentage of Oz, and, as we'd later realise, about the same as the WHOLE of New Zealand...ha).
- Kangaroos can rotate their ears 360 degrees.
- Female kangaroos can control their joey's development in the womb, so if there's a bit of a food shortage at the due time, they can withhold the birth. They are almost constantly pregnant. Crazy.
- All marsupial babies (not just kangaroos) are called joeys.
- They don't so much hop as literally bounce, because their hindleg tendons are majorly elastic.
- The Blue Mountains were formed 250ish million years ago, and today are the same as they were 160 million years ago. Epic.
- They aren't really mountains, more a bloody huge valley formed under the sea.
- They get their name from the blue mist that emanates from the Gum trees when they get hot.
- And many more that I forgot.

The day began with refreshments by the Nepean River, greater Sydney's Western boundary, followed by our first breathtaking mountain lookout and a bush walk on which Stevie informated us about various plants and their cunning and extensive Aboriginal uses. We paused to take in a view of Wentworth Falls (for all you Yorkies out there - ha!) before a picnic lunch in a sweet little village called Leura. Next we took the world's steepest train (52 degree incline) down onto the jungle-clad floor of a gorge, past views of Katoomba Falls and the 'Three Sisters' rocks. The train played the Indiana Jones main theme as it descended, which made my day. We had a wander round a boardwalk on the forest floor, marvelling at the lush and exotic surrounds with its web-like, dangling branches, before cablecar-ing back up, past 'Orphan Rock', to have a cheeky ice-cream and hop back on the bus. Next was the final lookout point, a flat rock outcrop with no barrier which was simply magical. We sat taking it in, feeling the peace, and feeling very jealous of a lucky local couple nearby who had clearly been sat doing that all day, rather than being restricted to a 15 minute slot on a tour. Imagine this being your backyard!

Steve deposited us at a ferry port in the early evening, from where we cruised Captain Cook style up the Paramatta river, past countless gorgeous harbours and houses, and back into Sydney, heading under the bridge and docking at Cirlular Quay. It was a fantastic end to our stay in Sydney. The next plan was Byron Bay, which is a little way south of Brisbane, and as with everything in Oz, incredibly far away. Bring on the overnight Greyhound!

Byron Bay, 26.11.10.
Our midday arrival in Byron was tired, dazed and confused. We checked into Greenlands Guesthouse, a somewhat shady and open-to-the-elements type joint that we had booked without knowing as much. It was run by some overly laid back Israelis who saw no need for rooms with locks, and were also keen to attract the greatest number of insects they possibly could by leaving all doors open and lights on. The room was pretty crawling. As I showered and paranoidly anticipated one of Oz's deadly spiders to scuttle out of the drain, I told myself 'it's only one night!'...

We headed out into the sun but were immediately poured down upon, deflating spirits further. Hurray, we thought, another beach town where there's nothing to do when it rains...and it's raining! Mui Ne take two? Thankfully it was one of those odd, ten minute bursts of insane rain that happen further up into Oz's tropics, and soon we were heading back out into scorching sun. We aimed for the nearest beach. This involved a longer walk than anticipated, through hot coastal bushland and past a sign that encouragingly informed us that 'brown snakes are prevalent!' It was worth the walk, though, when we arrived at Tallow Beach, a long and practically deserted strip of gorgeous sweeping sand, hot in the sunshine. The drier sand was so fine and clean that it squeaked when you walked on it, which we did, at great length. We ploughed on and on, up the seemingly endless beach (I reckon it was about 5k before we finally turned off back through bushland towards a road), and the entire way we only came across 3 other people. Amazing. I have a feeling that the occasional little blue jellyfish we encountered dotted along the beach may have something to do with that (no doubt some variant of perhaps Oz's most deadly animal, the box jellyfish...), but it meant that we had the entire beauty almost all to ourselves.

After that trek, and an unanticipated trek back into town, we munched some well-deserved fish and chips before a paddle and a frisbee on Main Beach. Our frisbee skills paled in comparison to those of a beardy bloke we watched in fascination for a while, who was playing solo, dancing around and flinging it about in all manner of contortions and somehow always managing to catch the bugger. We later saw him again, but were delighted to see he'd found another intense frisbee hippy to play with, a fellow hirsuite and unkempt wastrel who looked the spit of him. It was surreal.

Main beach was virtually identical to Tallow Beach, aside being full of people. We wondered why this was, and felt very smug and thankful to have had the slice of paradise on the headland's other shore practically to ourselves. A lengthy walk in the heat was definitely worth that.

One odd discovery that we made while in Byron was to be found in the supermarket. I did a double take when I noticed this sign above an aisle:

Manchester?? That's a place, not an object, surely! How can you buy it?? What does my hometown have in common with nappies?! It just looked so out of place - had someone slipped it in as a joke? I scoured the aisle but couldn't find a hint. Deeply amused and confused, we later asked Richard why we kept seeing 'Manchester' in shops around Oz. He told us that it refers to linenware, bedsheets, that sort of thing. Truly bizarre. I guess it has some vague connection with the old Mancunian cotton trade. But yeah, one of Oz's interesting quirks, I guess...

We did it! We were actually in Australia. This took quite a while for us to come to terms with, especially since we both had major jet lag from the Bangkok to Sydney flight. Time just evaporated up there in sky as we flew thousands of miles to a land called Oz. So after the obligatory in-flight movie we had hardly any time to get some shut-eye which resulted in a temporary dazed and confused first impression of Australia.

First of all, it was grey, cold and rainy in Sydney as we awaited our connection to Melbourne - what was that about?! The scene as we landed remsembled the grim Manchester 'welcome home' weather we usually receive post-holiday. Also, suddenly the prevalent language was not Thai or Vietnamese but English, our native tounge. It was strange because we'd come so far around the world but things we very familiar here, unlike Asia of course. Dave and I were no longer tall-ish Europeans wandering amongst a tiny South-East Asian population, we were back to being small fries next to the statuesque Aussies. But the greatest shock to the system would be wallet-related. Our concept of what money was worth had to change, fast. We would no longer be able to eat out every night for just over a quid each, and we would no longer be able to afford private rooms in guesthouses. But this was no big deal as a whole new and exciting chapter of our travel adventure had just begun...

We'd landed on Dave's birthday. It was probably the shortest in history as he'd already lost four hours of the day because of time differences, we were consequently forced to have a three hour nap once we arrived at our hostel in St Kilda, Melbourne aaand we went to bed at 9.30pm - Woo! Nevertheless, arriving in a new country on your birthday is pretty damn cool, jet lag or no jet lag. Dave's 23rd was welcomed in by a celebratory pastry each from Gloria Jeans at the airport and a bottle of sparkly stuff kindly bestowed upon us from the very friendly staff at Habitat HQ (aka the coolest and best hostel of trip so far!) We arrived no problem from the airport and quickly dumped our things in our dorm, freshened up and had a much-needed nap. Two and a half hours later we arose and decided to venture into St Kilda town centre to re-fuel our bellies. In the evening we took advantage of an organised group trip into Melbourne centre to the Queen Victoria Night Market. It's a night market which takes place at the beginning of every summer and has various international food stalls, beer stands and trinket shops. We headed there with a group from our hostel, guided by an enthusiastic and uber cool Melburnian named Molly. The market atmosphere was great, lots of locals blatantly straight from work grabbing some grub and a bottle of Boags (the omnipresent Tasmanian beer in Victoria) - strange. We were still in our post-flight daze to fully comprehend it all though, but we mustered the strength to grab a hefty chicken burrito (YUM) and a cheeky bottle of B's. After this, we re-joined the group (of mainly Brits & Irish, all on working visas in Oz) and watched some fabulous Bollywood dancing (a swift introduction to Melbourne's incredible multiculturalism) as the sun set on our first day in Australia and indeed Dave's 23rd birthday.

Tired, but happy

On the tram home that night, although i was nearly drifting off, I remember a ridiculously helpful Melburnian assisting us in deciding which stop to exit the tram for our hostel. From this I can thus verify that Aussies well and truely live up to their reputation as awesome-mega-friendly human beings.

The next day (after going to bed at 9.30pm and arising at 9am!) we felt much more alive and ready to tackle the mighty Melbourne with all its sophistication and culture. First things first: we made a quick dash to the nearby Aldi to grab some supplies - yes we actually needed to cook and prepare food ourselves now for a change. This was an alien concept to us now, having spent one month in Asia eating out every single night for a pittance. Suddenly we were thrown into a uni halls-type situation where there was a communal kitchen which all the backpackers shared and everyone stored their food in the cupboards with their names on it. Dave and I thought we'd left this section of our lives behind once we'd moved on into second year and acquired houses with friends. Oh well!

Anyway, back to Melbourne and what a devilishly handsome city it is! Our second day was a bit rainy though, so we felt slightly miffed. This was Australia, the land of supposed harsh penetrating sunshine, so you can understand our slight dismay. Hey ho, we decided this was perfect weather to hit The Australian Center for the Moving Image (ACMI), located in the famous and central Federation Sq. It came highly recommended by Molly the Melburnian and it didn't disappoint. It was a wicked exhibition charting the history of film, TV and the internet with a Aussie slant. There was plenty of information and interactive fodder to keep us occupied for hours. Its was the perfect way to spend a grey, cold afternoon. Dave particularly loved the old video games section in which he was transported back to his childhood at the sight of Super Mario on the Nintendo. I was equally overjoyed to find a small section on Cate Blanchett, who was born and bred in Melbourne before she made it big time in Hollywood. I LOVE her. Afterwords we had a peek in St Paul's, a 19th century Cathedral in the heart of the city. It's a lovely building, old by Aussie standards but not a patch on St Paul's, London (ooop!) The we decided to stroll along the South Bank riverside which is a hip and happenin' spot for the locals to chill with a glass of vino and a bowl of $20 pasta. We then grabbed a hot coffee back in the heart of the bustling shopping district which was delightful. Australia has its own types of coffee, for instance 'flat white' which is the same as a latte but with less froth apparently...) Anyway, its gooooood. We then boarded a tram and headed back to our hostel in time for a cheeky sausage from the free BBQ before making a delicious dinner and opening Dave's birthday bubbly. Excellent first day.

On day two in Mel B we arose early and decided to check out St Kilda beach which was 10 minutes walk from our hostel. The weather was still a tad breezy but at least the sun was out! We ambled down the beach and along the pier which provided us with gorgeous views back to Melbourne across the bay. At the end of the pier there was a 'kiosk' (pavilion) tea room which had an incredible Victorian seaside feel about it.... mmhh how strange. Walking back from the beach we also passed the famous Luna Park, an ancient amusement park which similarly looked like it should belong on the seafront at a British resort in the 1950s! Bizarre. So we toddled on back to our hostel in time to meet a group who were joining 'Molly's Mosey through Melbourne' which turned out to be a great two hours of exploring the city's hidden gems, famous streets and awesome bars. It helped that the sun came out in all its glory which naturally lifted our moods and prompted a cheeky afternoon drink at a quirky rooftop bar on Swanston Street. It was wicked to be sat having a drink amongst the skyscrapers. Molly also showed us some of the famous streets of Melbourne which had been used as canvases for street artists. Once the mosey finished we broke off from the group and made a dash to the Immigration Museum. Again, this place came highly recommended but this time from the one, the only, Bill Bryson. The museum was located on the North Bank of the river and housed in the Old Customs house. Billy B (and Lonely Planet) had rated this place very highly as it provides visitors with an insight into Australia's waves of emigration over the centuries since the penal colony was established. Well, we had a whale of a time learning about this stuff. No, honestly is it fascinating when you consider the strange melting-pot of social history which the country carries. Also it was interesting for us to learn about the many immigration policies and campaigns Australia launched throughout the nineteenth and twentieth century that deliberatly restricted certain nationalites from coming to Australia, e.g. the 'White Australia' policy. Oddly, however, they couldn't get enough of us Brits. In fact the Australian government formulated specific campaigns especially to try and get us to move 'down under' - awe.

After the museum we crossed the river to the south-bank to visit the 'Eureka Tower' (Mel B's tallest public observation deck in the Southern Hempisphere which you can ascend for a small fee). This was, incidentally, also part of my gift to Dave for his birthday. It took a whole 40 seconds to reach the 88th floor and boy the view from up there was a sight for sore eyes. We got to press our noses up against the glass and gawp down at this stunning, sprawling city by the coast. The views were sensational and what's more they gave us a much-needed perspective of where we were in relation to things. After an hour or so up there we headed back earthwards and back on a tram to our hostel in St Kilda for the evening.

The next day we checked out of Habitat HQ (boo!) as there was no room at the inn so we were forced to relocate. We chose to move to a hostel in the city centre, as there was no way we were leaving Melbourne too early, it's way too cool. Before the move we spent the morning at St Kilda Botanical Gardens, a charming little park and recreational area for the locals. We then had a cheeky piece of cheesecake in St Kilda town before jumping on a tram and checking into the new hostel. It was called 'Hotel Discovery'. First of all, it wasn't a hotel, and second, the only thing to be 'discovered' was that the kitchen was shite and the walls are paper thin. There was no way it was going to live up to Habitat HQ standards of hostelling but it was fine for two nights. Later on that day we roamed further about Melbourne town and stumbled into the Open Library, which was housed in an impressive building so we had a nosy. Afterwards we encountered a Nepalese festival taking place in Federation Square (Mel B's trendy meeting area). This was yet another ethnic group we had no idea existed and flourished within the city - amazing! Considering it was such a gorgeous evening we explored the nearby Alexandra park, where we chilled on the grass for a while by the deserted Myer Outdoor Concert Hall, enjoying a spectacular view of the city behind. We decided to finish off the evening with a beer on the south bank (we could only afford one) while attempting to take in the gorgeous Melburnian metropolis before us. Gosh, Melbourne is one fine looking city.

The following day we spent at the Carlton Gardens in the city centre, home to the Royal Exhibition Building which was built in a neo-classical style in 1879. In case you wondered, yes this is in fact an 'old' building in Australian terms so it's kind of a big deal. This building stood in front of the contemporary and vast Melbourne Museum, which had been our main purpose of visit to the gardens. We were particularly interested in the Aboriginal section of the museum as neither of us knew squat about this group of people who first inhabited Australia over 60,000 years ago. We figured it was time we expanded our minds... for an hour or so at least. The exhibition was brilliant as it did well to blend the history of the aboriginal peoples with contemporary issues, indiviual stories, art, cultural differences and a sense of belonging. The museum as a whole was very impressive, even housing an indoor jungle which grew Aussie plants under a glass roof. So it may come as no surpise that we simply had to stay until the place closed... we are keenbeans after all. Later that afternoon, after some sun-worshipping on the grass outside the Exhibition centre we had a drink at the Container Bar (literally an old container, similar to a portacabin which had been turned into a trendy bar where all the customers sit/stand around it! Genius). It had come highly recomended by an adorable German couple, Chris and Dana, whom we'd met on our Halong Bay cruise. The bar had a Evil Eye feel about in that it was an awesome place to have a drink but the people who worked there were up there own arses. The job description in order to work there must have gone something like this: Must be really into one's own appearance, must possess a least 3 hideous tatoos, piercing preferable etc. Later that evening we relaxed in the hostel with a bottle of vino and a few games of pool before hitting the hay.

Royal Exhibition Centre - ooo!

Container Bar

The next day was Monday (our last full day in Melbourne!). We had booked our overnight Greyhound to Sydney for that evening so we had plenty of time to cram in some Melburnian activities before we left for good - boo. We were keen to return to the Melbourne Museum for an hour to catch some of the exhibitions we didnt see the day before. Dave checked out the wildlife section which was pretty impressive (personally i can't bear to look at stuffed kangaroos and dried insects, it gives me the creeps). We also checked out the section on the growth and history of Melbourne as a cosmopolitan Aussie city. It was a beautiful day, so after some obligatory sunbathing on the grass (again!) we hopped on the free tourist tram to visit the Docklands area of the city. The tram loops most of the city centre throughout the day and you can hop on/hop off as often as you like. Not surprising then that many lof the locals jump aboard for a free lift home! After a stroll around the modern up and coming Docklands area we headed back to the Central Business District (CBD) and bagged a jug of Boags beer in Federation Square. Sweet. We chatted about our impressions of Melbourne, the people, the lifestyle here and the other travellers we'd met at Habitat HQ. Most of them were in Australia to work and travel, which was what Dave and I had initially planned to do. They would be here much longer than us, so they didn't have the same sense of urgency to see and do everything straight away like we did. Seeing those guys invariably on their laptops back at the hostel, no doubt searching for jobs, i couldn't help but think 'man, i'm glad that isn't us'. It's hard enough trying to find jobs at home as my fellow graduate chums will no doubt agree. Regardless, the work/travel visa is an extremely popular venture for many 18-30 year old Brits who want a taster of the Aussie lifestyle for a year. After beers, we grabbed a bite to eat before picking up our backpacks and heading to Southern Cross bus station. We were incredibly excited to be picking up our first Greyhound bus of the Australian chapter and the bus was full of travellers just like us which was nice. Although i have to admit that the night buses in South East Asia, with their quirky seat/bed structures, were more practical for sleeping than Greyhound's miniscule upright seats. GO ASIA!

And so we left Melbourne at 8pm, just as the sun was setting. I found myself still not quite ready to leave the place. The fact that it was our first stop in Australia might have had something to do with it, but honestly i think it was becuase i'd fallen head over heels for Melbourne. Indeed, we both found it such an easy place to get on with. Melbourne's a sharp, confident city which appeared to effortlessly provide all different communities with a high quality of living. I wonder how its rival Sydney would compare? Only 500+ miles until we would find out..!

Yet again, we realise we are stupidly behind with this blog business. I'm sat here typing in Waitomo, New Zealand, but am somehow only just finishing off regaling you avid fans with our Asian adventure. Too much time having fun, I'm afraid. Forgive us.

The sleeper bus to Hanoi went swimmingly until about 5am. Rousing ourselves, bleary-eyed, it slowly became apparent that we were inexplicably stopped in the middle of a dusty nowhere. Oh good. The driver and his pal were attempting - badly - to figure out what to do when a bus full of people breaks down at 5am. A frustrating hour and a half passed before dumb and dumber managed to jump start the juicebox, but we hit the road again and found a taxi on arrival in Hanoi. Then came the next issue of the morning - Mr. Taxi Man's excitable meter, which racked up the dongs at an alarming rate, and then had the audacity to add a cheeky 50 more after we'd parked up. The driver didn't stick to his guns when we haggled the fare back down a bit though (he knew we'd rumbled his scam), so all turned out pretty kosher, and we staggered around the Old Town in hostel-hunt mode. Having checked into Green Street Hotel, we emerged once again to explore.

Hanoi's Old Quarter is officially mental. It's amazing olde-worldy asia to the max - narrow winding streets crammed full of hawkers, food, drink, people, bikes, bikes and more bikes. The bikes that aren't noodling around in the mayhem are lining the pavements in their hundreds, turning any lazy amble into an obstacle course. But amble we did, and it was magic. We checked out an old merchant's house down the road, which was full of beautiful handicrafts, and then headed to Ngoc Son Temple, perched on an island in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake, for a bit of an incense-fused chill-out, taking in the views back to the shore for a while. The lake, just one of Hanoi's many, is bang in the heart of the city, giving locals and tourists alike a slice of beauty and peace away from the madness. The centre spreads outwards from it, with the hectic Old Quarter to the North and by contrast the colonial, almost Parisian-boulevards of the more upmarket and classy French Quarter to the Southeast. The lake itself is picturesque - small, elegant and curvacious with the temple on an island at one end, and tiny 'Tortoise Tower' at the other. 'Hoan Kiem' means 'Lake of the Restored Sword' - the story is that back int' day, the emperor Le Loi was given a magic sword from the heavens which he used to defeated some Chinese blokes, and then after all was well again, a divine giant golden turtle appeared from the lake and reclaimed the sword from him. Or something.

What is definitely true is that it is a gorgeous place. We strolled around the whole lake as the glorious sun set and swiftly fell in love with Hanoi. It is true that in coming we had finally escaped from the rain into wonderful weather, which naturally helped...but the place definitely had a certain charm that Hue had lacked. Hanoi was, we'd realise, an incredible mixture of everything we'd seen so far in Vietnam, all rolled up into one city. On our little circuit of the lake we walked passed a certain familiar, tall, dark, and bearded fellow, who grinned widely and knowingly at us as if to say 'oui, c'est encore moi'. We began to think he was omnipresent. He was still in the same brown shirt.

That evening we had dinner and a few beers at Quan Bia Minh restaurant. We got all sentimental about our time in Asia as we sat on the atmospheric terrace, wistfully observing the street below and contemplating how little time we had left here. The beers definitely helped.

The next morning saw us motorbiking off to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum complex. The ride was a little hairy and a lot exhilarating, as my driver wove expertly through the traffic, woo-hoo-ing and chuckling at each of the more close shaves (of which there were many - don't read this, mum). We first tackled the Ho Chi Minh Museum, which we had to romp around in 45 minutes as it was closing. This contradicted all of our deepest museum-visiting principles, but was actually pretty adequate because the displays - while very engaging - turned out for the most part to favour an odd symbolism over real information. (A few giant pieces of plastic fruit for example, apparently evoked the values and hope that Ho Chi Minh instilled in Vietnamese youth. Er...). Even the shape of the building itself was a symbol - a modern take on the Lotus Flower, a Buddhist icon of purity rising out of the murky waters. It was interesting to note the rather propagandist tone of the place, but while we recognised this we both still came away thinking 'Uncle Ho' seemed pretty alright, really. Good on him for fighting for independence, and all that.

Since the Mausoleum was closed, we were denied the opportunity to bask in the glory of Ho's embalmed body, and besides we'd heard that he might currently be taking a post-mortem-vacation to Russia for maintainence. (They're all Communist-Leader-Body-Preserving pros over there, after all). After taking a peek at the nearby ancient 'One Pillar Pagoda' (sticking out of a pond and again evoking a lotus), we took another moto to the Temple of Literature, which was a very important 11th-century-and-onwards-education centre dedicated to Confucius and his work, and which I was very chuffed to later recognise as the building on the 100,000 dong note. It was a stunning building, with serene pools and shrines to three of the kings who'd played key roles in its development, as well as Confucius himself. We took a delicious luncheon at the thoroughly pleasant Koto's, another good cause restaurant, before heading back to the Ho Chi Minh complex to see the grandiose Presedential Palace, as well as several of Uncle Ho's past dwellings, including the small and simple stilt house, his favourite because it kept him in touch with his humble beginnings. Aw.

Next we indulged in the far-less-cultural diversion of splashing about in a swan pedlo on the enormous West Lake. The vastness and stillness of the lake was the perfect place to watch the sun drift lazily down before a chilled beer and a trek back to the hotel. As night fell we took to the streets for an incredible do-it-yourself beef and veg stir-fry dinner: we were slapped down onto the tiny plastic stools that adorn the street cafes in their hundreds, and a huge pile of raw beef and veg was whisked over to us, along with a grill pan of oil and a tabletop burner. We proceeded to look like tools - our big Western legs bunched up hilariously as we straddled the frankly child-sized furniture, and we shrieked and gasped repeatedly as the hot oil splattered our bare knees. Somewhat over-zealous with the frying, we frazzled our beef to make sure we couldn't possibly make ourselves ill - even though it's largely impossible with red meat...but I think if you were presented with a pile of raw meat on a street then you'd cook the crap out of it too. It was all worth it though, for the novel atmosphere and, thankfully, the eventual impressive tastiness. Hurrah.

DIY street food

That night there was a powercut in the Old Quarter. I took this rare opportunity to see the street in darkness (which retained its hustle and bustle, just with torches instead of street lights) and got chatting to a young German couple from our hotel who were doing the same. They were lovely, and completely reconfirmed the belief in Western humanity that the Aussie bloke in Hue had drained from me. Well done them.

Jess 'the street hawker' Lane

The next day saw us checking out the French Quarter, its broad streets and colonial buildings a sharp contrast to the compact fury of the Old Town. After a bit of postcarding, we found ourselves at the Vietnamese Women's Museum, which had come highly-recommended in the Bible (i.e. our Lonely Planet...). Well, it certainly did not disappoint. We gained such a better appreciation of Vietnamese culture in general from the well-presented displays, which ranged from the life of street vendors (who are all women) to traditional family life and marriage in different hill-tribe cultures, and from fashion over time to women's role in the many wars in Vietnamese history. It was surprising to see just how physical and crucial a presence the supposed fairer sex played in the struggle for independence against the U.S, battling it out as guerrillas alongside the blokes as well as playing more behind-the-lines roles. The day just disappeared while we were in there, absorbed in fascination, until we got kicked out at 4, like the hardcore cultureholics that we are.

We had an early dinner in a tiny little basic local eaterie, and sat on the same table as a lone middle-aged German traveller, who reconfirmed my belief further, before rushing off to see a show at the famous Water-Puppetry theatre. It was very cool - the puppet show is along to trad. Vietnamese music and the puppeteers stand behind a curtain and waist-deep in a pool, operating the puppets via sticks that run under the water, and moving arms etc with magical little levers. Some of the stuff they did was wonderful - jumping through fire hoops, passing objects from one puppet to the next etc. And all this dates back to the 10th century, doncha know. We rounded off a smashing evening with a cheeky tinnie before bed.

The day after was Jess's birthday, and man, was it a cracker. We hit the streets mega early and found 'Highway 4', the restaurant where we were booked in to do a Vietnamese cooking class, my present to her for the day. There were two others doing the class, a young Dutch couple who we immediately loved. Classic Dutch - perfect English, so friendly, genuine and laid-back. Even before the class began we knew it was going to be a good morning. First off we took a cyclo out to a local food market full of amazingly weird and wonderful goodies including plenty of live seafood (including turtles!), assorted oddments of pig (ears, feet etc...), and we had the benefit of being talked through it all by our guide for the day. Thus followed a fantastic morning preparing 'Imperial Spring Rolls' and 'Pho Bo', the beef noodle soup which is a Vietnamese staple, as well as learning how to 'carve' cucumbers and tomatoes into those cute little flowers you see in the more presentation-conscious Asian restaurants at home, which I found particularly satisfying, if not too easy! The highlight however was in a sweet gesture from our fellow classers - having learnt that it was Jess's birthday, the Dutch guy (who, being a big sweetie, was naturally called David, too) had slipped out to a nearby cake shop and had them whip up a personalised birthday cake for Jess, which he humbly presented to her halfway through the class. These people had met us just hours before, and yet had conjured up this lovely surprise. It was an overwhelmingly happy morning.

After the class we returned to the fantastic Women's Museum to see the bit we'd been denied upon the previous day's kick-out. Yes, we are that cool...but it was that good. A walk through the area west of Hoan Kiem lake saw us pass by the strangely blank facade of St. Joseph's Cathedral - yes, Vietnam has Catholicism, alongside Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, and bizarre mixtures of the lot - before stumbling across a salon where Jess treated herself to a birthday pedicure (spelt 'penicure' on the board outside, much to my amusement). It set her back the meagre sum of 1 pound 30. While I waited, I noticed that a men's haircut was also screamingly cheap. The plan had been to get my first trim upon arrival in Oz, but I couldn't argue with two quid, so I sat myself down. To those of you who are aware of the fact (and repeatedly mock me for it...Buckley) that I have, for as far back as I can remember, only had haircuts at home with the same freelance hairdresser, the magnitude of this occasion will be fully apparent. As it happened, it turned out pretty damn good. Cha-ching!

We had a birthday bar crawl that night, starting in 'Le Pub' and hitting up anywhere we could find the cheapest beer, chomping on a cheap and cheerful pizza part-way through, and rounding off with swanky cocktails in a somewhat more sophisticated lounge bar in the early hours. What a day.

Le Pub - start of Jess's birthday bar crawl

And so from one amazing day to the next. The following morning heralded our two-day boat trip out into Halong Bay, the most exquisitely beautiful place I've seen on planet earth to date. It's quite indescribable, but I guess I should try...

The first highlight of the cruise was, once again, the company we had. The small, international party of fellow cruisers consisted of 30-somethings and above - a lovely young German couple, Chris and Dana; a Scotsman (another David!) and his American wife; a Sydneysider called Felicity; another German couple whose male half we initially judged for some seriously ill-advised speedo-wearing, but later accepted as a bit of a dude; a gentle Canadian giant called Wayne and his wife Caroline, and some French people. Literally everyone was genuine, chatty and friendly, exept of course the French, who only talked to each other and sat on a separate table. Classic.

So for starters, there was a continuously convivial and warm atmosphere on the boat, and we whiled away the time nattering about anything and everything, including, happily, our next destinations of Australia and New Zealand, because Chris and Dana had spent the last two years living and studying in Oz, and had also campervanned around NZ, so had all sorts of enthusiasm and advice to pour out. Secondly, the boat itself was great - a good comfy size with gorgeous clean rooms and a brilliant crew, including our guide Thanh, whose Vietnamese-accented English we had fun trying to interpret. Third, the food was delectable - each meal was at least a seven-course affair in which we got to try all kinds of fresh surf as well as an ample amount of turf, and the chef produced three incredible 'carvings' for us in the evening - a dragon, an elephant and a model of our boat, all sculpted from various foodstuffs and making my carvings of the previous day's cooking class look like child's play.

And lastly, but naturally not least...ly, the bay itself. How to describe Halong Bay... It comprises serene blue waters in which are scattered just under two thousand limestone karst-formation islets (basically small, dramatic rocky islands) most of which rise near-vertically from the water and are covered in a lush greenness. The more interestingly-shaped are named for their image - 'Monster Face Islet', 'Teapot Islet', etc. The beauty and sheer number of them is arresting - as you drift close by the craggy face of one, you see a few dozen more creeping behind in various stages of mist. Some contain spectacular caves, and one such cave was our first port of call as we docked and hiked up an Island. The views from up there were insanely good, and just when we thought things couldn't get better we rounded the corner onto a small beach where some kayaks were waiting for us to mess about in. They were two-berths so me and Jess had to learn to row together, but we got the hang of it and spent a glorious hour drifting around the islands as the sut set, unimpeded, across the water. It was simply glorious. After an epic dinner and night-time chats back on the boat with the others, we had some private time relaxing in each others arms on deck under the starriest sky we'd ever seen. We were anchored for the night in Bai Tu Long bay, a less touristy area of Halong, so the quiet and peace was perfect. It's a huge cliche, but if heaven exists, I think it's just like Halong Bay.

Vung Vieng fishing village was our next morning's destination. The 300-ish community of fishermen & families that live there lead simple, hard lives. All the houses float on wooden platforms strapped to barrels, anchored to the bottom somehow presumably, and while most are basic one-room affairs in such a surreal and remote water-borne location, the majority somehow manage to accomodate a television. TV, out here! Must take a lot of generator power. We were rowed around by a young girl in a little basket boat (one way that the villagers earn an extra buck), and had a peek at their tiny primary school (aw), as well as being lucky enough to see a pearl actually in its oyster (pearls are a major trade for the fishermen around there). After a fit lunch on the gentle cruise back to shore, we conveyed our emotional goodbyes and departed back to Hanoi.

That evening we achieved several great things. First off, we stumbled across the night market and bagged ourselves some "Ray-Bans" (totally real) for about 3 quid. We lined our bellies with a hearty stir fry, and were doggedly tramping along back to the hotel, knackered from the day's wear and tear, when we noticed a sign on the street saying '4,000 dong bia hoi'. This translates roughly to '16p draft beer'. We mysteriously perked up and sat ourselves down for a few, and were quietly amused to find out that the blokes next to us were scousers. Trust them to scout out the cheapest Bia Hoi in town! We had a wonderful rest-of-evening at the street bar, chatting to a young Vietnamese lad called Tuon, breaking the bank with our 6 beers for under a pound, and feeling very self-satisfied. Brilliant last night in Vietnam.

Our new mate Tuon

The next day we flew back to Bangkok with Air Asia, the Ryanair of the region, which was surprisingly efficient and comfy. The highlight of the morning though was something we saw on the taxi ride to the airport. As Jess mentioned earlier, the Vietnamese have a bit of a penchant for piling unimaginable hoards of items onto their motorscooters, and in our last hour in Vietnam we saw a guy who blew all competition out of the water. Forget huge panes of glass between the knees, dead pigs, or piles of boxes - this plucky fellow had one person-sized, very valuable-looking vase strapped to either side of his tiny bike. Balls of steel!

When we arrived in Bangkok and mirrored the familiar airport transfer motions we'd been through a month before, we felt a strange comfort and confidence. We'd been here, we knew what we were doing. Total contrast to the previous arrival! (Oh, how they've grown...) We checked into a big guesthouse on a quiet stretch of Soi Rambuttri, calm but close to the scenester area of Khao San. It was a great spot for people watching (and judging), as we could sit with a beer and quietly laugh at all the smelly traveller posers in their ubiquitous Chang vests and dreadlocks as they slouched around looking 'cool'. The Khao San area is full of all kinds of human oddities, most notable of which is the washed up 60-yr old with a crusty rockstar perm and a fashion sense that you could be locked up for having. One such Keith Richards lookalike (sporting scraggly locks, wrinkly face, tiny shorts and a french accent) sidled up by us at the ATM. He was attempting to withdraw some money, a simple enough endeavour, but asked us for help at every stage of the way. Do I put the card in? Where is the French option? Which account do I select? How much should I get out? Do you know my PIN??? (Maybe the last one was a joke, but all else I swear is accurate). You do get some odd ones around Khao San road.

After a sneaky peek at a bunch of monks in some kind of class at a nearby temple (I wonder what they make of all the smelly hippie types...), we headed out for a Thai massage. It was the first massage I've ever had, and we went for a full-body, hour-long epic in an eerily dark upstairs room. It was mostly awesome, occasionally really not - things happened to my body that have never happened before, that's all I will say.

The next day was our last full one in Asia. Fittingly mega hot and sunny, it was the perfect day to take a quick boat or two across the river to Wat Arun - the 'Temple of Dawn' - for a nosey. It was magnificent - the 5 humongous 'prangs' (spires), which look a grey colour from afar, are actually covered in millions of of little colourful pieces of broken ceramics (pots, plates, shells ,etc). A whole bunch of pots had been dumped there by China at some point in history, and some bright spark had the idea of making something incredible out of them - one vast 3D mosaic. It was completely absorbing to wander around and study up close, and because you could climb up to the temple's high terraces we enjoyed a stunning 360 degree view over the sprawl of Bangkok, including the Grand Palace, Wat Po, and the business district skyline in the distance. Fit. We had a pad thai street lunch, took refuge from the heat in each 7-11 on the walk home (Bangkok 7-11s have the most heavenly air con in human history), and encountered on the way another strange sight - a dog with shades on, just padding down the street. Nice. That night, after dinner at a street place we'd eaten at a month ago, we went for a 'fish massage', something we'd seen all over Bangkok and Cambodia and wanted to try. It involves letting thousands of tiny fish nibble your feet in a foot spa. Very weird sensation, but got to try everything once in the name of fun!

Dr. Doggie Cool

Fish Spa

Scrummy Nosh

And so time had hurried on, in that way that it tends to, and all of a sudden it was flight-to-Oz day. Crazy. We did some last-minute Khao San clothes shopping and hit the airport. There was a major stress at check-in, because the girl on the desk tried to sort us out for our Bangkok-Sydney flight and also for the Sydney-Melbourne connection, but discovered that the Melbourne flight had been cancelled due to Qantas's current engine issues. Oh god. Her faltering English added to our mounting worry as we waited there for 40 minutes or so and saw everyone else on our flight check in smoother than a baby's bum. Finally (thank buddha!) she got us booked on to a slightly later Melbourne flight, and we were raced through security. All stress melted away, we flew off into the skies, and excitement took over. The Asia chapter had ended, and what a time we'd had. What diverse, ancient, exotic and interesting cultures we'd tasted, what amazing places we'd seen, what awesome things we'd done, and not to mention the awesome things we'd eaten. But that was now over, and we braced ourselves for a dramatic change... bring on AUSTRALIA!!!

So it's been ages since we wrote anything on here. Apologies to the thousands of avid fans who've been excitedly checking every day, we don't mean to disappoint. It's just that we've been too busy doing actual things. But now here we are, in glorious Mooloolaba, Queensland, Australia, and thanks to the genuinely boundless hospitality of the Mallinder family (Jess's friends), we have a few days to just chill by the pool and catch it up. Aaaah, heaven. So here goes...all the way back to the 'Nam! The first new installment of many...

Hoi An
Having been bundled off the bus from Nha Trang at the ungodly hour of 6.30am, we were far too early to check in anywhere, but we found a desirable place, dumped the sacks and mooched around the morning streets. It was so refreshing to be out exploring in the relative quiet of morning, all calm before the tourist storm, as the locals prepared for the busy day ahead. Hanoi Old Town is unfailingly picturesque - it's all quaint little alleys lined with ancient one and two-storey merchants houses, red lanterns hanging from their porches, and street vendors in conical hats plying their wares in hanging baskets. The whole area is a world heritage site (our first of many!), and for good reason. Back in the day, little Hoi An was one of Asia's most important and flourishing trade ports, bringing in goods and merchants from much of Asia and Europe, which explains the inredible melting pot of architechture that the Old Town harbours. The Chinese and Japanese influence is most obvious; the Japanese Bridge is one of the town's most well-known landmarks, and as we strolled through the crisp morning air, we had it aaall to ourselves. Wonderful.

15th Century Japanese Bridge, 7am

After a pancake breakfast across the river, we wrote postcards, checked in, and went on a posting mission (though God knows when or if they will arrive...), before another exploration of the Old Town, this time having bought a ticket that would let us into some of the heritage buildings. We had a poke around an old house that had been in the same family (Tan Ky) for 200 years, and an ornate assembly hall where a rather over-enthusiastic attendant bloke who spoke no english took our camera and insisted on taking about a 73 very posed photos of us (making incense offerings at the shrines, hitting ceremonial bells and the like) whether we wanted to or not... (Banal photos are, after all, a favourite Asian obsession - the sight of someone flashing the peace sign for the camera in front of a tourist attraction's information board instead of in front of the tourist attraction itself was all too bafflingly common to us by now).

Look, we can hit gongs!

The next morning heralded yet more rain. Having realised that the only escape was much further North, we'd already resigned ourselves to a wet stay in Hoi An & Hue, so spirits were up as we rose early to bus it to 'My Son', a collection of Cham ruins 40km or so away. The ancient Cham people came to Vietnam from Indonesia, and My Son was one of the most important sites they built there. It is so old - dating to the 4th century or something completely ridiculous like that - and equally mysterious. We learnt all about it from our hilarious guide, a tiny little bloke with a chequed hat and an abundance of charisma, who amazed us with this fact: the original thousand-or-more-year-old sections of the ruins were actually holding up better than the decade-old restored sections. A lot better. And noone knows why. The Chams' methods are weather-proof, seemingly time-proof, and top secret - they didn't use mortar to glue their bricks together, so how it all works is a fact still evading people today. The recently-restored sections of My Son used cement, and are mainly covered in moss and crumbling away happily already, whereas the original parts, moss-less and solid, almost silently mock them from the past. It's an astonishing thing to get your head around.

Aside from that, we learnt that the temples were dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva, and, more amusingly, that the Chams had a fondness for sculpting giant phalluses. On classic form, Mr. Charisma stood by one such monstrosity and asked the group - 'So, what does this look like to you?'. Cue an embarassed silence, in which nobody can quite muster the courage to venture the guess that everyone was thinking. He then suggested that the ladies could touch it for good luck. Aaah, what a joker.

The Chams were well-endowed...

Back in Hoi An for lunch (I tried another local delicacy - 'White Rose', which is shrimp wrapped up in the shape of a flower in rice-paper), a peek in the elaborate Chinese Assembly Hall, and a little light shopping, we had a tasty Pho dinner amid the atmospheric red lanterns and friendly service of riverside 'For You' restaurant, before heading to see a show of traditional music and dance, which was thoroughly enjoyable. It was our first introduction to a supercool amplified Vietnamese instrument called the Dan Bau (or monochord), a single-string whose length is altered by a whammy bar type handle at one end, presumably making it incredibly hard to play in tune, but giving the traditional music an awesome, wobbly, Shadows-esque colouring. Much to my enjoyment.

Hue
We left early the next day for Hue, further up the coast. On our bus we bumped into a familiar face - a guy who'd been in our guesthouse
in Mui Ne, who we'd simply but affectionately referred to as Frenchy. (These kinds of sightings were to continue all the way up the coast, we would later find, because everyone takes a similar route and uses similar buses, but it still surprised us how often we re-saw people in places hundreds of miles from where we'd seen them last. We'd had similar situations with some kooky South American girls, two British lads and a middle-aged couple from the US, but Frenchy had become a particular favourite of ours. He was lanky, tanned, black-bearded and bohemian, never seeming to speak or move quicker than was strictly necessary, just lounging with a smoke and observing. And always wearing the same brown t-shirt. Frankly, we started to miss him the relatively few times that he wasn't actually around).

After checking into Phong Nha Hotel on a proper little backpacker alley, having left a trail of touts in our wake, we grabbed a cheap lunch directly across the alley at 'Cafe on Thu Wheels', a cute little basic eatery run by a lady called Mrs. Thu. After fueling up to the comforting sound of the Beatles on the cafe speakers, we taxi'd out in the rain to Hue's Citadel, the old Imperial walled city across the river. The huge complex of once-grand pagodas used to house the emperors of the Nguyen dynasty (1802 - 1925, I think), but today it was eerily lifeless. It didn't help that it was absolutely pouring down (yup, still raining, and worse than ever!), and that the place had been largely destroyed by - you guessed it - the USA during the war. (Their tagline must have been something along the lines of 'Callously eradicating important and ancient places in the name of Capitalism since 1965!'). Because of this, there was lots of empty outdoor space where buildings had once been, which was not only terribly sad but also bloody annoying for us on a rainy day, so after having a look in the one decent exhibition section we found, we traipsed around getting thoroughly soaked in the name of culture, until we could take it no more. We taxi'd back, and had a glorious Indian dinner round the corner (the most expensive meal we'd had so far, at a staggering 6 quid each!) after an industrial-scale drying-off session.

The next day we attempted far less in the way of ambitious cultural shenanigans. After an interesting lunch at Mandarin Cafe (Jess was surprised to see that upon ordering a BLT, she was presented with a plate of the ingredients laid out carefully and neatly, and was apparently expected to form them into a sandwich herself. One of those quirks, I guess), we took a lazy walk across the river to explore Dong Ba Market, an epically humongous myriad maze of stalls selling everything under the sun. Having shopped around in the incredibly vibrant market, we prepared for the overnight bus to Hanoi. Whilst waiting in the guesthouse foyer, we were pleased to get chatting to a fellow bus-waiter, an Aussie guy a little older than us. We swiftly realised that he was, in all accounts, a sour, depressing, patronising, insecure, ignorant and verbose tit. To put it mildly. He was a traveller of the ilk that we had encountered a few times - the kind of person who refers to their extensive travels cooly and nonchalently, without enthusiam, without seeming to recognise their fortune at being able to see the world, and constantly suggesting that they have done a certain country, a phrase that Jess and I have developed a certain pet hate for. But we actively engaged him. He began talking, mainly about negative things. We happily asked him stuff and added our own thoughts, which of course he either disregarded or belittled, and he carried on talking. He asked us not one single question. We outwardly lost interest (my silent face must have been screaming 'you are a boring, self-centred ape') but still he did not stop, filling our silence by repeating his grumbles endlessly. He was a lone, long-term traveller, and, bless him, had obviously completely forgotten what a conversation was. Amongst his moans were the following:
- How little room there was on the sleeper buses, especially for the larger westerners
- How late they always were
- How dangerous South America is
- How ugly Rio De Janeiro is
- How expensive Brazil in general is, and our personal favourite:
- How expensive Australia is at the moment (oh, worst time to go guys!)

Thanks, thanks a lot dude. Your wisdom is fresh to our ears, without your help we would have had no previous inkling that Australia might actually be a little more expensive than Vietnam. Even the blunt phrase 'we get it, we kind of know that' was not enough to quell the barrage. What was more laughable was that it was his own country he was talking about... He actually said that 'yeah Australia is great, but don't pay for accomodation or anything... and food? Well, supermarkets are well expensive, so you might as well eat out.' (A 'fact' that we'd later find out to be complete crap). Aaaah, anyway guys, rant over. We were just fascinated by his negativity. After he had thoroughly drained us, the bus arrived. As we settled on, our mood was infinitely lifted by a lengthy bitching session, much resembling the spiel on here. And it was lifted further by one more little ray of sunshine - Frenchy got on. The world made sense again.

More to come soon, when we can next muster it! For now, back to the pool I think...

Ok so i'm a little behind on my share of the blog business. Since Dave (with the help of my potent memory i'd like to add) has taken care of the narrative, i thought i'd add some of my own observations for you to ponder... and hopefully have a chuckle at.

So far i'm loving...

Qantas – basically i have no idea how we managed to leave Heathrow on a machine as phenomenally large as we did. It had two floors and was 10 seats wide! Serously impressed with the aerodynamics of it all as my unmathematical mind can't comprehend any of that stuff. Also there was the prompt friendly service throughout the 11 hour flight to Bangkok. Plus i slept almost the entire journey, so triple win!

The Street – whether it be food or clothes the locals are selling, it doesn’t matter as it creates a pulsating atmosphere, especially at night. Every man, woman, child and dog congregate on the street to chat, eat, sell and mostly stare at the tourists walking around utterly confused and amazed at the same time. Providing the weather is fine, the street is the best place to grab a cheap and wholesome meal which takes minutes to prepare. I especially loved a scrumptious Thai Green Curry Dave and I both ate on a bustling street in Bangkok at night. It was quick, it was fresh and above all it was uber tasty. It goes without saying that communal food and gatherings of such kind on the street (no matter where or at what time) are key elements of life in South East Asia.

The Sights – There are so many treats for the eyes to feast on over here and they’re like none that i've seen before. Archaic temples, intimidating Buddha statues, decadent Grand Palaces, colonial villias, contemporary eyesores and the stupendous rural land which surrounds it all. Cambodia in particular has a remarkable landscape - it's just so flat and most of the land at this time of year is like a giant puddle with vegetation and the odd house sticking up out of the water. But there was a tropical jungle feel at the Angkorian temple complex, which was very dry and surrounded by breathtaking trees and plants.

The People - particularly the Khmers. They're just so darn smiley. Most of them are genuinely just curious about what you're up to, where you're going and where you're from. They'll always ask these questions even if they're not trying to sell you something. One day when we were merely crossing the street to get to the other side, a Tuk Tuk driver pounced on us asking if we wanted 'to go temple?" We replied 'no thank you, we went yesterday and we're leaving tomorrow'. Now at this point a British taxi driver would most probably let out a little grumble and turn away to let you know he's fed up with constant rejection, but instead Mr Happy TukTuk driver said in a remarkably up-beat manner that on our return to England could we please tell all our friends at home to come to Cambodia and visit the temples. Thats not to much to ask is it? And i already had every intention of doing just that.

So far i've been baffled by...

The Traffic - how regular collisions and fatal accidents don't happen every minute on the roads around here is one mystery i doubt we'll find the answer to. Motocycles whizz by in herds with three, sometimes four people on board! Others have a mountian of market produce balancing precariously across the back of their ride, yet nothing ever falls off! The most hilarious motorbike sight (which we've seen at least twice) was a guy riding his motorbike amongst the endless flow with a pane of glass held vertically between his knees. Presumably he's unaware of the smash factor associated with this kind of material if it hits other objects...

The 'stray' dogs and cats - these guys just hang on the street, in shop doorways or at the back of resaurants and bars. The dogs don't appear to belong to anyone, they just chill by the roadside, content like the locals. True, there's the odd barking session between fellow street mongrels but most of the time they're too hot or too hungry to actually care that humans are there. Just as well for me as i opted against the 'recommended' rabies shot before i left home. I'm sure the fluffy ones and the puppies don't have rabies anyway...

The price of beer - this is a place where the cost of a draft or bottled beer is on a par to water. It's dirt cheap and really tasty too! Dave and I beam with joy at the sight of our bar tab around these parts. One particularly awesome bar by the riverside in Phnom Penh was offering four Angkor beers, incidentally our favourite brew so far, for the price of three at the ridiculous sum of $0.60 a glass. They certainly know how to appeal to our western urges for alcoholic lubrication.

The hovvering - South East Asians are definately not as concerned as we are about personal space. They see nothing impolite about following you closely round their shop asking what you'd like until you buy something. Similarly, it's commonplace for them to rush over if you happen to glance casually at the menu for their cafe and then stand over you until you make a decision about whether to eat there or not. It puts the pressure on slightly, especially as we're used to plenty of space and much slower service back home. This quirky behaviour might clash with our English formalities and social conditioning but it's not really intimidating and, more importantly, it's not rude to them.

The constant sweeping - from observations it seems that the locals around here love to sweep up leaves, misellaneous twigs and mounds of sand which appear on the pavement outside their establishment. Although this behaviour is to be commended, it does seem like they're missing the bigger picture. Ghastly leaves and such may not be a feature of the street around here thanks to the relentless sweeping, yet the street itself continues to be a hazardous place to walk, with obstacles such as chairs, food, bikes, wires and small children getting in the way. Oh well!

'Seasons in the Sun' - appologies if you have never heard of the song 'Seasons in the Sun', originally performed by Terry Jacks i believe but then covered by Westlife, which is sadly how i became aquainted with the record. Anyway, it has to be one one the worst records ever made. The lyrics are appalling and it's just majorly lame. Expert opinion (Dave) would also add that its melody is twee in the extreme. But apparently the South East Asians love it. I've heard it at least a dozen times since we've been here in shops, art galleries and restaurants, and i don't know why! I swear the horrid song is following us around on our Asian adventure. Bizarre.

That's enough waffle from me, for the time being at least. Hope you've enjoyed my weird observations of life out here, i'm absolutely loving it.

It's a drizzly evening here in Hoi An, Central Vietnam, so I think it's time for another post.

So, backtracking to Siem Reap. After our crack-of-dawn look around the wonder that is Angkor Wat, we filled the morning with two other crumbling temples - Preah Kahn and Teak Pean - and were back at the guesthouse and planning our next move by 10am. It was a blazing day, so after buying a bus ticket to Phnom Penh for the next day we had a slow stroll along Siem Reap's riverfront and a cheeky nose about in a riverfront monastery, which was beautifully peaceful. Monks everywhere! Desperately wanted to get a decent photo of one of these sedate, orange-robed fellows, but felt it might be a little weird... Come evening, we had a few bevvies in the characterful but terribly puntastically titled 'Angkor What?' bar, before treating ourselves to an incredibly tasty share-platter of tapas style Khmer dishes in a nearby restaurant (Fish Amok, Chicken green curry, Morning Glory, Mango Salad, Glass noodle spring rolls, Pork ribs, and a weird but lovely banana soupy puddingy thingy...Mmmmm). After another pitcher of beer at Angkor What, we meandered home. Mr. Guesthouse man had somehow managed to misplace our room key, and thus ensued a few taut minutes as he tried every key he could find, before realising it was on the hook where it should have been all along. Classic. Crisis averted.

Angkor What?

Siem Reap - Phnom Penh
We departed the sweatbox at 8am for the 5hr journey to Phnom Penh, the Cambodian capital. Upon arrival, we were naturally greeted by a tuk-tuk driver who wanted to take us to a guesthouse that paid him comission, but he was friendlier than usual (the kind of guy that laughs happily after almost everything he or anyone else says) and the place he took us turned out to be amazing. So Eamon the tuk-tuk man became our new best friend. The hotel was clean, friendly, well-appointed, right across the road from the Royal Palace and National Museum and one short block from the Tonle Sap river. We had a cheapish room too, having hiked all the way to the top floor, but this also meant we had could enjoy a lovely view over the surroundings from our landing, including the palace. That evening, after strolling down the promenade and back through busy night markets, we found 'Friends' restaurant, a recommended-by-many tapas place that runs a community project for previous street children - educating them, giving them health care, and training them in hospitality and employing them there. Everything about it was brilliant - food, service, atmosphere, and a genuine appreciation of your custom. We left feeling satisfied, but for me this was slightly marred by a cold I'd suddenly developed - bring on the bed! As we dozed off, a cataclysmic storm crashed around overhead.

Phnom Penh's promenade, evening

The next morning Eamon trundled us off to the Vietnamese Embassy where we sorted our Visas out. While we waited for them to be processed, we headed to the Tuol Sleng genocide museum for a bone-chilling experience. This was one of the main reasons I'd wanted to see Phnom Penh - to try and contemplate the madness of the Khmer Rouge a little - and the museum certainly hit that message home. Four grim concrete buildings surrounded by a high, barbed wired-topped wall, Tuol Sleng was originally a school before the Khmer Rouge took it over and turned it into S-21, one of the prisons used to house and torture anyone they whimsically and evilly decided to, before carting them off to Cheung Ek (bluntly known as the Killing Fields) to murder them. The museum housed some cells as they had been, various instruments of torture, harrowing mugshot photos of the prisoners, and interestingly, testimonials of some of the Khmer Rouge guards, recounting various states of regret, since the majority were young people who were forced to join up as an alternative to being killed themselves. All pretty harrowing stuff, it was not a pleasant few hours, and it felt impossible to do the atrocities justice, but I'm very glad we went. I was a little freaked out to see just how snap-happy some of our fellow visitors were...it didn't seem to me the sort of place where you should photograph everything in sight. It was worrying how un-phased a lot of them seemed, compared to the leaden feeling in my own stomach as I walked around the place.

Building B, Tuol Sleng

One tasty bowl of Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup) later, we took in Phnom Penh's Royal Palace, which was similar to Bangkok's Grand Palace in many ways (the Thais nicked quite a bit of their culture from the Khmers, who used to be the dominant Southeast Asian power quite a while ago) but also really interesting to note the subtle differences. After teaching Eamon some English slang ('Sound as a pound', much to his evident delight) we headed out for the evening, got a little squiffy, and had a late dinner on a street noodle stall.


After a lazy, postcard-writing-on-the-balcony kind of morning, we wandered in the sun down to Wat Phnom (Hill Temple), where the locals flock to pray for good luck. Slightly out of the city's bustle, up a mound behind a circle of trees, the temple was incense-fused, incredibly chilled, and full of local colour - more Theravada Buddhist monks floating about (one of whom we were amused to note was nattering away on his mobile), as well as a bunch of hungry monkeys (watch out for the rabies!) and an adorable elephant called Sambo who was hired out for rides by some rather shady-looking chappies. After sorting our international bus to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam for the next day, we had a nice Khmer meal and a few more Angkors. Jess was feeling pretty glum for a while, having developed an annoying cold and a seemingly blocked ear. Great timing, body!

Sambo the elephant

Phnom Penh - Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City)
The early bus the next morning deposited us in a surprisingly cooler-climated Saigon in the early afternoon. We found our intended guesthouse right away - a charming family-run place (isn't everything in Vietnam, though?) that offered breakfast and a simple dinner in the room rate, and had its very own resident crinkly vietnamese grandma. Aw. It was a rainy day, and we went out to procure ourselves some Vietnamese currency, the hilariously-titled, and even more hilariously worthless 'Dong'. Thus, by getting out about 30 quid's worth, I became an instant millionaire - cheeky bonus! We dined in a community project cafe called Sozo (similar concept to 'Friends' in Phnom Penh), before a bearings-getting wander, followed by a few drinks and the guesthouse evening meal of spring rolls and pho. So sweet.

Millionaire!

Saigon, for the record, is mental. I mentioned Asian traffic in general somewhere earlier, but Saigon definitely takes the piss with it. Every street (and they are wide) contains an absolute army of motorbikes at any one time, deftly zig-zagging and intertwangling between one another and you as you cross the street, which you have to do slowly and confidently. The art is to just go for it and step out, merging through. They will never stop, but they will somehow miraculously accomodate your prescence. (I couldn't get over how incredible it was, and ranted to my mum in an email about it at great length, much like I have here, to your probable boredom).

Saigon's sea of traffic

The next day we hit the Fine Art Museum, a crumbling Mediterranean-styly villa full of awesome scultpures and paintings ranging from 10th century religious iconography to modern art representing Vietnam's war-torn history or its folk culture. All very striking, and we bought some beautiful cards off a lovely little lady who owned an offshoot gallery in the courtyard. Poor Jess wasn't feeling too great still, so we went back and administered some ear drops she'd bought. She stayed in for a rest (sadtimes) while I had a little amble further afield on my bill. I wandered my way into a functioning Hindu Temple, and was alarmed to find I seemed to be the only tourist there, amongst a LOT of worshippers. So as to 'blend in' (ha!), I made a few incense offerings to various Hindu gods (as you do) before taking a cheeky snap or two and bailing, and making my way to the Reunification Palace. It's a weird, 1960s edifice (reminded me of York!) that was stormed in the 70s by the Communist tanks of the North, thus reunifying Vietnam into a supposedly 'Communist' country. I had a guided tour, but left about as confused as I arrived, because sweet as the guide was her English was only half intelligable, and because Vietnam's political history is just so damn baffling anyway. Oh well...must make more effort! After the tour I took a motorbike taxi back to Jess, having to haggle wildly and make the guy take me to the hotel rather than on a little tour of his own concoction. Being actually ON one of the bikes in the sea that buzz through the streets was quite an experience... Back with the lovely and rather revived Jess (it had felt weird to be out on my own) we prepared for the next day's journey to Mui Ne, 4ish hours away on the coast, over a cheeky tinnie from our minibar.

Tank that crashed through the gates of Reunification Palace, Saigon

Saigon - Mui Ne - Nha Trang - Hoi An
There is relatively little to relate about our Mui Ne experience, largely because it is literally a beach resort, attached to one long coastal road, with nothing to do other than flop, swim or surf. And since it was pissing it down when we arrived, that left us with few options. Our guesthouse was wicked - right on the beach, characterful, and run by a forthcoming white-haired Aussie bloke - and the nearby restaurants were largely awesome (especially seafood, blates) despite some occasionally bizarre service. The sea itself was raucous - huge, fiesty, crashing waves right up on the shore - so it was a reet shame about the weather. The second morning was no better. We went for a huge walk, a fry-up, and remained amazed at the lack of anything but beach and eateries. Tum-tee-tum, what to do? We were reassured by some chatty Scousers we met (they get everywhere, don't they?) who were in much the same state of perplexion, but the mood was hard to lighten, as the disappointing weather (which was not set to change) was coupled with Jess's ongoing ear and throat issues. Boo. We visited a local private clinic (the more-legitimate-than-it-sounds 'Doctor Dong's') and she was diagnosed with tonsilitis and an ear infection (great!) and given a bagful of meds to take. Possibly worrying times, but Dr. Dong himself was caring and reassuring, and we saw the positive side in that we'd been able to sort it out while the weather was crap and not miss out too much. We were just happy to know what it was, and to be able to treat it. Poor sausage!

Mui Ne Sunset

We had intended to move on to Nha Trang that day, and plough on up the coast while the weather remained bad, but the weather was so bad that the bus was cancelled due to flooded roads. Epic. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise though, as the extra day in Mui Ne gave Jess time to rest up, and us both time to actually chill out and wander the beach, have a swim and enjoy ourselves (as thankfully the rain gave up for a while). The next morning also happily turned out to be gloriously sunny (win) so we had a leisurely breakfast on the beach before catching the afternoon bus out of there.

Our arrival in Nha Trang was delayed by the still-pretty-flooded roads we went by. It was actually really worrying at times. So many small villages we passed through were totally engulfed in 3 or 4 feet of dirty rainwater; terrible for all the people we saw wading into their houses. We wondered if this was a regular occurence, a rainy season mainstay, since noone seemed particularly bothered, but it seemed awful enough to us to merit at least a little commotion. But there you have Southeast Asians - No fuss, thankyou, we'll be alright.

It was, of course, nailing it down in Nha Trang when we reached it in the evening. Quick check in, quick dinner, quick decision to catch the night bus to Hoi An the next evening. We felt one day sightseeing in the rain would suffice - it was, again, predominantly a 'beach' town, but it thankfully presented many more alternative diversions than Mui Ne. The next day we whacked our raincoats on over our bags, and, like a pair of turtles-in-love, pranced down the romantic rain-swept beach, hopping from one palm-hut shelter to the next, looking like massive weirdos. We followed this with a trip to a brilliant gallery (just the sort of rainy-day activity that Mui Ne had lacked), and exhibition of the photography of Long Thanh, a Nha Trang local and Vietnam's most celebrated photographer. The shots were beautiful, capturing Vietnamese culture in an affecting, direct and unpretentious way; we were disappointed to find no postcard-style prints to buy. Next we hiked up to the Long Son Pagoda, and the giant white buddha statue that sits on the hill behind it, majestically overlooking the town and the bay, and spent a while basking in its hugeness and enjoying the same views ourselves. Afterwards, we ate and made ready for the sleeper bus, which was a surreal but reasonably comfortable experience. I was surprised to be woken up at 6.30 and suddenly be in the quaint old town of Hoi An, hundreds of miles further up the coast.

As it stands, we've just had our first day here in Hoi An, which is undoubtedly the most beautiful town we've been to so far. It's late, I'm tired, and we're just off for dinner. So, bye. I hope you enjoy these rambles, peoples!