from the south of the north to the north of the south

Moving on is always a curious thing. Staying at Stillwater Lodge in Mana was lovely. A very friendly German couple, Anja and Tom, have taken over the running of the place only recently, but I still think they be able to keep the 95% BBH rating that the hostel has already earnt. Tom and I played pool until about midnight, then I drove down to the docks, after being breathalysed outside the hostel. The Police are pretty strict for drink driving as its a major problem here. As you drive along a road you see both wilting and fresh flowers adorning many many crosses; a provoking sight.

I got to the harbour at 12, for the 0130 ferry. Its early but cheap, but that doesnt really matter as its cancelled. I sleep in the car at the docks, being careful not to park on the train tracks that criss-cross the tarmac. I can see the headlines, "Semi naked tourist escapes after car crushed at docks", "And we go to Paul Mileg at the docks who has some amateur footing . . ".

All ferries are cancelled on Tuesday.

Earliest ferry I can catch is Wednesday night. It'll have to do, but I wasnt planning to be this long in Wellington. Saying that, despite not wanting to spend any more time in big towns, Welly is alright. I like it. It has a buzz about it. Some of the people can be a bit snotty and some a little pretentious, but the woman who did the BEST homemade humous in Courtney, she was COOL, and the cafe espressoholic or something does excellent salads.

I had to sleep and wash somewhere so Tuesday afternoon I checked into Rosemere, ( I think it was named such ) or maybe Rowena, but its the other hostel on Brougham Street. Crap kitchen, good paintwork, cold rooms, but off-street parking. They also have very nice showers.

All I want to do is cross into the south island though, and Im fustrated. I go and see "24 hour party people" and think its a good film, but wish I'd had the bottle to stand up and dance during the film, as that is what needs to be done. It has one of the best soundtracks I have heard in a long time, but then thats because its from my yoof.

Im still waiting for the ferry, but passing time by reading, eating, sleeping. Eventually I wander down the docks on Wednesday night, after ringing to check they are running. We wait some more; the ships are delayed, the weather is still bad but the crossing will happen. I watch "About a Boy" on the ferry, trying to kill more time until I get to Picton and SEE things in the south.

Im the last car off the ferry, is someone trying to tell me I should have stayed on the north Island? Fortunately I had already booked through to "the Villa". I think Carol Smilie would call this a "delightful little ornately carved wooden victorian house". It is so I wont argue with her. There is an open courtyard, lit by white xmas lights ,centred by a large open stove, a spa pool in the corner, and large patio doors off to the dorms. Im given hot apple crumble and ice-cream when I arrive which is lovely. They had golden nuggets of something in the crumble and I never did swap recipes so I suppose I will never know what they were. There was a free breakfast in the morning, and apart from it having some of the hottest, strongest showers, warmest rooms, comfiest beds, beautiful house and close proximity to the hostel make it one of the best places I have stayed in.

I leave early in the morning and take the coast road to Nelson. This is far more picturesque than the main road, plus I get to see some of Marlborough Sounds, which is idyllic. Im staying in the Travellers Arms hostel. I think. I cant remember, as I spent about an hour choosing a place. I should go for the first one, but I dont want some large rambling hostel, I want to be able to wash clothes as, like all stupid backpackers, I seem to have a fixation with the small things. These are.

• Laundry
• Warm Rooms
• Clean comfy beds
• Big Kitchens with lots of plates, pans, fridges and storage space
• thousands of dancing girls
• hot powerful showers
• a comfy chair/hammock to read a book in

The hostel I have found has all of the above with the exception of dancing girls, but it does have both many comfy chairs AND a hammock, a South American one at that, it also has a nice fire, a huge clean kitchen, and only a few bunk beds. Is this whats important to me now? I used to be concerned with deadlines, council tax bills, customer meetings, latest CDs to come out, which is the best pub that month in Brighton, trying to go to the gym, and trying out a new wine from Oddbins. Its all different. I like it.

a load of bull

I've got progressively more prejudiced and opinionated over the last few weeks and have come up with some solutions to world problems; if Australia becomes a republic, as I feel they ought to and more importantly want to, then they can take the Union flag out of their flag. It would just have 6 stars and I think that'll look silly, plus cost a fortune in changing all the touristic tat, teatowels, hat etc that have the flag on.

Britain is to blame for most of the disputes and wars in the world at the moment. Considering that Cyprus, Israel, Afghanistan, Fiji, India (including Pakistan), Burma, Australia, Canada and Zimbabwe all used to be British Territories or dependants, only Canada is in a decent state. I think we might be to blame.

So I have left the north and Whangarei behind for a while. I stayed at Orewa, a dull seaside town, north of Auckland, Hamilton, a slightly less dull town south of Auckland, New Plymouth, a dull town with a big snowy dormant volcano in the back garden, and Im now in Wellington. having stopped at Wanganui and Bulls.

Hamilton was dull, but I was able to do a bit of shopping, and got a sleeping bag. Foolishly or perhaps not so foolishly I left my sleeping bag at home, thinking rightly that I wasnt going to need it in the pacific islands, but I have wished I had brought it once I reached New Zealand.

New Plymouth was pretty much the same, but I got the car serviced, as a light had lit up on the dashboard, and I didnt know what it meant. It seemed sensible to get the oil changed as well, before doing a long bit of driving in the south island. The hostel in New Plymouth was lovely. Called Shoestrings Backpackers, on the edge of town, it had a large warm fire, nice kitchen, and its run by very friendly people. It even had a sauna which was ideal after a cold day out on Mount Taranaki. This is the dormant volcano at the back of town.

While I got the car serviced, and a pair of trousers repaired, I decided to go up the mountain, or at least as far as I could get. Its peak is at 2600m, but considering its winter, and you need an ice axe and crampons to reach it during this time of year, I was content with ascending as far as I could. I got dropped off at the DOC centre and got a map and the latest weather report; it wasnt good so I took a route that would get me halfway up the hill. I was glad I did, as by 1000m up I was having to kick into the icy snow to keep my grip on the steep slopes. At 1500m I stopped for lunch inside the Tarahangi mountain hut, and the weather closed in. Where I had been able to at least look down the mountain, I couldnt see 100m in front of me. Not terrible but not nice if you are on your own, adn I was glad to have the map. I did think about trying to reach the summit, but I saw 6 guys, with mountains of equipment, crampons, axes, ropes, and what looked like really warm jackets, moving very slowly up the mountain. If they were taking their time and new what they were doing, I didnt think there was much point in me having a go. I made a partial circumference around the mountain, above the snowline, sometimes crawling out of snow where I had sunk up to my chest, and wished i had got here in the summer. This is one of the few proper mountains in the world, where you can reach the summit and back in 8 hours, depending on conditions. Today they just weren't good conditions.

I left New Plymouth, glad of the exercise but wanting to get to the south island. I could'nt decide whether to stop on the way to Wellington, or to see if I could reach it that day. I stopped in a place called Cardiff, and seeing as I was born in Cardiff, Wales I wanted to see what similarities there were. I dont know who its fortunate for, but there were none.

Wanganui didnt interest me much, but the town of Bulls did. The place has a particular sense of humour and have enjoyed coming up with new names for the shops, ie. the Church is "Forgive-a-bull" and the supermarket is "Comest-a-bull". Hilarity.

Palmerstone North didnt sound very enticing, so I had a look at Levin, dull, otaki, dull, so before I knew it, I was on the outskirts of Wellington.

There didnt seem to be much room in the hostels around town, and I got one to ring up "Beethovens" for me. They had beds so I wandered over. Beethovens is or at least used to be very famous. Allan, the owner, is a world famous musician, but he is renowned by all backpackers for being exceedingly anti-smoking and generally quite a rude person. This is all hearsay of course. His assistant on the other hand is the epitomy of insanity, but then thats what comes from being an alcoholic. He leaves the hostel in a mess, the dogs unfed, the breakfast burnt, he gets so drunk he threw 2 girls out of the hostel at 4am, then asked people in the morning "did the two girls leave in the night?", and the place is basically falling apart. Despite being in TV documentaries a few years ago, this place should be bulldozed. There are rude and eccentric handwritten notices around the whole building, piped classical music is switched on at 0700 and gets turned off sometimes at night, a jar labelled "sperm donation" is positioned in the hall, which does contain a few used condoms, there are many busts of Beethoven around the place, some have a jaunty-angled tinsel halo, the wiring in the place is very Heath Robinson, and finally the place is cold and some rooms stink. Stay there if you fancy an experience.

It was handy for one aspect; being able to go into Wellington, and have a little bit of a drink. Thursday 22nd I went to an Irish pub (no fiddle nailed to the wall), then a bar with live jazz. There I met some hairdressers dancing around handbags. They insisted on me joining them. We went to another bar and met some US guy who had been working on the modelmaking and prosthetics in Lord of the Rings, and some Kiwi guy who invited us back to his house. a group of 5 and only 2 people know names, and only for each other. It got weird, excessive quantities of alcohol were consumed, and at 5am, I make my excuses and left, to be awoken 2 hours later by Mr Beeth Oven. At least he was deaf and didnt have to put up with his music all day and all night.

I got out of Wellington and decided to stay in Stillwaters hostel, in Mana, about 20km north of Wellington. Its a simple drive into town, and the place has free internet, a lovely kitchen, a bathroom, wait for it, WITH A BATH. Not just an ordinary bath, but its a jacuzzi. The large TV room with leather settees can be entered from the dining room cum snooker room, or the enclosed terrace, or the balcony. You can hire kayaks, and its about 50m from the waters edge. This is more like it.

The ferry to the south island is booked and I go Monday night/Tuesday morning, arriving in Picton at about 5am.

food, glorious food bro'

Things I have been eating.

Fillet steak, fried with garlic, cloves and cream, with roasted gold kumara, yams, new potatoes and red onions, served with a spinach salad.

Maggi noodles, chicken flavour, adding finely chopped spinach and spring onions. It almost looks like a takeaway meal.

Rowlys famous purple chicken, (chicken marinated in red wine and rosemary, cook in the juices), served with potato and kumara rosti (twice this has been a grey burnt disaster), and creamed parsnips with chopped red capsicums.

Roasted vegetable soup (kumara, potato, pumkin, yellow capsicum)

brie and berries toasted on curry bread.

chillied creamy scrambled eggs on soy and linseed bread.

Rowlys special italian baked beans (tin of beans adding fresh basil, oregano, tomatoes and a little cheese) on toast.

Farmhouse apple crumble, normal crumble mix, using white and brown flour, unrefined sugar, molasses, and muesli, (minus the nuts and dried banana), pour some golden syrup on the apples, add half a cup of water, maybe a little cinnamon, then pour on cumble mix,

sprinking some muscavado sugar on top.

peanut butter on toast.

marmite on toast.

cheese on toast.

margerine on toast.

toast and tea.

thats enough of that.

go the warriors!

Trev wanted to get connected to the internet. He's been using someone else connection for a while and wants to start sending emails but the luddite in him rejects the idea of it being a simple process, and asks for me to do something about it. I have rather enjoyed ignoring computers lately, and the last few weeks have meant I either havent wanted to email, havent been near an PC or havent had the time especially if I have been washing dishes, so I wasnt looking forward to sorting it.

I walked round town to find out what I could about ISP's, and on my return to the Mezzanine cafe, I found the couple from Brighton eating at Dr Nash's table. After the directions I had given them when we had stayed in Opononi, they had driven through Whangarei and found it without difficulty. I guess "opposite Pac-n-save" is pretty simple but its nice when someone listens to me and understands me. I know what some of my directions are like.

Warwick turned up early afternoon and we picked up Jackie and Stu and headed to Auckland for the game.

I dont know anything about Rugby league and I havent learnt anything since, but I think it was a good game. The Warriors won and the best argument I have heard when talking about money, American foreign policy or how much house prices are around the world is "Go the Warriors!". The crowd was good, we had beers and plastic hotdogs, it was cold and it was my first Rugby League match, so it was similar conditions to my first football match (Aston Villa vs Notts County in 1982, Notts won 3-1). The cheerleaders were fantastic and Im having one delivered shortly. The hits were hard and one guy died, but I think he might have been a spectator.

It was an awesome experience, with a great atmosphere, far friendlier than a football match back home. There were kids everywhere and I thought it would be unsafe for them but then I was seeing it with British eyes; all the violence was on the pitch, which made it an even more gladitatorial affair. The Bulldogs are top of the table had a 17 game unbeaten run, but this was stopped by the Warriors who are 4th in the table. I think Im going to be following the Warriors from now on, and I never thought I'd have a Rugby League team to follow. We drove home happy, slightly drunk, and cold.

Starting to get itchy feet again. The Shaolin Monks are in Auckland on Tuesday and I also want to go to the Bay of Islands. Not sure what to do or which direction to go in, although I should go south soon. This is written on Trevs laptop and Im wanting to steal it off him, but two or three weeks of washing dishes doesnt seem a very fair exchange.

guns are bad mmmkay

Friday, only a few hours to kill before heading back and I want to do something. There was a poster in the hostel for a small-bore rifle range up in the hills above Kaitaia, and I gave the guy, Pete, a ring and went up there. Now, I have always been suspicious about guns and rifles, as their sole purpose is to take life. A gun collector is a different breed altogether.

Pete is a farmer and has taken over the land from his father who died a year or two ago. He had a friend, lets call him John. John used to help on the farm, and was Petes good friend, but Pete thought John was a bit dodgy as John had got his wife by stealing her off another man. Thats mates though. Johns wife got cancer and was slowly dying, and on the day she died, Pete finds out that John has been having an affair with Petes wife while his own wife was dying, and they were planning to take Petes family farm off him.

What would you do? Pete has always shot guns, hunted with them and collected them for years. He knows how to kill things. He thinks bad thoughts about these friends of his. What does he do? He thinks about killing his wife and old friend, knowing which rifle would do the job, but keeps his farm going, gets his head together and meets someone new. In the end John gambled that his dead wife would leave him money but has actually written him out of the will, and is now penniless and without friends. I reckon he got what he deserved.

I dont know if I would have that sort of self control, and he goes down as another person that has impressed me. Many people have killed and been killed for less.

We spent the morning talking and shooting. Its been a while since I last shot a rifle but I soon got back into it, and got my grouping down to about an inch; not great but I havent shot in years. Pete has old Enfields from carbines to No.4's, SKS, Japanese rifles, M1, M14, M16, an SLR, Hungarian rifles, Swiss, Swedish and more. We spent most of our time with single shot and semi-automatic .22 rifles. Here shooting is a necessary activity in killing vermin like killing possums and also killing wild pigs, so its part of the rural culture. It isnt made into a sport with nice red jackets, 200 hounds, Pimms, and a trumpet, but in mud, rain and done in working clothes.

Anyway, I did get pleasure out of shooting, which worried me. I thought I had got rid of that side of me, but its still there. It was good FUN shooting, and i liked the sound of the falling plates as I blat away with a semi-auto rifle with fat scope.

Time to head back to treehugging and veggie food.

Trev and Maria werent going to be able to go to the Rugby match as they had a big booking for Saturday night, so it was just me meeting up with Warwick, Jackie and Stu. Jenny and Zoe were coming later as Jenny had loads to do, including some business in Ponsonby.

not 90 mile beach

I have never been one for coach journeys, and while I could have driven on 90 mile beach, having got the car stuck in mud once, I didnt want to risk it again especially with a tide coming in. The people on the bus were; two English girls, a Dutch couple with their two young children, and their parents. The couple had just bought a motel on the edge of Kaitaia.

Sonny, our driver and tour guidetold us various facts about Northland. Some of it was interesting, some of it was tosh, but then thats what you get for coach tours. I hadnt realised that a lot of Yugoslavs came to New Zealand and became gumdiggers, and that they got called Dalmations as this was the area of Europe they were from. I hadnt realised that gun, Kauri gum, the deposits of sap from the Kauri tree that are found in the ground, used to be as valuable as gold. I hadnt realised that Cape Reinga is the place considered by the Maoris to be the physical point on the earth in New Zealand where the departed souls begin their journey to the afterlife. I hadnt realised that 90 mile beach is actually nearer 90 kilometre beach, but then thats just being pedantic.

It was a good day out and took the stress out of driving along the beach and down the main road, and of having the car broken into if I had left it at any point. We went toboganing, on tobogans down the side of a sand dune and the coach was able to drive down a stream to the beach. I think my car would have become part of the beach if I had attempted it.

Still, it was a long shower to remove all the sand.

bunch of tree huggin' hippy crap

I got a small fortune in organic produce and it felt similar to going away to Uni, as Maria plied me with all kinds of goodies, that I was sure to leave in various hostels. I knew I had to get back to Whangarei by Friday night as we were all going down to watch the Warriors play the Bulldogs. I havent been to a Rugby match before, let alone a Rugby League match in New Zealand, so I was making damn sure Id get back in time.

I thought leaving on Tuesday and head off. I kept changing direction all day, not really sure where I was going. I reached Kawakawa which proclaims to have some world famous toilets. They are interesting, but then I only wanted a piss, and it seems a little extravagant to have such fantastic toilets when the money could be spent on police to stop having your car broken into. Actually they are really nice toilets. There is a really good burger bar opposite with a nice cafe a few shops down. So its worth sitting in one of those and watching people take photos of a toilet. What does it say about a town that decides to sell itself as the town with nice public toilets.

I left and headed east.

Driving along I saw a signpost declaring that a "Historic Site" was to my right. I went up the gravel road and saw a small church. It was shut and not that, um, interesting, so I turned the car around, and got it stuck in the mud. It took me half an hour to get it out and the car and I were both spattered in mud, but the smell of burnt tyres and clutch lingers to this day in the car.

I couldnt decide whether to go to the Kauri forest but I seemed to be making good time so I went through Opononi and made my way through roads that consisted of chicane after chicane. If you took the A272, the Horseshoe pass, Silverstone, Lombard St, and a sine wave, compressed and added them, then laid it for 20 kms through mountains, then you might have an idea how twisty and turny this road was to the Waipau ( spelling?) forest. Here in Waipau there is Tana Mahuta, the largest tree in New Zealand and one of the oldest trees in the world. Its a strongly spiritual tree for the Maoris and it is bigger than breathtaking; its awe-inspiring. Estimated at over 2000 years old, and 18 metres in circumference, its a beast, a big boy and puts you to shame.

Think North American Redwoods with a Maori physique. You could have built a whole ship out of this tree, and unless Im mistaken I think these trees were used for that purpose years ago. The Europeans came and chopped loads down as they are good for houses, but I think they look more impressive in the ground. These trees are big enough to carve a complete staircase in the middle of them. Down the road from Tana Mahutu, there are four more large trees and a couple more within a few kilometres, but there are very few big trees left.

I drove back to Opononi as I noticed a few hostels there. Globetrekkers in Omapere, just south of Opononi is closed at the moment, and was the first place I tried, but the lady there pointed me to House of Harmony, which sounds like a sunday afternoon BBC costume drama, but was a very pleasant hostel. Strangely full of Italians and a couple of people from Brighton, it was friendly and WARM. There was a nice BIG FIRE and they had NICE FURRY CATS that you could use as hot water bottles on your laps.

Right, up early, oooooh about 10 ish and time to head north Ive decided. I dont think Dargaville is a very nice name for a town, hence my decision. I got to some town called Rawene, where I catch the ferry across the water, and get some more petrol before crossing. The man who owns the petrol station is from Chiswick. Why am I surprised? Why does this place both feel like a very foreign country and a very welcoming homely one? Money is in dollars, I dont understand the roadsigns, people talk in tongues and a hot dog isnt what

you think a hot dog is, but blokes from Chiswick sell petrol.

I head to Kaitaia via the back road, as the back road is always my preferred option, stopping off in Ahipara, taking in plenty of stops and listening to Beth Ortens new album. I still cant get over the scenery, and the quaintess and unique styles of the houses. Here you can build a house however you want. No stupid rules for how it should look, or standards to conform to. Rules are mainly for stupid people, or for those who lack originality. Warwick who we visited the week before, has built his own house over the last 20 years. He had electricity put in two years ago, but hadnt needed it before. He has a mezzanine floor in his lounge where his

drum kit is. Pot plants sit on a beam across the kitchen, the wood stove sits near the middle of the lounge heating the whole house, no two windows are the same, with diamond shaped windows, a triangle and a square frame in the lounge. He has a composting toilet that while it doesnt smell of daisys, it doesnt smell of pooh either.

This town was the same, sun decks around houses, outside toilets, expanses of glass, skylights, solar powered, windpowered, built into hollows or sited on ridges. People are building the house they want to live in, not those built by Mr Barrat or Mr Wimpey.

Anyway I got to Kaitaia, booked myself on a coach trip up to Cape Reinga and 90 mile beach for the day after. I had booked into a hostel in Kaitaia and found the owner to be a half Maori, ex army, healer, that burped when he was performing his healing feats. You see something new everyday.

friends and siblings

Sunday, and Im still angry about the car, but what can I do. I have driven around the estate a number of times to see if I can catch me a bored kid with a North Face bag and a stupid grin as he reads my private therapy journal. I went swimming, in the very municipal pool then Trev, Maria and I went to see Warwick and Jenny.

Warwick has a large plot of land, part of which he is wanting to sell to T & M. I wandered over the land, with them describing where things would be like the house, studio, tipi, bus. It seems as if they are planning to have a small festival on the land. We were planning to go up to some hot springs with Jenny but by the time we got back and had a cup of tea, warmed our feet and had a chat, it was getting dark and easier to get home and have roast dinner.

Sunday is always a day for relaxing and not planning anything.

Monday is a day for getting smashed glass in your car replaced. I had been to the glass place the week before to get a stone chip repaired (sometimes I surprise myself with how mundane travelling can be), and they were happy to sort me out a second hand piece of glass and get it fitted. Again it seems that the people of New Zealand arent into making money but are interested in making sure that you get a good deal, come back again, and also talking about themselves a bit while you are there in the shop. That sounds like a crap analysis. The guy who fixed the glass spoke to me. He treated me like a mate he was doing a favour for. I cant remember the last time I got that in a shop in the UK. I have always liked talking to people in shops as it makes life interesting, but its hard work. Here, people want to talk to you, and not just because Im a tourist as I see that

everyone talks to each other. Its all good.

Getting itchy feet though. Car is fixed, and its time to move on a little.

Rang the sibling as it was her birthday. Glad she is back from Afghanistan, although she could have brought me some guns and stuff.

crime scene, some waterfalls

I had a few problems with the CD player I fitted; for some reason it wasnt getting enough power and I instantly questioned my knowledge of the Honda Accord wiring loom. I backed this up by purchasing the Haynes manual for said vehicle, digested and re-digested the circuit diagrams but found that the US and Canadian models they featured had different colours to the Jap import that I had.

Oh joy, I just have to trust myself on my knowledge of wiring. It works but it was being very strange for the first couple of days, as if the car had some sort of immune response against the object I had inserted into its electrics. No matter I thought, as I gave Lisa a lift to her work at the call centre, minus my glorious music. I just hoped that it would fix itself before I drove north to Whangarei. I drove round town, buying things, sorting out insurance and the change of ownership for the car, and by the time of getting back and eating my warm Ponsonby pies, Doug had thought I had left without him.

We made Whangarei in a couple of hours and the journey was a lot easier than previous excursions on the coach. Trev and Maria were happy to see us and had closed up early with their new opening hours. Still being a new place, they are constantly changing the menu and opening hours to find the right balance between maximising income, decent predictable opening hours and having some sort of lifestyle.

The next few days saw me slipping into the same routine of washing dishes, making a mess of coffees and orders, and rolling cutlery. Doug had a chance to see Whangarei then left on the Thursday.

By the time Saturday rolled around I was tired, Im just not cut out for this work thing, and missed the weekly visit to the organic market. I made up for it by doing some shopping, then we all went up to Whangarei falls, a tranquil spot on the outskirts of town. After marvelling at the waterfall and walking through the forest surrounding it, we went back to my car and noticed that it had been broken into. Having the glass smashed is a pain, but the worst bit was having my journal stolen which was in my bag. I had poems, japanese writing, stories, email addresses, recipies, drawings, and like photos or limbs the journal was fairly irreplacable.

A woman had spotted a Maori looking kid/youth/piece of shite hanging around my car and as he had walked off, she had followed in her car. She lost him but came back to the car park and let me know what she had seen, let her kids look after my car while she gave me a lift to the place where she saw the thief/toe-rag/vermin last. I ran around the housing estate where she saw him, but it was a pointless exercise apart from allowing me to let off steam. what was nice that while I was annoyed at having my car broken into, someone was around to restore your faith in people and help you out. The lady was very kind and apologetic, even though it wasnt her fault, so while I was angry with the scum/bored kid/outcast who had broken into the car, I was happy to meet the woman who had given chase, looked after my car and tried to help me catch him.

No matter. The waterfall was nice.