Day 361: The Grandest Canyon tour

I have to begin this post with a massive, brightly-lit, way over the top, Vegas-style thank you to Rob's parents, Mac & Trish, for kindly and cleverly suggesting that our birthday presents this year come in the form of a donation towards doing something extra special in Nevada's party city. Fighting the temptation to cash this in for a 7-day buffet pass (what a way to go) we opted for the Grand Voyager pass to the Grand Canyon. And extra special it was.

After our first night out “on the strip” the day began with a bus ride to Boulder City airport at a very reasonable 11AM. After a short wait we were flying in a light aircraft over the desert and above the Hoover Dam. This huge structure, so the in-flight commentary informed us, is still the heaviest man-made structure on earth – to withstand all that water pressure it's almost as wide at it's base as it is tall (200m) - and contains more steel than the Eiffel Tower.

It was a bit of a bumpy ride but there was plenty more flying to come because now that we were on the edge of the Grand Canyon, we were taking a helicopter down into it. I was even lucky enough to get the front seat and sit next to the pilot. From this incredible vantage point the greys and reds of the sheer rock face were visible through a window that stretched from the ceiling all the way down to the base of the helicopter, just past my feet. The moment that we flew over the rim and the deep canyon fell out below me is one that I will never forget.

It was a short but breath-taking ride, everywhere we looked looked like nothing we had ever seen before, and deep inside the canyon – thanks to the Colorado River – it was actually much greener than you might expect of a massive crack in a desert landscape.

Here, within millions of years of mother nature's finest handiwork, our incredible list of modes of transportation for the day, then extended to boat. And not just any boat, a small carpeted boat with plush leather seats and (lucky for us) only one other wonderful couple to share it with. With a guide from a local tribe we cruised slowly upstream, able to marvel at the vastness of this natural wonder that reached up to the sky all around us, as he told us of old tribal traditions and the history of this sacred land.

Back in the 'copter (can one be so casual about a helicopter ride after just one trip? Probably not...) we were taken up and out of the Grand Canyon and back to a small base built wonderfully close to the edge for a late lunch. By this time the heat of the sun had been diminished by a thin layer of cloud cover and outcrops were casting long shadows across the canyon walls. After a good feed there was time only for a small bit of clambering over rocks, a final few snaps of a sight there was no way we could possibly forget, and then a flight back to Boulder City.

We were eventually returned to our hotel at just before 9PM – a long but beautiful, awe-inspiring and absolutely unforgettable day. This tour was with Scenic Airlines, who ran the trip like clock work and would come highly recommended from us if you ever find yourself in Nevada.

Huge thank you hugs to Mac & Trish again – not long now until we can do that in person :)

Day 351-360: San Francisco; New favourite City

Sorry perfectly preened Singapore, apologies gloriously grungy Wellington; you have been beaten, ousted, you have been pipped at almost the very last post by San Francisco; three six five's official new favourite city.

We only had a few days in San Francisco and with so much to see and do we knew it was going to be pretty hectic. What we didn't know was that this would mean a sort of a get-fit-quick retreat to a beautiful city that perches perilously on no less than seven hills. As soon as we arrived we hit the streets, San Francisco is compact enough to walk around most of it – as long as you are wearing comfortable shoes and you are ready to layer up and layer down in accordance with it's ever changing micro-climates and the gradient of the hill you need to navigate through. And you will be passing hills; some so steep that the pavements are actually steps and some so high that the freezing gale force winds you experience at the top are nothing like the sunny little side street you were standing in below.

Our first excursion was to begin the strenuous trend; we decided to view the city from the top of a relatively small Coit Tower which sits on top of the deceivingly high Telegraph Hill. But the views from the top were well worth it. This would be our first glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge, glowing red in the distance over blue waters. From here we could see the city undulating out before us, every winding street, tiny secluded Alcatraz and all the piers that punctuate the coast-line. It is simply beautiful.

San Francisco, we knew, was a city full of artists and you don't have to go far to find a gallery, exhibition or even just some poetry taped to the pavement; passing the latter was a clear sign that we had made it to North Beach; former hang-out of Jack Kerouac and spiritual home of the Beat generation. Now I wouldn't really class myself as a fan of the beat movement (in fact, quite the opposite, but that's another discussion...) but it was pretty exciting for a bit of a lit-geek like me to go to the City Lights Book Store and have a drink in Vesuvio just as they were doing 60-odd years ago.

Further wanderings took us through China Town, Japan Town and to the Haight, where The grateful Dead once lived and the only thing stronger than the prevailing sense of the 60's hippy movement is the sweet smell of joints being smoked at every opportunity. There is even a clock on the corner of Haight and Ashbury that famously always reads four twenty; which will be either a deeply cool or very confusing statement to you, depending on your association with these cult numbers. The streets of Haight are lined with coffee shops, record stores, vintage clothes shops and – no surprises here – some incredible street art. Here the tattoo:person ratio soars and everyone seems intent on keeping the spirit of peace and free love alive. Yeah, I really really like the Haight.

Keen to take in as much of the city as we could, and with the soles of our shoes already notably thinner, we switched pavement for pedal and hired bicycles for a day. Our route took us through the beautiful Botanical Gardens and – not without a fair bit of huffing and puffing – over the Golden Gate Bridge itself. Unfortunately, this being San Francisco, the day had clouded over a bit by the time we made it to the big red bridge but to see it was still simply spectacular. Yes it may have all but killed the shipping trade in the area with its completion but who cares? It looks great – and as it turns out the then-defunct ferry house has now become a hub of culinary greatness.

We cycled along the coast back to our hostel and were more than happy to stop for a wander around the eateries and to admire the skaters and BMXers that strut their stuff aside a huge angular sculpture and below the huge clock tower that actually tells the real time, all the time.

Yes it had been a busy few days but it wasn't over just yet – we had one last thing on our must-do list; prominent in the prohibition era, there are still a few Speak Easy's to speak of. Under a 'Anti-Saloon League' sign, after a knock and uttering of a secret password, we were taken through a bookcase (seriously) to a tiny bar called 'The Library' that served incredible cocktails just like they did when it was illegal. It was the perfect way to end our short but sensational stint in this beautiful, vibrant and historic city.

San Francisco; we love you.

Day 331-333: We're on Fiji time now (we were before we set off)

If preparation is the key to success then the beginning of our excursion to Fiji is probably most akin to locking yourself out of the house in your pants, just as it begins to rain. We could see that shiny key of forward-thinking and thorough itinerary-making but it was just out of reach.

Never on this trip have we arrived in a country with such a vagueness of intentions or lack of research. We had in our possession a short message of recommendations from a friend – but even that was only recovered from the internet and scrawled into a notebook (from which we could regurgitate our intentions to disappointed-looking airport attendants later) at the last moment - thank you Auckland Airport for 15min free internet.

When we touched down in Nadi we were greeted by a 4-piece band in bright Hawaiian shirts that broke from their cheery tune only to shout the traditional Fijian greeting “bula!” as one passed. Oh how the false sense of security warmed us. Once through baggage and customs we were directed by a very large Fijian man towards a his smaller female counterpart to “help us with our holiday” - hang on! we'd only shook his hands and already he knew we were British and we were here for a week from New Zealand...these guys were good.
The disappointment in our assistant face was clearly visible when we confirmed that we intended to go to Taveuni – a small island to the West of Viti Levu - and not to the Yasawas Islands – the usual holiday hotspot.
“We'd like to get there as soon as possible, maybe today?”
[broad smile] “Ooooooh no, not today...you can go to Yasawas today”
“We really want to go to Taveuni – what would be the best way to get there?”
“Why you want to go to Taveuni?”
[white lie] “We're meeting a friend there” - if India taught us nothing else; you always have a friend already waiting for you in the hostel / bar / town you want to go to. Eliminates so much hard-sell.

And so, to cut a long story short we ended up almost buying plane tickets to Taveuni for the next morning, then deciding they were too expensive and so reverting back to our friends original suggestion of getting an overnight boat from Suva to Taveuni. Then we missed a bus to Suva. We eventually caught another bus to Suva about an hour later, arriving in the total darkness of 8PM to be told that we'd also missed the overnight boat. I had remembered one guest house's name in Suva from a glance in the Lonely Planet book in an airport shop (thus completing 365's Fiji research) and so we were dropped at Raintree Lodge, about 7 miles outside of Suva centre.

Fortunately, when we woke up in the morning, as has seemed to often be the case on this journey; everything – somehow - fell nicely into place. Raintree Lodge is a beautiful guest house; our room looked out onto a lily pond, there was a lovely swimming pool and the super-helpful staff pointed us in the direction of the best way to get the most out of Taveuni.

We were to fly the morning after and then fly directly back to Nadi on Sunday to catch our flight back to Auckland. Though the more expensive option, it turns out the boat is both long and fairly unenjoyable and since we'd only a week in Fiji we didn't really want to spend 4 days of it in transit. Plus, this meant we got to spend the day in Suva...which is no bad thing.

The town is a crazy kind of mix of traditional and modern. We caught the bus into town, a beautifully ricketty ride with perpetually-open windows and cramped seats that deposited us into a dusty bus stand. Food stalls, drink vendors (Mmmm...ice cold juicy) and people everywhere – so far, so familiar from Asia BUT turn the corner and a huge silver building plays host to flashy coffee shops, designer clothing outlets and Liquid nightclub.

Predominantly a harbour town, the views out to sea are just incredible. Take a wander through town and some fairly tired-looking gardens and you'll reach the Fiji Museum [canoe above, clock tower, left]; a wonderful way to catch up on the history of the country that we now found ourselves so unprepared and standing in. Thanks to the large Indian population, we even managed to find ourselves a delicious Thali lunch. Yes, it had been a bit of a stressful start but I could tell we were going to love it here in Fiji.

Moral of the story here? A one-week holiday cannot be treated the same as the kind of lengthy and relaxed jaunts around countries that have become our habit these past 11 months...some planning is advisable.

Or is it? What is the least prepared you have ever started a trip? And did it make or break your trip?

Day 312-319: The only way is up (baby)

Well it's been a while since I let you lovely people know what we've been up to...apologies, actually we've done a fair bit. First we hit up the Coromandle – the smaller peninsular that stretches out at the north of Rotorua. Our first port of call was Tauranga, a lovely seaside town that sits in the shadow of Mount Manganui. It was getting late in the day so we opted for clambering on the rocks that afforded beautiful views of the sacred mountain and the South Pacific Ocean stretching out in front of it instead of a strenuous climb up the mount itself.

Next on our whistle-stop tour was Katikati, which was particularly exciting for Rob whose taken to calling me Kati / Katikati / Katikatikatkat /Kaaaaaatikatikatkat etc. and to see his chantings in writing was, as you can imagine, almost to much to bear. For me the tiny town was wonderful because it is covered in murals (below)...what a brilliant idea to cover any empty walls or shop-sides with portraits and old-fashioned vistas. Even if it did come with a soundtrack of my own name ringing in my ears.

The rest of our trip up the Coromandel was sort of rained off, we made it Forest Park but weren't really in the mood for walking around in the drizzle, so we departed shortly after. And this was a pattern that then repeated itself for the next few days in various locations.

[insert days spent in coffee shops / the back of Emilio / rinsing free wifi in McDonalds' in the Hamilton and Raglan area here]

After a brief stop in Auckland (which I will write about properly in it's own right) Rob and I took a few days out to continue of journey north. At Goat Island (not, I note, a goat in sight here) we did some snorkelling before camping up for the night just above Tutukaka on a gorgeous sandy beach that came with the added bonus of a beautiful sunset and a family skinny dipping. Good times.

Back in Highway 1 we were soon at Paihia – gateway to the Bay of Island, which is, as the name would suggest, a bay with many islands. We decided to indulge in some more snorkelling on Roberton Island since a company was running day trips there for $50 with all the gear included. And it is a beautiful island, sitting pretty in blue oceans it holds two lagoons and one retired man who apparently survives by having cruise boats bring in supplies for him every day or so.

We were dropped off by boat at 10AM when the sun was shining and dived right into the freezing waters, though there wasn't too much sea life about Rob did an amazing job in spotting a lazy Manta Ray lurking on the sea bed. This was brilliant! After all our diving we sill hadn't seen a ray and, for me, this really completes the under-water check list of must-see animals. Then a smaller, lighter one swam around below us for a few minutes. Two manta rays - magic.
We'd been told that we'd be picked up at around 2:30-3ish but by 4PM there was still no sign of our lift. We were, literally, stranded on an island. Which might not sound like such a raw deal but the clouds had rolled in and we had a long drive ahead of us...eventually after a phone call (“we haven't forgotten about you, we'll be over at some point” damn those relaxed kiwis) we made it back to shore at 5ish. The extra 2 hours did kind of take away from the enjoyment of the day, the lesson here? Do go to Roberton Island, but don't do it with DiveOps.

At this point we'd considered continuing up to the northern most peak of NZ, Cape Reinga, but it is a long drive on partially unsealed roads which we weren't sure were too healthy for little Emilio so we left it at that and returned “home” to Auckland.

Day 309-311: Rotarua stinks (literally...but not figuratively)

You know you are approaching Rotarua long before you reach the township. This is not because of the useful road signs - though this is New Zealand, every tiny thing is absurdly well signposted – it's because you can quite literally smell it coming a mile off. Wind down your windows and as you cruise through the wooded highway up from Taupo that putrid scent of rotten eggs will fill your nostrils by the time you reach Waipa.

Rotarua is a big attraction on the 'Thermal Explorers Highway' (see what I mean? Short of just signposting a road as Highway 5 it also gets the catchy-name signpost...see The Southern Scenic Route for further examples of this Kiwi-craze) and the thermal activity here means that sweet sulphuric smell abounds (boo!) and that you can dip your feet in naturally heated water from mother earth while waiting for the bus (yay!)

The town has really tapped into it's natural resources (well, there was no glossing over it...) and there are loads of spas / natural baths / hot water pools / geothermic hot water spa and pools in the vicinity, all charging something-or-other for the privilege of bathing in the magical waters or rubbing warm mud over your nearest and dearest...actually I would have rather liked to do the latter but our budget would not have ($140 per person?! You're having a laugh!) Instead we took a stroll around the free Kuirau Park, a glorious spot right by the town centre where mud pools bubble and steam spouts out of the ground right before your eyes. It really is quite something to see.

We also took a walk around the Government Gardens which sidle up to the south-west corner of Lake Rotarua. Not as spectacular as Lake Taupo before it, but worth a wander around for sure. We even came across a batting-cage (Rob assures me this is the right name for it, but just in case...it's like a driving range, but with baseball bats and balls) where one bucket of balls soon turned into three and much fun and miss hits (mostly me) were had by all.

It may claim to the cultural heart of New Zealand (it does have the largest Mauri population and, to it's credit, even the whitest European-settler-types pronounce it rrrro-ti-rrrr-rua with real rolling r's in the classic Mauri twang) but it is still Kiwi enough to cater to the needs of adrenalin junkies such as it seems I have become. So after a childhood of wandering what it felt like when Hayley Duncan's hamster accidentally rolled down the stairs in it's ball; I went Zorbing.

And not just any Zorbing – Hydro Zorbing. And I am happy to confirm that it is pretty much like the best water park ride you'll ever go on...it's so much fun. After diving super-man style into a big inflatable ball partially filled with water I had to walk it onto the down-hill track where I was washed around, splashing and sliding from one bump to another, until arriving at the bottom a minute or so later ready for this awful snap to be taken...that's pure joy right there. That's not what poor Sandy looked like after his trip down the stairs though, I can tell you that for nothing.

Rotorua had treated us well but there was one more thing that made us stay on in this wonderful stinky town for another afternoon...but I can't write about just yet.

It's very good and very exciting and I'm just waiting to receive the ...hmm... the documentation, and then I'll tell all :)

Day 307-308: Some like it hot (happy birthday Rob)

It's safe to say that after a days excursion at Tongariro we were ready for some R&R. Luckily we were just around the corner from Taupo...and Rob's birthday.

When we arrived, Taupo town was sitting pretty in the sunlight on the north-eastern bank of the largest lake in New Zealand that it shares it's name with. We parked up and wandered around the small grid of roads that make up the town centre, stumbling across some fantastic local artists and a great array of eateries.

Just outside of town we decided to follow signs to the Huka Falls – this is partly because it would no doubt be free and because, I have learnt in the last 10 months (10 months! Christ!), that Rob has something of a fascination with waterfalls. He loves them. Likes the sound especially. Even pathetic little ones that sound more like a broken toilet than a force of nature, which this one was not, but I digress...Whatever the reason – the falls that we rounded the corner and climbed up onto the viewing platform to see were absolutely amazing. About 15m wide and of the kind of clear water that I've only seen in NZ, huge amounts crashed over the falls into a white cauldron of turbulence that was so powerful it actually looked a bit like the river was boiling.

And we were to be spending the night just down stream from here, in a wonderful (magic word) FREE campsite where the current was not so strong and some Germans had made a rope swing that could deposit any willing participant into the surprisingly temperate flow with a thoroughly satisfying splash. I resisted...if tubing in Laos taught me nothing else I came away knowing that my arms are not for supporting the rest of me over bodies of water.

Night fell and the morning brought Rob's coming of age – now I never know if that expression is just for specific landmark ages or any old age – either way, the age Rob came of was 24 and we celebrated with a morning wash in the river. “That's never happened before on my birthday” Well, that's what this trip is all about.

What was to follow was a day of pure indulgence. We stopped for bowls of coffee (sooo much caffeine) and fancy drinks, lunch by the marina, we strolled around the lake as the sun was setting and made our way to the best Indian restaurant we'd found in town for a “Vegetarian Banquet for Two” - and a banquet it was!

Honestly, I was full after our starters – a plater of Samosas, Onion Bajis and Pakora that came piled up and sizzling to our outdoor table with a great spicy dip. But there was plenty more to come, and we'd asked for them 'hot' (ooh we're seasoned traveller-types aren't we?) - four dishes that were as flavoursome and delicious as they look with rice and naan on the side. We were full and the birthday boy was happy...but we had one more thing left to do in Taupo.

In fact, as we sat satisfied at the Indian Affair restaurant, we didn't even know about it, but back at the campsite we were told about the Hot Springs just upstream where underground geothermal activity gifts an incredibly hot waterfall to the otherwise cool waters. Suddenly the forgiving water we'd been washing in was less surprising. We had to see for ourselves, so in the morning we took ourselves down for a genuinely hotter-than-you-average-bath dip in the very same river. It's really very strange to see steam rising up from behind green hills and then be able to say that the river was “too hot” the closer you got to the waterfall.

Ahh Taupo, you are full of surprises, wonderful surprises...

Day 305-306: Which way to Mount Doom?

After a week or so of mincing around a city it felt good to be on the road again – not least because the road that we were on followed the spectacular west coast of the North Island and each curve gave way to a bay of the clearest blue sea crashing against jagged cream-coloured rocks interrupted only by small towns until the sky was turning sunset pink and it was time to stop for the night.

We were shooting for the Tongariro National Park and, though we didn't know it when we found a lovely shady spot by a quiet river, we actually still had a fair way to go. This was only made clear to us when – after getting up at 7AM (normal, I know, for people like you with real jobs and real lives but not for us) – a road sign confirmed we still at 200km to the National Park and even then, we had to get to the north of the park because we'd decided today was the day to do the Tongariro Alpine Crossing; a 19km-long one-way mountain track frequently voted the best walk in all of NZ.

Now the problem with arriving at the Information Centre after a longish drive and a leisurely breakfast was that the shuttle bus that drops you off at the start, fresh-faced and raring to go between 6&9AM, and picks you up, a sweating and broken mess at some unimaginable point in the afternoon was that at 11AM (our arrival time) – we'd gone and missed it.

Not to worry, the friendly DOC man told us, at this late hour we could drive to the start, walk 3.5 hours to the big attractions, turn back on ourselves and make it back before dark. A 7-hour round trip to get closer to MOUNT DOOM? Yes please! I wouldn't say I was a massive Lord of The Rings fan but yes, this is where all scenes involving Mount Doom (real name; Mount Ngauruhoe) were filmed and besides, anywhere with 'doom' in the title has got to be worth a look, right?

Right. Off we set for an hour of joyously flat walking along orange-rocked streams until we reached the bottom of the first incline and this sign (pictured) that sternly warned us to “Consider turning back” - we did not. And then it got really steep. And after a further hour of upward slopes and seemingly-endless wooden steps I, at least, most definitely did.

At just under 1600m above sea level the climb was over (so I thought) and we paused for lunch at a graciously flat rocky platform in the shadow of Mount Doom and watched as clouds clung to it's summit before being whisked away and replaced once more. It really was a magnificent sight, a breath-taking way to catch ones breath, for sure.

But we weren't just here for the doomster – we'd been promised Emerald Lakes and so on we walked. As before the way was initially flat but soon, as is usually the way with mountain ranges it seems, the upward slopes weren't far away and this time it was more like climbing a mountain-sized sand dune than a never-ending step-machine. The path was dotted with sharp rocks and increasingly frequent calls for a quick break from me. This part, I will admit, I did not enjoy.

But this story does have a happy ending; climbing up to the geothermal peak above the lakes does give the weary walker the best way to view red volcanic rock clash with beige, steaming mountains. Lakes of deep green sit calm and beautiful below you and suddenly it becomes all worthwhile (you can see them just behind our sweaty faces, below). They say there's no gain without pain, well here that's certainly true; it's a lot of pain but boy is there a lot of gain too.

And then there is the long walk home...oh it's certainly better than the uphill struggle there, I'll give it that but it is pretty dull. We arrived back at Emilio almost 6 hours after leaving him with shaking legs, achy knees and some incredible photographs.

I'd probably only recommend this walk to someone who says they 'enjoy keeping fit' – but you have to go there to find out what you limits are, and if my limit is a mountain called 'Doom', then I'm fine with that.

Day 297-304: What's not to love?

Ahh Wellington, Wellington – where should I begin? Should priority be given to the beautiful architecture? Or the fantastic shopping that effortlessly mixes every-day necessities with high street brands, quirky designers and treasure troves of vintage clothing? What about the bars and little coffee shops that spill out onto the street at every possible opportunity, battling for pavement space with endless buskers, artists, hari krishnas, beat-boxers and magicians.

No, I'll begin with the first thing that really struck me about Wellington; it's diverse. Walk around town and you will pass people from every corner of the world; Chinese, Malay, European, Indian, Polynesian, African, Japanese, even a few Latinos – and they aren't tourists, they are people who call Wellington home. Now this may sound like a strange thing to notice first-off but, with the exception of Singapore, [Warning! wild generalisation approaching] everywhere we have been on this trip has been 95% local and 5% white-skinned tourist.
Get on a train in India and everyone you'll see will be Indian, apart from a few European tourists (us), go to a market in Indonesia and pretty much everyone you'll see will be Indonesian apart from a few (mostly Dutch) tourists (again, inclusive of us). I'm not saying this is a bad thing – but there was very little mixing in these societies, the local/tourist divide was as clear as the colour of our skin. But in Wellington, everything was all mixed up, and I loved it.
Maybe when you grow up in London, where ethnic diversity is a beautiful reality, you're naturally more inclined to notice it (or the lack of it) in other places you visit. That said, I don't think that it's a coincidence that Singapore and Wellington are the only places I'd really consider living more permanently in. It just feels more right here.

Maybe too because the “windy city” did not live up to this reputation at all – we enjoyed a week of glorious sunshine with often not so much as a cloud in the sky. Which was particularly good news for Emily [below], one of my oldest and best school-friends, who arrived from Sydney on the stroke of midnight with a rucksack that had been quarantined into a huge plastic bag and without her tent pegs which had been taken from her by a less than friendly customs officer under the absurdly stringent anti-contamination laws.

Not to worry though, actually the spot that Rob and I had found to camp up each night in was a glorified car park over-flow that climbed into the hill side at the tiny and incredibly scenic Scorching Bay [above] about 5km south of Wellington. So most of the ground was tarmac and not exactly peg-friendly anyway. After a few failed attempts in the dark (we would later become incredibly quick at this) we got the tent up, tied the guide ropes to Emilio and the railings and we were good to go. Like I said, it was really lucky that it didn't rain.

The morning brought the small matter of turning 25 for me and with it croissants and coffee on the beach for breakfast. A day spent perusing the shops was broken up only to eat a delicious lunch and in the evening we met up with a friend we had made in Thailand and she brought the kind of local knowledge that means $1 glasses of champagne for ladies on a Wednesday [thanks Yvonne.] Needless to say, I had an utterly awful time of it :)

Thereafter each day brought something new and exciting; well...at least one day was lost to the seemingly impossible task of obtaining an Australian working-holiday visa for Emily but even that ended in a feast of falafel...and eventually (days later) a visa too. We spent a day shopping, a day relaxing on the beach at Scorching Bay – which did live up to it's name - and even needed two days to wander slowly through the wonderful Te Papa museum [right], which features everything from geology to gay rights and has a fabulous exhibition on photographer Brian Blake on the top floor.

Emily and I also spent a day wine-tasting in the famous Wairarapa Valley region. Martinsborough is just an hour and a half away and it must surely hold the record for the most wineries per km2 – the place is packed with them! And tasting is the name of the game. We stopped in a few, all walking distance from the small high street, enjoying crisp Chardonnays, bold Pinot Noirs and some surprisingly moreish sweet desert wines. Our favourite spot, though, was the Vynfilds winery; a huge white manor-house type of a building surrounded by vineyards where you could taste a 'flight' of wines – 5 half or quarter glasses – with tasting notes and some great bread-and-dips to wash it down with.

Wellington has been one of our longer stays on the trip and it has definitely been one of my favourites; friends, sun, good food, great wine and even champagne on a Wednesday. What's not to love?

Day 287: One day in Hanmer Springs

If there is more than one thing to do Hanmer Springs, 365 does not know about it. I don't even want to know about it if I'm honest...because the one and only thing that we did do in 'the Han (yup, pretty sure no-one else is calling it that) was more than enough for one tiny town.

That thing, as the name would suggest, is Spring-based. But we're not talking some pathetic little trickle of a spring somewhere in the distance that was once of some historical importance blah blah blah oh no! We're talking full-on outdoor water-park type complex with a spa, flumes, pools for children, pool for adults, pools where the kind of people that bring goggles to an outdoor pool could swim lengths, naturally heated sulphur pools, natural water pools for those not so keen on the smell of eggs, pools that were really jacuzzis, pools surrounded by sculpted rocks and greenery...I could go on; and all inside lovely grounds with benches and deckchairs and no silly rules that stopped people like us bringing in breakfast (pictured) and lunch and setting up camp for the day.

Basically, we were in holiday-making heaven...and all for a mere 18NZD (not even a tenner)

So all we did in Hanmer Springs – and this is an itinerary that I would recommend to anyone – is go to Hanmer Springs Thermal Pools until they close at 9PM and then get chips from The Log Cabin over the road. No-one could accuse this day of being action-filled but my was it wonderful.

Day 283-284: “And I'm freeeee, free-falling”

The day spent bumming around the hostel in Fox Glacier had worked; now the sun was out and we were ready to see the glacier itself. Conveniently it's only 5km out of town and easily accessible by road so we drove along and did a few of the short walks that showcase the ever-retreating Fox Glacier itself from a few different angles.

For obvious safety reasons, you can't just go up to a glacier and have a look around and so marked paths keep everyone but the guided tour groups quite far away. It was still spectacular though – and to see the valleys and river beds that it had carved through solid rock in the glory days of the last ice age was pretty impressive too.

Onwards we drove to a bigger and (arguably) better glacier just up the road at Franz Josef; the town is certainly more lively and it holds the prestigious (?) title of the worlds 2^nd best site for sky diving. I never know if being certified 2^nd best at something is actually a compliment...in this case it's second place to sky diving at Mount Everest, and anything that's second to Earth's highest peak can't be too shoddy I guess. But I digress; Rob had been talking-up sky diving at Franz Josef for the best part of this trip and – at least for the first two minutes of our time in the sky dive shop – I was still convinced that because I'd sky dived in Australia before, I wouldn't need to this time.

It didn't last and here, after a mornings will-we-won't-we with the clouds and the wind speed we made it up in the tiny plane and jumped out at 16,000 feet...

Rob's video has been miraculously saved from the depths of the interweb, so here it is in all its extremely-nervous-but-trying-to-stay-cool glory:

Kat's fear and flapping cheeks are available for viewing here:

And it was absolutely amazing! The views in the plane going up were worth it alone – we could see see Mount Cook and Mount Tasman (2 highest peaks in NZ) poke out over the clouds, and the Franz Josef Glacier with it's network of cement-coloured rivers reaching to the sea. It was magnificent. It was breath-taking at 4,00 feet and then we just kept. on. rising, until it was eventually time to swing our legs over the edge of a flying aircraft and go for it.

Nothing can really describe the exact feeling of falling at terminal velocity – a cool 200km/hr – but I think the look on our faces before, during and after sort of capture it...

Luck has really been on our side throughout this trip; it seems that we always somehow manage to time stuff like this to perfection and as we watched our vidoes back and dark clouds rolled in we knew we'd had the best jump of the day and one of the best experiences of this whole crazy year.

And maybe – just maybe – for the faint of heart, this'll be the last time we insist on showing you footage of Team 365 falling from massive heights :)

281-282: Beautiful West Coast / Bastard sand flies

In 1990 the whole of the South West of New Zealand's South Island was recognised as a World Heritage Site, putting it in an elite with the likes of the Pyramids in Egypt and the Grand Canyon in the US. I'm not sure if it is the biggest World Heritage site (feel free to google and report back) but it has to be up there, surely. I mean – it's huge. We have already visited parts of it at Mount Cook and Milford Sounds but now we were joining the highway that winds all the way up to Nelson.

Out first port of call was the pretty little town of Haast; we started the day with a Whitebait Pattie for Rob (local speciality) and a visit to another very well done Visitor Centre. It seemed we had landed, all quite deliberately of course, at a great place for some walks on a day when the sun was shining – which is actually pretty rare in these parts.

So we followed the coast up, stopping at picturesque trails, bays, river mouths, forests and even a “swamp” where the high levels of Iron in the rocks had rusted and turned the water the colour of ale; we haven't fiddled with the settings on these photo...it really is that colour.

It was all going rather well until it came to settling down for the night and the lovely lake-side spot we'd found turned out to be swarming, and by swarming I mean literally infested, with sand flies. It was turning into a beautiful sunny evening but there we were with trousers tucked into socks, long sleeves, scarfs, constant re-application of repellent and we were still twitching and having to wave our arms around like crazy folk to try and defend ourselves. It was awful; I'm not sure if I got my moan on about them in the Milford Sounds post (just checked...I didn't) but if we thought they were bad then (and we did) this was something else.We set up a mosquito net over Emilio's door but it was soon coated in little black bodies, baying for our blood – and when they do bite, they do draw blood. Not the best night's sleep ever.

When we got up in the morning and let about 100 new hungry mosquitoes and twice as many sand flies into poor Emilio, it was time to leave. We were tired, bitten and it was raining with no sign of stopping. We drove to Fox Glacier and checked into a hostel where we enjoyed such luxuries as hot showers, a kettle (AKA constant source of tea for me), comfortable sofas, electricity and the real luxury of a sauna. It was R&R o'clock and as the continued to pour outside we knew it was the right decision.

Only a few pics for this one...and they are here

Day 274-277: Taking it Easy

Travelling north of Queenstown on the usual tourist trail – or highway 8 as the signposts would have you believe it's called – you could, and I believe many travellers would – make it to Wanaka within a day. This sort of time:distance ratio is not one that regular readers of this humble blog will know that we like to endorse. It's just too fast. And I don't mean fast in an Emilio-is-over-20-years-old-and-a-1.9 litre-engine-simply-wouldn't-be-capable-of-it kind of way, no...zipping from one big tourist attraction to the next just means you miss out on a lot of stuff.

Beautiful stuff. Interesting stuff. And in the case of Lake Hayes, the first of the three places that I will try shamelessly to promote to you here, free stuff. Ah free, the magic word...free both in the sense that we could wander where we liked and free in the sense that when we ignored the sign that said 'no camping' we were duly ignored by any enforcing body and left to camp, for free, for two nights by this beautiful lake.

We decided to stop by the lake because it had a 2-3 hour walk around it that had caught our eye in Queenstown – in fact the walk isn't all that, it does not offer any better views of the lake than you could get from the little shaded alcove you parked up in when you arrived and there is little-to-no shade on the path, making it a pretty sweaty affair. Luckily a thermocline makes the water a cool but not limb-loosingly freezing place to take a dip. Which is perfect after two and a half hours of intense perspiration.

It also makes for a pretty fun way to wash in the morning; a quick game of one-knee-two-knee with the soap to get used to the cold and it was like washing in our own massive and almost private (there were some confused looking ducks present) bath. Otherwise, apart from book-reading, clothe-washing and dinner-cooking not much else is to be achieved at Lake Hayes. It's glorious.

When we finally managed to drag ourselves away from the lake (incoming clouds helped – had it stayed sunny, I fear that we may never have left) we took the short 6km drive to Arrowtown. Once a hub of the 1860's goldrush, the town is now a tiny living homage to the glorious era gone by. All the shops on the small high street are in the traditional style and there is a homage to the Chinese settlers that were once so badly treated in the area.

Onwards to Cromwell, a larger town that also pays tribute to a time gone by. Unfortunately in Cromwell the “Historical Precinct” is tucked away on the banks of the river and though it has been lovingly restored, it could be - and maybe often is - easily missed.

We had hoped that there would be more to see and do in Cromwell but alas there was not and so we spend the night just outside of town by Lake Dunstan; we shall make it to Wanaka tomorrow I expect, 3 days after leaving Queenstown...yes, that's how we like to do things here.

Day 268-270: Southern Scenic Route; The Grand Finale

The final leg of the Southern Scenic Route was upon us. We were creeping up the western-most road in the south of the South Island and by the time a day-long downpour abated we were at Te Anau; a bustling town that serves as a stock-up-on-petrol-and-food point and gateway to the great Fiordland Mountains.

The Fiordland National Park rolls in undulating mountain ranges, lakes, rivers and glaciers for around 12,500km2 – most of which is inaccessible unless you are very brave, very stupid or Peter Jackson; many of Frodo's infamous adventures where filmed around these ends, you know. But we weren't delving into Middle Earth – we were staying pretty close to civilisation along the winding 120km-or-so road to Milford Sounds, and we were taking our sweet time about it.

All along the road are DOC campsites and lovely clearly-marked walking tracks. The walks seemed to fall into two main categories; under and hour strolls that anyone [grandparents/children/500 Japanese tourists with 499 digital SLRs and 1 16-inch video camera] could do or multi-day treks to far-off destinations for mentalists that actually like walking up hills carrying rucksacks. I am happy to report a full sense of fulfilment and some fantastic photos are the result of completing all of the former and none of the latter.

There is one exception to this rule though; a 3-hour walk up to Key Summit [left] At about 920m above sea level it's not by any means the most challenging walk we've done on this trip but it was rewarding all the same and, though it was a little cloudy, the views from the top were excellent. There was even a self-guided alpine tour around the summit highlighting some of the flora and fauna and explaining how the mountains were formed. God I love the DOC (department for conservation.)

We spent our nights camping by crystal-clear streams and our days walking over swingbridges and past waterfalls until we reached Milford itself. As one of only two Sounds that are accessible to the public (the other, aptly named, Doubtful Sounds is reachable only by boat, then bus, then boat via about 300NZD) it is a truly unique experience.

Lake Milford [below] lies calmly surrounded by a cascading waterfall, curling clouds and endless outlines of almighty mountains.

For me the journey itself was the best thing about getting to remote Milford Sounds, and almost 250km might sound like a long way to drive to look at some old lake; but it is the end of the Southern Scenic Route and it is quite the grand finale.