Auckland 26/1-27/1

I left the Soren Larsen with mixed feelings on Friday morning. It had been more of a "working holiday" than expected, but the experience wouldn't have been as memorable without the teamwork required to sail the ship. Another key factor was the phenomenal permanent crew - they really made the trip with their enthusiasm and infinite patience with us landlubbers.

The night sail definitely gave me a taste of what life onboard would be like during the Soren's ocean voyages, when she sails 24/7 for days at a time across the Pacific. You would have to be a terrific team player, happy to forego some creature comforts and be able to cope with the lack of privacy on board. I think that I would struggle with the final two requirements. I was definitely looking forward to getting back to things like gloriously hot showers which could be more than 1-2 mins long because of no limitations on water supply. And there was nowhere that you could go to have a totally private chat - everywhere on deck is either above someone's cabin or near an open hatchway. I guess if people ever get desperate there's always the rigging or the end of the bowsprit until the next tropical island destination...

After arranging to meet Jon and Christine for dinner, I did a little souvenir shopping and then took a public bus out to Mount Eden, a dormant volcano and the highest viewpoint in Auckland. I had passed Mount Eden in the airport bus on my first day, and was confident that I would be able to jump off the bus quite close to its base and somehow find my way up to the summit. However, my trip nearly ended before it began when the grumpy bus driver (the first grumpy person I had come across in NZ) refused to take my NZ$20 note, saying that she had insufficient change because everyone was giving her high denomination notes that day. I rushed into the nearest shop, and the sympathetic cashier said that he could only open the till if there was a sale. Unfortunately it was a clothes shop, and I couldn't see anything that I remotely wanted to buy. As I turned to leave, the cashier suddenly called out: "How much is the bus fare?" and when I told him that I didn't know, he handed me NZ$2 from his own pocket. He brushed aside my offers to repay him once I'd broken into my note and I left the shop overcome with gratitude. This kind of thing would *never* happen back at home!

My luck seemed to hold out. I pinged the bell as the bus neared the base of Mount Eden, and then after a few false starts (first ending up in a playground and then a dead end car park), I found a path that seemed to head up towards the summit. It was very humid and combined with the steepness of the path and my chronic lack of fitness, I was soon out of breath. This side of the volcano seemed to be primarily for road vehicles, as there were no marked footpaths, but eventually I found my way to the top and was rewarded with a fantastic cityscape that my camera was ill-equipped to handle. That evening, I had a goodbye dinner with Jon and Christine who were heading south through NZ for a further 5 weeks the next day whilst I was heading back to the UK. Needless to say I was wildly jealous, but was partly cheered up by the bottle of sav blanc that had survived its week in the hotel luggage room.

The next morning I checked out early and took a 15min ferry ride to Devonport, an island commuter suburb. It was so early that hardly any of the shops were open, but fortified by a breakfast of blueberry hotcakes at a local cafe, I summoned up the energy to go up yet another dormant volcano - Mount Victoria. The friendly lady at the tourist information office told me to walk to the far end of the high street, and then start climbing. The cityscape from the summit was even better than from Mount Eden, with multi-coloured rooftops below and a constant parade of boats in front of the CBD. Sadly I could only enjoy it for about 10 mins before making a rapid descent in order to catch the ferry back to Auckland.

And that's all folks! As you can tell, I thoroughly enjoyed my 2 weeks on the North Island, and am already planning to go back. Watch this space...

Peacocks & Penguins (4)

We had a couple of afternoon trips onto dry land, the first one after 3 days at sea. As the wind had died down, the engine was turned on and we motored to Kawau Island, a popular marine holiday resort about 50km north of Auckland. As we anchored in the bay, I noticed some jellyfish languidly drifting past and made a mental note not to go in the water. In groups of sixes and sevens, we donned lifejackets and climbed down a short rope ladder to the motorboat which had been taken down from the roof of the deckhouse.

On the waterfront stands the colonial-style Mansion House, built by a former Governor of New Zealand. It had a lovely garden from which I took some pictures of the ship, though there were so many other yachts anchored in the bay that it was hard to get a clear shot. Another visitor who was resting on a bench outside the house looked amused when I asked him whether it was okay to walk on the lawn: "You're in New Zealand now - you can always walk on the grass!" Peacocks strutted past us in the grounds, including two incredibly inquisitive ones that came right up to Jon, Christine and I, cocking their heads as if wondering whether it would be worth giving us a peck. Luckily they didn’t and I took some fabulous close-up photos without having to use the zoom.

One of the first things that we did was to make a beeline for the cafe and slurped down ice-creams (or in my case, a delicious choc-ice filled with biscuit bits and caramel). I was almost overcome seeing the cafe's flush toilet. After 3 days of the marine loo ritual of turning the stopcock on, pumping waste out, pumping sea water in, pumping sea water out and then turning off the stopcock, it seemed absurdly quick and easy to be able to flush with a single handle push.

It was lovely being able to stretch our legs and we followed a couple of short trails, bumping into fellow VCs Lloyd and Marilyn on the way. On the way back, Brian the engineer obligingly brought the dinghy to a halt near the Soren so that we could snap pictures of her - unfortunately all her sails were furled, so the pictures weren't as impressive as they could have been. Dinner that evening was on deck (lamb tagine and a gorgeously zingy lemon sponge pudding) and afterwards we admired the spectacular sunset, all hot pinks and dusky violets.

On our last full sailing day, there was still no wind, so we motored back towards Auckland via Tiritiri Matangi Island. This is a bird reserve where all natural predators have been eradicated, and all the trees are so low that you are practically at eye level with the birds. We only had an hour to explore so some people chose to walk into the woodland to try to see birds, but others took the short walk along the beach track. I opted for the latter. There was too much foot traffic on the beach path to hope that we would see any birds, though halfway along, there were 3 little blue penguin nesting boxes. These looked like huge rocks topped with a wooden lid, complete with handle. On lifting up the lid, you could peer down into the "nest" through the glass - inside each one was a huge, fat, fluffy bird, so huge in fact that I wondered how on earth they got in there in the first place.

Sailing By Moonlight (3)

It was 4.30am and virtually pitch-black on deck. I went below with Kylie and checked the water levels in the “heads” (toilets) for the 3rd time that night and then stuck my head out of one of the hatches to check for cloud cover so that we could note it down in the log. The novelty of doing hourly rounds in the dark to check on the ship had paled, and all I could think about was that breakfast (and the end of our watch) was still more than 3 hours away.

At breakfast the day before, Captain Nick had unscrolled a map of the Hauraki Gulf ready for any suggestions about the day’s sailing. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to the huge expanse of water over to the east with the exciting words “Submarine Exercise Area” sprawled over it. Somehow I didn't think that we would be going anywhere near there. His recommendation was that as the winds were good, we should try to sail continuously for the next 24hrs, which would give us the experience of a night sail. We were divided into 2 groups – the port watch and the starboard watch. Christine and Jon were members of port watch and definitely had a harder time of it that day as it was all hands on deck in the morning, then the watch system kicked in at 1pm. So whilst the starboard watch lazed around that afternoon, they continued to be on duty until 7pm.

Around 8pm I took a turn on bow watch and enjoyed the solitude for a while, as everyone else was on the poop deck. With only one tiny fishing boat on the horizon to keep an eye on, I idly began wondering what would happen if I fell overboard. Would anyone hear the splash, or be able to spot what would be left of me after being run over by 300 tonnes of ship? "Just scream as you go overboard" advised Darren when he passed by during one of his rounds. Clutching the ropes a little bit tighter, I concentrated on looking for dolphins in the growing dusk. At least once a day, a pod would appear and decide to race against the ship. Whenever the magical call of “Dolphins!” went up, the VCs (okay, me) had a tendency to immediately abandon their posts and rush to the railings. On our first day aboard, we were delighted when a pod flanked the ship for several minutes. One dolphin idled right under me for a few moments, arching its glistening grey back out of the sea before darting off.

Although no dolphins appeared during my bow watch, later that night we were lucky enough to see the phenomenon of “phosphorescent dolphins” that one of the permanent crew members had mentioned earlier. She explained that their movement activates phosphorescent plankton in the sea water, making the dolphins visible in the dark. I was at the helm at about 10.30pm when the call of “Dolphins!” went up – though it was more of a frenzied whisper as the port watch were resting below deck. Leaning over the side, I saw the shape of a solitary dolphin swimming below me, glowing ghost-silver in the darkness as if there was a hidden spotlight shining on him. For a few amazing seconds, I was mesmerised by the sight, then someone queried sharply: “Who’s on the wheel?”. “Oops!” I said and quickly rushed back to correct our course.

That night the skies were clear so there was an opportunity for some wonderful stargazing. For the first time, I saw the perfect kite shape of the Southern Cross with its four stars. Captain Nick showed me how to locate it from the 2 pointer stars which formed the “kite string”. Higher up was the false Southern Cross (a slightly more squashed kite) and an upside down (to northern hemisphere eyes) Orion. But most exciting of all, just above the horizon I was thrilled to see the long dusty tail of McNaughton’s Comet, which was clearly visible to the naked eye. During a lull in the last hour of our shift, I lay on the poop deck and looked up at the high velocity splatter of stars that was the Milky Way. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no light pollution to interfere with the glittering display since we were so far from any settlements. The many lighthouses were just pinpricks of slowly pulsating light on the horizon - I counted a total of 8 on the port side alone.

For the first time, I appreciated how bright the moon really is. It was the strongest light source that we had, as there were no electric lights on deck, and torches weren’t allowed. “Interferes with your night vision” we were told. When port watch came to relieve us at 12am and we went down the “companionway” (stairs) to our berths, I was nearly blinded by the saloon lights after those few hours of working by moonlight. All too soon, we groggily rolled out from our berths for the 4am to 8am watch. This was much less fun, as the skies had clouded over so there was no more stargazing and no beautiful ocean sunrise. Neither were there any dolphins, though I was pleased to hear that there had been some during the starboard watch, so Christine and Jon had been able to see them too.

Life on Board A Tall Ship (2)

After a couple of days, the ropes and their terminology became more familiar. Halyards are the ropes that pull the sails up the mast. Yards are the horizontal beams that the sails hang from, and the ropes to manoeuvre these are the braces. Sheets (which I always thought referred to sails) are the ropes attached to sails. It was a proud moment for me when I could triumphantly point to and name each of the 12 sails.

With my minimal upper body strength, I was often put on rope coiling duty. With each clockwise loop, you twist the rope slightly to iron out the kinks. The hardest part was mastering the final little loop to fasten the coiled rope over the wooden pin. Many was the time that I didn’t get it quite right and the rope would fall on the deck and have to be coiled all over again. Grrrr!!! It felt like the nautical equivalent of learning to tie your shoelaces. On the other hand, I did avoid getting severe blisters. After some vigorous rope hauling, Christine sported the beginnings of some real beauties. It reminded us of our uni rowing days, when the only way to get rid of them was to keep on rowing until they burst, and then they would heal over. “They’ll be alright after 5 days” said one permanent crew member consolingly, forgetting that we were only onboard for 4 days.

When the sun was out, it was wonderful lying on the sun-warmed wood of the poop deck (the raised deck section at the stern) and looking up at the billowing squaresails. However, all that lovely wood and brass comes at a price – daily maintenance. We washed the decks down with salt water to ensure that the wood remained swollen enough to prevent gaps between the boards. Once I accidentally used the “dry” broom for this task – much to the horror of James the first mate. The brass had to be polished – Christine, Jon and I would grab cans of Brasso and head towards the wheel and compass, as they were lovely big shiny areas of brass, unlike all the tiny fiddly bars across the hatch windows.

The braver (and more agile) of the VCs went up into the rigging to learn how to unfurl and also tie up the sails – that was a complete no-no for me with my lack of co-ordination. I did however make it up to (but not onto) the fighting platform, the first level above the deck. At each step, I remembered the advice to push myself up with my legs, instead of pulling with my arms. This was sometimes easier said than done, especially when some of the distances between the “rungs” were just a leetle too far apart for comfort. The last stage involved climbing up and over the edge of the platform from underneath. To do this, you have to lean back and straighten your arms so that you have enough leg room to get up the final 45 degree angle steps. At this point, you’re clipped onto a rope (no-one uses the safety harness on the way up, as it would mean clipping on and off at every step). However, my natural instinct was to cling to the rungs – try as I might, I just could not make myself relax enough to lean back. If my arms or legs had been longer, I’d’ve been able to reach the steel cable above and haul myself up. Despite not making it over the platform edge, I was glowing from the adrenaline rush for hours afterwards. As someone who never made it to the top of the fixed gym climbing frames at school, it was a great personal achievement.

All that sea air and activity makes for a healthy appetite, and I have to say that I’ve never been so well fed before on holiday. We had 5 meals a day – breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea breaks - and never ate the same meal twice. All the bread for the breakfast toast was baked on board daily, and there were always freshly baked biscuits or cakes to accompany the mid-afternoon tea. I still don’t know how the girls managed to pull off all those delicious meals cooked from scratch for 30 people in a kitchen that was no bigger than my one at home.

Learning the Ropes on the Soren Larsen (1) - 22/1-26/1

I first saw a picture of the tall ship Soren Larsen in a holiday brochure five years ago and was immediately smitten. All billowing sails and gleaming timber, she looked like an illustration from a history book. During summer, she takes passengers on week long jaunts up the coast from Auckland to the Bay of Islands. I had signed on for a shorter 4 day voyage around the Hauraki Gulf, imagining leisurely cruises between little visited islands, lots of sunbathing on the deck and learning a bit more about sailing. Little did I know that within forty eight hours of setting sail, I would have done neither of the first two, and a great deal of the third.

There were 16 “Voyage Crew” on this trip, slightly more than the number of permanent crew. We were a mixture of nationalities (Aussies, Kiwis, Brits and Canadians) as well as ages. Almost all of the VCs were travelling with family or in couples, so I ended up in a cabin with the other single travellers – Kylie (formerly known as Jackie) and Trine, a mad Norwegian. There were 2 bunk beds in the tiny cabin, with a small wardrobe wedged in between. Unfortunately for me, Kylie and Trine had already bagged the bottom bunks, so over the next few days I frequently bashed my head against either the huge wooden beam or the metal grille-covered ceiling light above the top bunk. Owww.

We left Auckland late morning under engine power. The sails remain furled whilst in the harbour, as it can be dangerous if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction. This didn’t seem to put off the crowd of fascinated kids clustered by the railings. “Bye bye pirates!” they shrieked as we went past. It was then time to be inducted into the mysteries of the countless ropes. Diagrams of the various rope positions and their names had been included in the induction booklet sent out to us. I had given them a cursory glance, thinking that surely we didn’t need to know them in any detail.

However, within minutes of leaving the harbour, shouts like “Haul the peak halyard!” were being yelled in our direction. The VCs hovered uncertainly by the railings. These were studded with wooden pins, around which were coiled ropes of various thicknesses. Sadly there were no labels or colour coding to help decipher what they were. Only Trine and Kylie, who had both done some tall ship sailing before, seemed to understand the various commands. The permanent crew zipped around thrusting ropes into our hands with brief instructions, which we obeyed meekly without really understanding what we were doing. Those first few hours were horribly disorientating, like being stranded in a foreign country with totally alien customs and language. As I hauled away at yet another rope, I wondered what the bleep I’d let myself in for.

Magic was happening above us though as the sails filled with wind and finally the engine was turned off. Gliding along at 6 knots, the Soren Larsen was slower but more stately than the 11 knots of the America’s Cup yacht from the previous week. It was mind-boggling to think that over 200 years ago, Captain Cook was mapping the New Zealand coast in Endeavour, which was roughly the same size as the Soren Larsen, but with 3 times as many people on board.

Wine on Waiheke – 21/1/07

Christine had been super-organised and booked the 3 of us on a winery tour around Waiheke Island, 35mins away by ferry. We visited 3 vineyards in all – Kennedy Point, Obsidian and Mudbrick - only a fraction of the island’s 26 wineries. This was the first time that I’d done any proper wine tasting and I got tiddly quite quickly, as I felt bad about pouring wine away in front of the owners.

In between tastings and trying to sober up by eating as much complimentary cheese and crackers as possible, I made two baby steps forward in my knowledge of wines. I now know that I don't like any red wine that contains shiraz (or syrah as they called it), but I did like Kennedy Point's lovely sauvignon blanc made from Marlborough grapes, one of NZ's most famous wine-growing regions on the South Island. I ended up buying a bottle.

At Obsidian, virtually all of the red wines for sampling had some syrah blended in, so I whiled away the time attempting to take a picture of Manny, the resident bird dog. Christine helped out by feeding him some cheese so that he actually stood still for more than 2 seconds at a time.

When we arrived back at the ferry terminal, we walked over to the neighbouring wharf to see if the Soren Larsen had returned from her previous journey. She looked much smaller than expected, and we started wondering if there really would be enough room for us all to sleep on it, including the crew.

The evening was pretty quiet – I spent a few hours in the internet café writing up my account of the Cape Reinga day trip, and then repacked all my bags so that I could leave most of my luggage at the hotel. In the end I gave up on minimal packing and took my main bag with me, leaving behind the rucksack. This was 90% filled by just 2 items - my bulky winter fleece, wrapped carefully around my bottle of sav blanc.

A Waka at Waitangi - 20/1/07

On the way up to Paihia, bus driver Lauren had waxed lyrical about Te Waka, a trip run by 2 ex-Kiwi Experience bus drivers. Inspired by her enthusiasm (and also the relatively cheap price), I signed up for it. It included journeying across the Bay to the Waitangi Treaty House grounds by outrigger canoe. This is built with a stabilising "arm" attached to one side, and was used by Maori women to go fishing in. However, I quickly discovered that this didn't mean that women have a natural aptitude for using one.

"Go left, left I said! Are you drunk??" our guide Rob shouted as our canoe swerved to the right and bumped against the pier for what seemed like the millionth time. I could sense (but not see) his head in his hands. Amused onlookers leaned over the railings above, watching fellow canoeist Shona and I struggling to manoeuvre our way under the pier, impeded both by the tide and also hysterical giggling. "Women drivers!" Shona yelled at our audience as she finally managed to steer us through and we laboriously paddled our way towards the other side of Te Ti Bay. From his kayak, Rob coached us on technique - 15 strokes on each side, with an extra stroke to give ourselves time to change over, signalled by a noise that sounded like "Hup!" (used as it takes very little energy to keep on repeating it, as opposed to: "Please can we switch sides now?")

We finally drew up at the little beach on the edge of the Waitangi Treaty House grounds, much to the bemusement of other visitors who had arrived by car or on foot. In 1840, Maori chiefs and the British signed the Treaty, the founding document of modern New Zealand. However, the Treaty document itself is now in Wellington. What we had actually come to visit was the world's largest Maori war canoe (waka), which was just a few yards from the beach in a specially built shelter. It's an amazing sight - over 35m long, and weighing 12 tonnes - that's even before it's filled to its 135 man capacity! The waka is wide enough to seat 3 warriors (2 paddlers with one person as ballast in the middle). Well, I say seat - the many wooden beams dividing up the canoe were no more than a palm's breadth in width. Rob explained that when the Maoris went off to war, they would paddle standing up, and took no provisions with them as it was thought to be a sign of weakness. Instead they would forage for food along the way. Shona and I looked at each other, both thinking: "God, what a hard life!"

On the prow of the waka is a representation of the grandson of Kupe, the first Maori according to legend to land in New Zealand from Polynesia. Rob lined us up to perform a traditional Maori greeting (hongi) with the figurehead. In turn, Shona and I approached the face of Nukutawhiti, bent down and pressed our noses respectfully against his warm wooden one ("Pause for a moment and clear your thoughts" Rob instructed). We then greeted each other in the modern fashion, which includes simultaneous nose-pressing and a handshake. I was a bit nervous about this part - bumping noses with strangers whilst completely sober was a new experience for me. It was actually quite nice, a very warm and genuine welcome.

The waka only sees action once a year now on Waitangi Day (6th February), when it goes out onto the water flanked by waka from other parts of the country. Apparently any Maori can row in the great waka, after having had some training to learn the many different signals and calls needed to safely steer such a large vessel. Rob himself rowed in the waka a few years ago, along with his brother. I've seen some postcards of the fully-crewed waka - I'd definitely be intimidated if I saw that coming towards me, especially with its pointy ended oars, ready to attack anyone approaching the waka. The oars can be seen tucked up in the rafters of the waka shelter - in that setting, they look slight and delicate.

After a snack at the cafe, we made our way back to Paihia across Te Ti Bay, now looking (and feeling) more like pros. Normally the trip would include paddling to another one or two nearby destinations and some raw shellfish eating, but due to the pier incident and our lack of technique, we had sadly run out of time. Anyway, after the tuatua the day before, I wasn't too unhappy about missing out on more beach cuisine :) By now the sun had come out in full force, and close-up the water was a lovely warm pesto green. Rob had taken charge of our cameras earlier and now circled us to take pictures. He even made a short video clip on my camera as he had the same one himself. Viewing it afterwards, I could see that Shona and I were definitely not in sync whilst paddling, which accounted for our slow progress! Rob tried to instigate a sing-song on the way back, but the only songs that I could think of on the spot were school hymns (funny how they stay with you for years afterwards) and Shona sang about a little bird getting swallowed by (but later escaping from) a crocodile, a favourite song amongst the kids at the nursery where she works. Not very war-like!

This time we negotiated the pier with no difficulty and leapt from the canoe burbling our thanks to Rob. It had been a lovely cultural experience and I was particularly pleased (and relieved!) that we hadn't fallen into the water, even though we had lifejackets. All the wading to and fro from the canoe left me with white tie-dye-like watermarks on my dark trousers, which I sported for the rest of the day. Just after 4pm, we piled into the Kiwi Experience bus to Auckland, and waved to Lauren's mum as we went past her house ("She waves to me every day" said Lauren fondly). Had a lovely surprise later that evening as I was checking my e-mail in the stiflingly hot but cheap internet cafe - Christine texted me to say that she and Jon were in the bar at my hotel. Of course it's great to meet new people, but nothing beats seeing familiar faces when you're far from home.

Cape Reinga - 19/1/07

Cape Reinga (Ree-ANG-er), the most northwesterly tip of the North Island, is a long but rewarding day trip from Paihia. As well as being the meeting place of the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean, Maoris believe that their souls leave the mainland via the Cape on their way to the afterlife. Out of respect for the Maoris, visitors are requested not to eat, drink or sleep at the Cape - so we were stuffing our faces as much as we could as the Awesome Adventures bus passed through mist-filled valleys and fields full of tiny lambs.

By the Cape lighthouse, members of a Maori tribe were standing quietly in a circle, all facing inwards. We hovered nearby anxiously, wondering if we were intruding on a funeral ceremony. In fact, they were there to provide a short performance for the tourists including some singing and a demonstration of one of their tribal haka, complete with weapons. It was amazing to watch, especially set against the stunning ocean backdrop. All around me, cameras were lowered as people were so mesmerised that they almost forgot to take any photos.

The afternoon was much more active, beginning with sandboarding down the nearby giant Te Paki sand dunes which are about 85m high. To my untrained eye, the sandboards looked like surfboards, with a smooth underside, and a slightly textured topside on which you lie face down. Our guide explained that the idea was to lie down on the board, shoot down the dune, across the quicksand stream at its base and end up in the grassy area beyond that. Navigation and braking are controlled by your feet - tapping against the sand to steer and dragging against the ground to slow down. Everyone started to look slightly concerned as he reminded us that due the remoteness of the area, in the event of any serious injuries, any emergency services were at least a 2hr drive away. "Oh, and if you fall off your board, don't let go of it 'cos if you get your arm stuck in the sand, you'll dislocate your shoulder" he finished. At this point, the girl next to me put down her board and said: "Well, there's no way I'm going up now!"

We went up the dune in single file. I struggled from the start with my sandboard which was nearly as big as me, and too wide to tuck under my arm. What with the slippery sand and the wind that threatened to rip the board from my hands, I was an extremely unhappy Jo. The climb was definitely the worst part - though when I lay down on the board and looked down the steep gradient of the slope, expletives starting exploding in my head, but it was too late to change my mind.

"And GO!" said our guide, removing his leg which had been supporting my board from underneath. Clutching onto the end of the board for dear life and keeping my elbows firmly tucked in, all I was aware of was the hissing of the sand below me and the tiny dots of my fellow travellers coming into focus as I hurtled wide-eyed down the slope. However, I wasn't going at top speed, as I dragged my feet in the sand from quite early on and so slowed to a halt 3/4 of the way down the slope. Although exhilarated by my first sandboarding experience (as well as surviving it!), I couldn't face the tortuous climb back up the slope for another go. Instead I contented myself with trying to remove as much sand as possible from my face and clothes - it gets absolutely everywhere. Hours later I was still turning sand out of my pockets and kept experiencing the occasional "crunch" of grains in my mouth. Lovely.

My other favourite highlight of the afternoon was going tuatua (TOR-tor) digging on the beautiful Ninety Mile Beach, the 2nd longest in NZ. These cockle-like shellfish can be found buried in the sand at the low tide mark. Our guide instructed us to start digging into the soft wet sand with our feet, and once we hit something solid, that would be the tuatua. We obediently began prodding the sand with our toes - and immediately struck what seemed like hundreds of tuatua shells, which were then rinsed off in a bucket of water.

Suddenly one of the girls dropped her handful of tuatua and began dancing around: "ARRGH! Something came out of the shell!" she squealed. I didn't have a clue what she was talking about until I noticed a "tongue" of flesh slide cautiously out from the shell of one of my recently unearthed tuatua, and then zip back in again. I screamed too, but then watched in surprise as it started to burrow back down into the safety of the sand. We collected 3 huge buckets which our guide said would be used at the funeral of a revered Maori which would be taking place shortly.

However, not all of them were destined to end up at the feast. We gathered round as our guide smashed open some of the tuatua shells against the bus bumper and offered them round for a taste. We stood there with a tuatua each, not wanting to be the first to try them. A group of American girls looked particularly revolted: "Is that its sh*t?" one of them exclaimed, peering at a darkish bit of its insides. I finally plucked up courage to take a bite, and hoped that it wouldn't make any kind of movement as I brought it up to my face, or wriggle on the way down. To be honest, it didn't taste of much to me in its raw state, though it had a nice meaty texture. Some of the others said that it tasted like oysters.

Once back in Paihia, a group of us had a frankly bizarre supper on the beach made up of everyone's leftover food and snacks - biscuits, melon, plums and beer. The others were from wildly different backgrounds and nationalities - a German winemaker, a Dutch psychologist, a Japanese accountant and an Israeli girl who had just completed her compulsory military service. I don't think I'll ever get over the variety of people that you meet when you're travelling.

Paihia, Bay of Islands - 18/1/07

Paihia (pronounced Pie-HEAR) is 4 hrs north of Auckland in the "Winterless North". I arrived on Wednesday by backpacker bus (Kiwi Experience) - a first for me, and to be honest I didn't know what to expect. I thought it was just a Greyhound bus-like network that included specific stops to cater for backpackers. Instead, it's pretty much a full travel service - you can flip through huge binders of excursions and book these through the driver, who will fax through the requests en route so that by the time the bus arrives at the destination, the tickets are all printed out at the travel agency ready to be collected/paid for. The same goes for any accommodation too, as affiliated youth hostels reserve a set number of beds for each backpacker bus service. It's all pretty impressive. I liked the carpet on the bus floor too (I'm sure this isn't standard back home?? Lovely for my feet! :)

Our driver was a bubbly Kiwi called Lauren, who regaled us with tidbits as we drove along. I'll bore you with my 2 favourite stories. The first is about the Auckland Harbour Bridge - it was originally only a 4 lane bridge, but was later increased by another 4 lanes, thanks to the skills of some Japanese engineers - therefore these extra lanes are now known as the Nippon Clip-Ons. Also, the translation of the original Maori name for Russell (a town in the Bay of Islands) was Big Fat Blue Penguin (not sure if there are still any around - they used to be the main ingredient in a Maori broth). I have also picked up (but not yet used) the following Kiwi phrase from her: "Sweet As" (no worries/great).

The Pipi Patch hostel is about 50m from the beach, where there's a lovely panoramic view of Russell (aka the Blue Penguin town) on the opposite shore to Paihia, and a couple of the 144 islands that make up the Bay of Islands marine park. The islands form a barrier so the bay is sheltered and an ideal place for watersports, yachting, fishing and dolphin spotting! There's even a boat trip during which you can swim with the dolphins if conditions are right. At the moment, people aren't able to actually get into the water with them, but only observe as there are baby dolphins in the pods that approach the boats.

In the old days, there was a boat service visiting the inhabited islands delivering groceries, milk and newspapers. These days the roads have made this service virtually redundant, but the service is now a daily excursion called the "Cream Trip" (sounds much better than the Milk Round) run by Fullers, and groceries and newspapers are still delivered during the trip to a couple of remote houses. I booked myself onto yesterday's Cream Trip, and as the boat wasn't due to leave until 10am, I decided to have brekkie at one of the waterfront cafes. Whilst I was waiting at one of the outside tables for my blueberry "hotcakes" and bacon to arrive, the family on the table next to mine finished their brekkie and left. Within seconds, seagulls swooped in from all directions and there was just a mass of fighting feathers, bacon rind and leftover scrambled eggs going everywhere. As the couple on the next table and I watched in horror, the waitress came out with my brekkie and saw the carnage. "B*gger off, you mongrels!" she yelled, and then turned to us to say: "They're scavengers, the number of breakfasts they've had!" Even though I tried to be vigilant eating my brekkie (hunched over the plate), one particularly intrepid seagull tried to swoop in, ricocheted off the window that I was sitting next to, and zoomed away in defeat, barely missing my head. When did meals get so difficult??

Once on the boat, we visited points of interest on various islands, such as the site of the first Christian sermon ever preached in New Zealand and the beach where Captain Cook (who named the Bay of Islands) landed. One of the highlights for me though was the simple delivery of a newspaper to a particular house on the tip of an island. The home owner had rigged up an ingenious "letterbox", which consisted of a bucket suspended at the end of a pulley system which extended several metres into the sea. We all waited expectantly as the boat drew alongside the bucket and a crew member popped in the plastic wrapped newspaper. Sadly, there was to be no demonstration of the pulley system: "He must have gone fishing" said the captain.

At lunchtime, we stopped at one of the larger islands and had a free trip in the Nautilus, a vessel with glass walls below sea level for marine life viewing. We trooped downstairs and sat down on narrow benches as the Nautilus went out into deeper water. Then a bucket of feed was trailed first on one side of the boat, and then on the other so that everyone could take photos. These trips have been going for 20 years so the fish are happy to come right up to the boat. And why wouldn't they - those fish must be the luckiest in the Bay - they get fed several times a day for doing nothing but showing up! Large shoals of silvery fish appeared, including some HUGE snappers that I wouldn't even be able to hold in my arms without falling over ("Look, there's Martha!" said a crew member as one of the snappers went by).

The weather up here has been warm and humid for the first couple of days, and tantalisingly overcast until late afternoon when the sun appears in force. The sun did peep out occasionally during the trip though, and then the water turned from dull green/grey to inky midnight blue and teal. Just gorgeous.

Despite Paihia being the hub of all activities for the marine park, it still has a very laid back, uncrowded feel. Our driver Lauren had urged us to get to the beach early if the sun was out "otherwise it'll be packed!" But even when the sun has been out (sadly, only from late afternoon on the last couple of days), there has still been masses of space between each group of sun worshippers. Maybe this is what passes for crowded in NZ? It's nothing like the pictures of Brighton on the first sunny day of the year. It's just one of the things that makes it so great travelling here. Another practical note is the number of public loos - they're everywhere and FREE. No need to fish out small change, or hunt desperately for the nearest McDs like I normally have to do in Europe.

Auckland - 16/1/07

Day 2 in New Zealand, and so far things have been going pretty smoothly. I spent most of yesterday afternoon after checking into the hotel doing a walkabout of Auckland City Centre and the Viaduct Harbour. It was a glorious day - about 22 degrees with tons of sunshine. It's really strange (but comforting) that cars here also drive on the left hand side - and at the really big junctions, the neon green man is replaced by a countdown of how many seconds you have left to cross the road, accompanied by noisy buzzer sounds to chivvy you along. When I got tired of walking, I hopped onto the free City Circuit bus which does a one way loop of the main city streets and the university campus. I also discovered that it has a stop right outside my hotel, which was handy - but to be honest, I've been walking everywhere as so I probably won't be using it again.

My hotel is on Queen Street (the main road running through the CBD), so I don't have to walk far to get to most places. I'm about 20 floors up, so have a fantastic view of the skyscrapers and to the left I can see bits of the Viaduct Harbour. There's a little kitchenette in my room, but I haven't made much use of it yet, as there are tons of places to eat, e.g. loads of Asian food courts, which is where I got my dinner last night. Prices here are (to me) jaw droppingly cheap - I had a massive takeaway tray of noodles with seafood for NZ$7, which I worked out to be c. £2.60, which I scoffed watching the Kiwi equivalent of You Are What You Eat on TV. There sure are a lot of UK TV imports - Blackadder III, Coronation Street and Bob the Builder are just some examples of what I came across when channel surfing. Richard Branson keeps on popping up too, as he is in New Zealand at the moment celebrating the birthday of one of his budget airline ventures and has said that he might be interested in becoming a major shareholder in Air New Zealand which has announced lots of job cuts.

I had a low key day planned in expectation of jet lag, starting off with a visit to the East Day Spa, which is part of the huge Sky City complex (casino, hotel, shops and a convention centre). That was just sheer bliss...I could have happily stayed there for the rest of the day. I decided to have lunch down at the Viaduct Harbour at one of the waterside pubs, but opted for just a sarnie as I was due to go on a sailing cruise in the afternoon and didn't want to upchuck on anyone. However, the lamb ciabatta that I ordered was HUGE - it was more like a main course of lamb and salad, with the ciabatta slices buried somewhere beneath them. A little sparrow perched on the restaurant rope cordon, within arm's reach, and watched me eat. When I relented and chucked it a piece of bread, I suddenly got dive-bombed by 2 seagulls and other sparrows, which made me jump! Flushed with success, the little sparrow came back after a while, but now much wiser, I ignored him and eventually he gave up on me.

There are various harbour cruises, but I went with Sail NZ, which has 2 ex-America's Cup sailing yachts. Unfortunately the weather had taken a turn for the worse, so whilst it was still warm, it was overcast. It was about 78 feet long, but we were all huddled up in the stern half, as that's where the (minimal) seating (and railings!) were. It definitely wasn't built for any pleasure cruising. It was mind-boggling listening to the crew talk about the sums of money involved in sail racing at the top level - the 4 year old racing yacht that we were on was estimated to cost about NZ$1m. Then you have the costs of mooring, maintenance etc - I was gobsmacked to hear that just the mainsail of a racing yacht costs about US$130,000, and its useful life is only TEN HOURS!! I wonder what happens to the hundreds of square metres of discarded sails...