Northbound like the M1. Unless you're going south.

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Kia Ora!

Right let's get you horrible lot up to speed shall we?

So, when I left you last I was feeling all poetic and inspired, I can imagine how that may have frightened some of you, so you can take comfort in the fact I've been all grumpy and miserable again this week, much more like myself.

So I left Wellington at stupid o clock in the morning (which covers anytime before 11am) and took a big long coach ride to Napier. I very nearly missed the bus but luckily there was a nice long queue to board which kept it there a while longer.
After handing my luggage to the (even grumpier than me) driver I grabbed a seat and began several hours of looking out the window at stuff and places I hadn't seen before. Very exciting.
Eventually we arrived at the coastline of Napier and looked across the water at the fantastically named Cape Kidnappers, which I'm sure will one day be a movie, just as soon as Disney find out about its existence.
After checking into the hostel I went for a bit of a stroll and found Napier to be quite a pleasant town. I particularly liked the part where I walked for 45mins only to discover when stopping for a well deserved beer, that the place I had been walking to see I had passed after about 5 mins. A quick glance at the map and I saw that the good folk of Aotearoa were so honoured to have me visit their country they named a street after me, so that was nice.

The next day I awoke full of enthusiasm for what lay ahead - my main reason for being here. Yes today was finally the day I went to the New Zealand National Aquarium. How very exciting for all concerned. I killed some time with a coffee and a nice bit of cake while I waited for the crazy man to enter the tank and feed the sharks, only to find it wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as it sounded. I reckon I could have done it and I can't even dive.
A short while later I excited the premises, only to realise when I looked through my photos this afternoon that I never saw the piranhas and feeling sadness that the National Aquarium of New Zealand - the submerged equivalent of the All Blacks if you will - wasn't a patch on the casual couple of fishtanks they'd chucked into the middle of Sydney. The Kiwi Vs Kangaroo battle continues...

But we beat them both at cricket so there.

As I meandered around the small town trying desparately to find something to do, I happened upon a Wine Museum. Fan-bloody-tastic. What perfect way to end a fishy day. What was even better was that at 5pm that day there was a free tasting and cheeseboard. This was even better news as I was becoming quite partial to the way of the board de la fromage as the French would never say. My principle problem here lay in the fact that it was nowhere near 5pm. There was only one thing for it. I was going to have to walk up the cliff.

If you have spent a lot of time walking around New Zealand - which I have - (incidentally that was an impression of Dougray Scott from the movie MI2) you will know that in order to get anywhere, you have to go uphill (I'm looking forward to the day I get to go back down the otherside but it hasn't happened yet) and this small COASTAL town was no exception, so off I set up the 75degree slope to reach the top of what was only about 50metres but took most of the afternoon to walk. Imagine my joy when I got to the top to find the sky covered in grey cloud and a wind blowing that rip a shed apart. Hastily I scarpered around the edge trying to find something...anything to take a worthwhile picture of, before finally setlling on the logs on the dock, because I could write a "funny" caption.

Upon safely reaching the town again I stopped to check my emails to allow some of the sweat to dry up before entering the wine place and then headed in, slightly nervous about what was to come. You see, I don't really expect free stuff so when I go somewhere that advertises free things I can't help but feel like some sort of scavenger looking for free food (which is an even bigger feeling when you are quite obviously a traveller and booze is on offer) and to then enter the establishment and being greeted by soft lighting, shiny wooden floors and men in suits you know straight away your tatty Skechers and tattoos are in no way welcome.

Luckily for me I'm an attractive fellow and there were 2 women working so I simply made sure my dolcit English tones were heard and we were off - wine was dutifully poured, cheese was encouraged to be eaten and I suddenly found myself pretending I knew exactly what I was talking about and getting involved in possibly the greatest tasting ever to be conceived. I admit I paid money, but it was so worth it.

I was sat in a cinema with 5 glasses of wine in front of me and a piece of paper for taking notes, then a DVD was played with some beautiful aerial shots Michael Bay would have been proud of (had he been able to blow things up in them) before taking me on a whistlestop tour round 5 wineries. The general idea is that you taste the wine WITH the winemakers themselves who are happily chatting about their grog on the screen in front of you. Unfortunately, I hadn't eaten for several hours and was quite tipsy by the end resulting in such descriptive wine tasting notes as "got better the more I drank but your maker is obviously gay".

The next day I headed back to Taupo (another obscene departure time I'd like to point out) because I was meeting some friends from before Christmas. It was here that many of the recent photos of me on Facebook were taken and would probably explain why I had such a big bruise on my toe as I've never jumped in the air so much in my life.

Once again, as I had done back in December, I took a tentative, nervous, contemplative walk to the Bungy site.
I looked at the prices.
I looked at the drop.
I decided I'd probably do better on the swing thing they do.

Fortunately a young couple had decided they were going to do the swing while I was there, which meant I got to see it in proper action and could make a fully informed decision - how very sensible and not remotely exciting.
As I watched and listened to the cursing as the wire hit its peak and the kinetic energy pulled it back down to Earth (did I use the right energy mum?) I realised one very vital thing - this wasn't really worth the $109 they were asking for. Firstly it really didn't last very long and secondly I'm not sure it was really terrifying enough to warrant the 3 figure price, so I never bothered.

Realising that the only place on the East Coast I wanted to go to was inaccessible without a car and that watching the 1st sunrise in the world, while a probably a fantastic feeling would involve getting up even earlier than the bus companies required me to, I grabbed a lift with my friend to Rotorua as I hadn't been there before.

Once again I didn't bother with any high octane activities because once you look at the length of time spent on them and compare them to the price being charged for it it just doesn't seem worthwhile. Particularly on your own, it's a bit different if you can laugh and giggle with your friend and take photos but on your own seems a little pointless. So instead I did very sedate activities such as the museum.

Now I know Rotorua had all the volcanic things going on and all the geothermal bits and bobs, but what I never realised was that they're bloody everywhere! Seriously you can't get from the road to the museum entrance without walking past 3 massive steaming holes in the ground. Which stink. The museum itself used to be the bathouse for rich folk to make themselves feel good and for soldiers returning from the war in a kind of rehabilitation program. The only trouble was that a third of it was being refurbished, meaning that the exhibitions that 3rd should have housed were placed into where the galleries would have been, the mudbaths underneath the museum were closed and then when I tried to get to the lookout point on the roof that was closed coz of the rain. And they took 12 of my finest dollars for that. I was only there as long as I was because the 2 informative movies available totalled about 45mins between them.

That evening I went for a cultural dinner where some local Maori would prepare a traditional (yeah right - potato salad???) meal and put on a bit of a show for you telling various stories and songs. Unfortuantely, I was the only one on my own and the only one from England. Which meant that not only did I get picked on to get on the stage but I also couldn't refuse because I was essentially representing my country.
And I refused to look bad in front of the coachload of Americans.

Actually let me rewrite that - "I refused to look bad in front of the coachload of Americans old boy...".
Much more English.*

So yes, I had to stand on the stage while some huge guy with a big stick looked menacing in front of me and then pick up the leaf he lay on the ground to basically say we were in peace, then give him one of those Eskimo kisses that Maori's do, which I can never remember the name of but are bloody important in their culture (it's all about becoming one - your foreheads touch so your minds are one and your noses touch so you share a breath, thus breathing as one). Later I was onstage with the Yanks so that we could all do the Haka. If I'd known about that I'd have drunk more beer and there wasn't anyone with me to take a photo - those would have been photos I'd have liked 😞

The next day I went for a walk through the Redwood Forest. That was cool (and obviously uphill), but it had got a bit overgrown at the top which meant the promised views over the lake and city were reduced to glimpses through the trees.

My musical tour of NZ also continued in Rotorua as I managed to blag my way onto a jam night in a rather quaint little bar I found. I like to think I've been a part of New Zealand Music Month 2010.

Oh I haven't told you about that have I? OK, there's not a lot to say but basically every May, all the record stores and music venues and radio stations have a big big push for Kiwi artists, resulting in lots of touring for the more popular ones and more exposure for the lesser known ones. It's pretty cool and a bloody good idea. We don't really need anything like that coz British music and American music are so globally accepted it's probably accountable for 95% of what's out there, but NZ music stays so underground even in its own country....anyway that was your lesson for this blog.

The next day I went on a bus trip to a Geothermal park known as Wai-O-Tapu, via a geyser that I can't remember the name of. Wai-O-Tapu was really cool, I've been to a volcano in Kos but that was nothing compared to this. I was seeing 2km worth of what is an 18 sq km area of craters, pools, cliffs and god knows what else. I call it The Day It All Went A Bit Mordor.
It was good that I'd been in Rotorua for a couple of days by this point as I'd gotten used to the Rotten Egg smell the place has from all the hydrogen sulphide around and was also gratefully I'd realised in the pub the night before that today would not be a good day to have a hangover.
I think it would be easier to describe this place via the photos below...

I later learned (from the back of the toilet door in my hostel) that the bit of the museum currently getting a lick of paint was basically owned by Hugh Hefner. Apparently he'd heard or read something, tottled down to Rotorua, had a look, heard there was some financial issues, probably had a go on the Zorbing, then decided he'd make it a little holiday Playboy mansion. So basically the place was (when finished) open to the public unless the only man to have slept with more women than me was in town when it was all his.

I can just picture the scene now - the latest Playboy Centrefold walks into the room in the latest Victoria's Secret lingerie, looks over at Hugh and says... "Oh Hugh it's so beautiful here! I just can't.....ewww, did you just fart?"

After Rotorua I came up to Tauranga, as I had developed an urgent desire to climb Mt Maunganui (yah more hills) and this is where I write from. that's Tauranga not the top of the Mountain, that would be a silly place to have an internet cafe.

Basically, nothing of any interest happens here, but it was a really nice day to go up the oversized hill yesterday and I can wholeheartedly recommend a good hike in the sun with AC/DC on to anyone. Bizarrely I even got in a nice stroll along the beach. This is bizarre because it's May, but felt like June and really when you think about NZ seasons, should by all rights have been like November...

That's all for now methinks, so enjoy the piccies, I'm off to read a book in the absence of anything else to do....

* - Speaking of being English, whilst in the Rotorua hostel I noticed a $20 bill in a frame with a note, so I thought I'd give it a read. It essentially said (and I'm paraphrasing BIG time) "Hi, my name is (whatever) and I made a booking to stay one night with you on (this date). Unfortunately I was unable to make it, but I never go back on an agreement and so have carried this $20 through 5 countries and back to England to post to you. Very sorry, all the best..."
Now if anyone ever asks you what it means to be English - tell them that story.

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Photos

....and lunchtime for George
did anyone get that? I thought it was quite good

Napier's got wood.
snigger.....