TRAVEL: NEW ZEALAND 1 - THE NORTH ISLAND

05/03/03: C picks us up from the airport and takes us to his home in Mount Eden.

06/03/03: Wake up very late. Get bus into Auckland and meet C's friend J at the Loaded Hog. C follows and takes us to Devonport and a posh restaurant. S, the well-travelled friend of mine who always said that she could imagine that I was the sort who would take to seeing a bit of the world, arrives. She is travelling in the other direction.

07/03/03: Go into Auckland with Louise and S, have coffee, check email and then stop by the Loaded Hog. Return back to C’s, who then drives us to the Pasifika(?) Festival. Head back into town, to a random pub, and then to ‘Europe’ where we play pool.

08/03/03: Saturday, and C takes us to ‘Bees on the Line' to meet his folks. On to a beach that resembles the one from The Piano, but isn’t. Meet S back at the Pasifika Festival. Attempt a night of it with partner, C, J and S, and Eva, who S has been sharing a dormitory with; Deschlers (trendy) and Hagan's (not so trendy).

09/03/03: Wigs on the Waterfront (whatever that is) with partner, S, C and J. Back to Devonport with the aforementioned, minus C. Partner, S and J get chatted up by sailors. Tea at C's - scallops.

Auckland is not typical of New Zealand. Its vast sprawl is punctuated by a comparatively small area of high rise development, but this hub of urban activity could be seen, depending on your point of view, as the jewel in the North Island’s crown. The hosting of the America's Cup for two consecutive tournaments has transformed the inner city into a suave playground for the wealthy – like Monaco or some other insular European hangout. At night they garishly illuminate Auckland’s 328 metre tall Skytower, which looms over proceedings like a giant syringe. From time to time, they change the colour. Today it is mauve.

We were to stay in Auckland with C, a mild mannered Kiwi who worked with my partner during his time living in London. It was nice to see him, but nicer still to have access to his bathroom and kitchen and things. He lived in what was approaching the suburbs, which meant waiting for buses, at actual bus stops, whenever we wanted to head into town.

I liked Auckland, but it felt strange being there. I wasn’t used to waiting at traffic lights, sleeping in silence, or having to wear second layers. After nearly four months spent wandering South East Asia, I was a bit like the Vietnam veteran glued to the bar during the wedding scene in The Deer Hunter, who doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t really feel like he was anything he needs to say.

But I did like Auckland, and I liked it when C took us to a beach that resembled the one from The Piano, but was not the actual beach because the actual beach was too far away to drive to, and this beach looked similar enough – except I didn’t think it really did. We were lucky with the weather (for now) and we could get away with short sleeves by day, even if our shorts were now surplus to requirements. The America’s Cup had recently reached fruition, which generated an atmosphere. And it was great to eat real bread and real cheese, and crisps like you could get back home.

Devonport

It was never planned, but while we were away Louise's friend, S, arranged to meet us in New Zealand. She was on her way out to Thailand, and she may have been visiting her sister in Australia too. She wasn’t sure if she’d stay with us for the whole time but it was agreed that we would explore the North Island together, and hire a car to do so. The only reservation I now had – aside from the cooler climate – was how our evenings were going to pan out. We had a lot to squeeze in over a relatively short period of time, and it wasn't going to be practical to hang around in one particular place for days at a time – little opportunity for late night parties or impromptu piss-ups in people’s rooms. That said, I knew that I should probably rein it in a bit, so maybe this wasn't such a bad thing.

         Then there was J, an English girl C knew though his local church. C had to work by day, but J was more flexible and made an effort to meet up with us and show us around the city. She was good company but not the partying type, and I did feel like Auckland was probably going to be one of the better places to drink in New Zealand. Friday was good, playing pool in a bar along the waterfront, and on Saturday we attended an outdoor festival, although I don't recall there being much booze. Devonport across the bay reminded me of Devon, and after a nice meal at C's I was pretty much ready to move on again, out of curiosity as much as anything else.

10/03/03: Pick up hire car and head south-eastward. Lunch in Cambridge, arrive at Rotorua and book into the Hot Rock, and walk around the lake. Drink at the Lava Bar which is attached to our hostel. Eat at chipper, nightcap in Lava Bar.

11/03/03: Café for breakfast and drive to Devil’s Gate – tips it down. Visit Maori Church, Mexican for tea, Hennessey’s Irish Bar, the Pig & Whistle and Lava Bar for drinks.

A car is hired and we hit the road. At first, the landscape disappoints; it could be England on a bad day. This is the only time I will feel this way towards New Zealand’s scenery. We stop in a town called Cambridge for lunch, and it’s all a bit National Trust. Remember, I feel like I’ve just completed a four month tour of duty in Vietnam, so I’m very sensitive to all of this. It must be obvious, too, for I have a heavy tan, I’m underweight, and my hair is in terrible condition. (I tried rectifying that last issue with a pair of C’s scissors back at his house in Auckland, with only marginal gains).

Our destination is Rotorua, an area rampant with thermal activity. The city of Rotorua itself, such as it is, overlooks a large but shallow lake, and geysers and mud pools surround much of it. The hydrogen sulphate emissions permeate all around and are responsible for the conurbation’s sobriquets: ‘Sulphur City’ and ‘Rotten-rua’, the noxious odour resembling that of rotting eggs. The local architecture wouldn't look out of place on an industrial estate. The bars are half empty. We have to share a dormitory with strangers. The next day it rains heavily and constantly.

Yet I do not mind it here. There’s something rather quaint about our surroundings that not even the youthful travellers can distract from. I feel no need to commune with them. I feel no kinship, no shared enthusiasm. They seem too concerned with outdoor activities and not interested enough in socialising or taking in their environment. I don’t think they’ve been to Asia, although they may well be going there soon.

The night before we leave for Lake Taupo, we go for a drink in a place called Hennessey's. It’s supposed to be an Irish pub, and I’m detecting an affinity here for all things Celtic – a common affliction among those living in Great Britain’s English speaking former colonies. 'Let’s Make this Precious' by Dexys Midnight Runners plays on the jukebox, and for the first time in a long while I wonder what it might be like to be back home.

12/03/03: Drive to Wai-o-Tapu Thermal Wonderland. On to Taupo itself and book in to Burke’s. Go and see ‘Craters on the Moon’, dinner at Burke’s, Holy Cow for drinks and games of pool.

13/03/03: Walk to Haka Falls – consider bungee jumping. Check out town, Irish pub for nightcap.

14/03/03: My partner and S elect to skydive, so I walk around town and pause for some lunch. Drive to Ohakune in the afternoon, passing through a desert. Play pool at the Pioneer Bar and end up at a party in the bar next door.

The weather significantly improves on the drive to Lake Taupo. It is March and the tail end of summer so we’ve no right to expect wall-to-wall sunshine, and nor do we, but this is much more like it. En route we stop at Wai-o-Tapu and its ‘Thermal Wonderland’. This is New Zealand’s premier geothermal attraction, renowned for its brightly colourful lakes, boiling mud pools and active geysers. It’s surrounded by evergreen forest, and an amazing place.

Once we’ve reached Taupo and booked into Burke’s, we drive to ‘Craters on the Moon’, a more rugged exponent of the geothermal field, but still very much worth a visit. The evening’s drinks are taken at the Holy Cow, and S and I end up competing together in a game of pool. We are eliminated in the first round, but deserved to progress to the next – our opponents tell us so after they fluke their winning pot.

The weather continues to please and the architecture to disappoint in equal measure. S badgers my partner into sky-diving submission. I make it very clear that I will not be joining them. On walking to Haka Falls we pass a bungee platform overlooking the river below. For the first and last time in my life I consider what it might be like to partake. New Zealand is a country for thrill-seekers, which I am not.

Wai-o-Tapu

Ohakune is different from the other towns of the central plateau. Skiing is its trade (as well as carrots) and so during summer it reaches remarkable heights of sedation, but this is a good thing. Gone are the 'Kiwi Kids' and the 'Magic Bus' – organised tours that shuttle the youth around the country, delivering them from one adrenaline high to the next. After driving through the impressively raw Tongario National Park to get there, we find a hotel in which we will be the only guests. We have the floor’s living space entirely to ourselves. It’s just a shame we’ve only the time to spend the one night here.

We – or I, at least – have been drinking pretty much every night since our arrival. However, I cannot recall the last time I was actually intoxicated. We’ve literally been having a pint here or a couple of bottles there. I wasn’t even particularly drunk the night we spent out in Auckland, and I’ve certainly not suffered a hangover since we left Thailand.

The evening starts off mildly enough. We find a typically low key New Zealand bar and stop for a few drinks. Such bars are pretty unspectacular, and will often serve the dual purposes of both pub and betting shop. Only slight consideration is given towards the décor, and there’s often a pool table present, sometimes even a dart board, as well television screens showing sport. In ethos, they’re as utilitarian as many an old-school boozer back home but without the character, for New Zealand is sparsely populated and many of the towns are built from prefabricated materials.

Foreigners don’t much frequent Ohakune off season, so the locals take an interest in us. This is brilliant because I’ve been feeling quite isolated of late. They’re a friendly bunch and we’re invited to join a private party that’s going on in the bar next door. I don’t really exploit this opportunity as I might, perhaps mindful of the fact that we’ll be on the move again tomorrow, but I feel like we've had a proper night out and have benefited from the social interaction.

15/03/03: Drive to Whakapapa and ride chairlifts to the top of Mount Ruapehu (almost). On to Wellington and book in at the Beethoven House. Go for a kebab and a few drinks.

16/03/03: Walk to Victoria Point; have a look around town. Coffee in Ragamuffins, watch Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers in the cinema that premiered it. Another Irish bar in the evening.

Before we set off in the direction of Wellington, we’re going to check out Mount Ruapehu.  It’s a ski resort by winter, and just a dormant volcano the rest of the year round. It’s March, so we’re here to see the volcano. From Whakapapa we take the chairlift up to the top the resort, which is still some way short of the actual summit. It is my first time in a chairlift and I don’t like it at all going up but don't mind so much coming down. There’s not much to do at the chalet at the top other than eat soup and speculate on investing in new jumper. Do I need a new jumper? I might need a new jumper – it’s late summer, but there’s no guarantee it will be this warm when we reach New Zealand’s southern sector. I’m not sure how I’m doing financially, so I leave it.

From Tangario National Park to Wanganui the geological feast doesn't let up. Like a cross between a Spaghetti Western and a Van Gogh painting, the steep hills undulate like waveforms. State Highway number 4 weaves its way through the valleys, keeping one eye on the riparian woodland to the road’s west. We don’t have the time to pause in Wanganui and so plough on towards Wellington, New Zealand’s capital and second largest city. We’ve not struggled to find accommodation so far, but nor has our accommodation been ideal. After our morning detour up Mount Ruapehu this will be our latest arrival yet, and there’s a city to circumnavigate in-between.

Mount Ruapehu

Whose idea was it to stay at the Beethoven? The proprietor is a raving lunatic! A theatrical sort with a penchant for – wait for it – Beethoven, it’s hard to know if we’re really welcome or not. We don’t hang around long enough to find out, and depart his backpacker’s retreat for a kebab and a few drinks somewhere else.

Wellington appeals. It feels more city-like than Auckland did. It’s more industrial, more compact, more modern. The sun shines for the duration, we find time to watch the latest instalment of Lord of the Rings, and have a relaxing time of it. S decides she will continue with us to the South Island, which we’ve been told will be the highlight of our time here.