Day 53. Waihi Beach via The Moon and Rotorua

Only on the road 10 minutes this morning when we drove past a sign for 'Craters of the Moon'. Thinking this was probably some kiddies amusement park we were tempted to drive on, but curiosity got the better of us.

Glad it did.

Turned out to be a vast set of hissing vents, gushing geysers and farting mudpools. All going off at once, and all smelling like thirty thousand rotten eggs.

Most of the geo-thermal sites in NZ are sacred to the Maoris and have been given suitably reverential names. This place only became active in the 1950's though, when a nearby Power station started having an effect on subterranean pressure levels, and it was some bright spark at the local tourist board who came up with the Crater idea.



Bit of a con really, as there were no craters - or moondust for that matter - to be seen anywhere.

Had lunch 40 miles up the road at Rotorua, another spa town renowned for its bubbling mud. But to be honest, we were keen to be somewhere that didn't stink like a Glasto portaloo, so didn't hang around.



Far more noteworthy was a 50ft Kiwi fruit we spotted at the side of the road at Te Puke (pretty hard to miss actually). Excitement reached fever pitch when we realised it was possible to climb right up inside the bugger.

Smiles were quickly removed from faces however when we caught the end of the Ashes coverage from Adelaide.

Depressing end to a good day.

Day 52. Tapau. Doing our domestics.

A day of laundry and catching up with correspondence. Oh, and the van needed a service too, so we dropped it at a garage and spent the day sorting ourselves out.

Boring. But it can't all be fun y'know.



+++update+++update+++update+++update+++

Disregard the last comment. Went for a walk after dinner and came across the maddest waterfall we've seen yet. The Huka Falls are probably more like an elongated set of rapids, but when a river the size of the Thames is forced through a channel no wider than 18ft the resulting current is immense. Lush noise too.

Also found another hot spring so had a quick plunge before heading home. Had to keep my undies on this time though as three nubile Brazilian beauties were already in the water and I didn't want to send them crazy with desire.

We've come to the conclusion that it's impossible to have a boring day in New Zealand.

Day 51. Tongariro Crossing. Blisters a go-go.

They say if you only do one hike while you're here, then the Tongariro Crossing is the fella. A challenging 10 miler, climbing between a couple of dormant and one not so dormant volcano with a towering view of Lake Taupo and a steaming thermal spring thrown in for good measure.



It was tough. Bloody tough at times, especially the beginning section aptly named the Devil's staircase, but well worth the 5am start and subsequent aching limbs.

We walked for the full 7 hours with a Norwegian bloke called Mattheus who'd we'd met on the shuttle bus.

He was well weird man.



Not at all in a bad way though - he was very pleasant, more articulate than most and blessed with a dry wit. No, what really threw us was his broad Irish accent. This is a guy who has never visited the Emerald Isle, has never had regular contact with Irish people and isn't even particularly fond of Guinness. Yet he sounds exactly like one of Bernard's drinking buddies in Dublin.

Like I said, weird. Understandably the poor bloke gets a bit tired of Brit's - and for that matter Irishmen - asking him what the craic is and requesting a verse or two of 'Paddy McGinty's goat'.

Completely shagged when we finished, so treated ourselves to the finest curry we've had since coming away.