Day 67. Titirangi. At home with the Girdlestones.

Said goodbye to the boys this morning and headed out to Titirangi to stay with my old flatmate and mucker Steve who moved to NZ from Poland 3 years ago with his missus, the very lovely Dorota.



It rained steadily but our day was brightened by Kaya and Zoli, 2 regular little rays of sunshine who presented us on arrival with their latest artworks; a fishing boat for me, and a fire engine for Wend. I then encouraged Kaya to try her hand at some portraiture, and she captured Wend perfectly - the bright green teeth a feature I'd never fully appreciated until I saw it on canvas.



The house is lush. Perched on a hill overlooking a small Bay, its the kind of place most of us would be glad to spend a couple of weeks in on our summer holidays. But to live here? well, that's just ridiculous. Jammy buggers.

Day 66. Auckland. A bit of shopping and a lot more wine.

The rain returned with a vengance today, so plans for another boat trip were quickly binned. This gave us the opportunity to do some boring but important things, like confirm our flights to Singapore, buy some batteries and a replacement torch bulb.

Sorry, just read that back, and suspect it may be the most tedious paragraph in Blogdom.

The afternoon was better. Walked up to K Road, which I guess, is Auckland's Greenwich Village; lots of lively little cafes, scruffy ethnic eateries and interesting junk shops selling vintage clothing and...er, junk. Tempted to buy quite a bit of stuff, but realising we we're already fairly well off for junk, managed to put the wallets away unscathed.



In the evening Matt and Paul threw a little drinks bash. Most of the crowd from Sunday's BBQ came, as well as a few of their work colleagues and some random old friends. This included (and Bella, I hope you're reading this) a nice bloke called Ashley, your Google client, who reckons you should've paid me at least a hundred and fifty grand for that little freelance job I did last summer.

He sends his regards. Small world.

Day 65. Auckland. Guns and Poses

Took the ferry across the Harbour so Matt and Paul could show us around their old stomping ground Devonport.

A lovely, tree-lined neighbourhood right on the waterfront, it's now a place where only the very well heeled can afford to invest (along with a sizable Brit community who've cashed in their chips back home realising you get a lot more brick for your buck in NZ).

Devonport was central to New Zealand's strategic plans for confounding a Russian armed invasion in the late 1800's. So convinced was the government that an attack was imminent, that they constructed a huge battery containing several cannons on the Northern heads and strung a collosal iron chain right across the Harbour.



Quite why they thought the Ruskies would be so fixated with invading a far flung land with little in the way of valuable mineral resources is unclear, and of course, there never was any conflict, but to this day they remain endearingly proud of their gun emplacements.

And anyway, their efforts weren't totally in vain, because these derelict battlements provide superb views and photo backdrops for us tourists.

Day 64. Auckland. A silver lining.

After 50 fun filled days it was time to hand back the van. Wend was distraught, inconsolable, a broken woman.

Well, she was for about 15 minutes anyway, until she saw the newly purchased double bed in the guestroom at Matt and Paul's swanky downtown Auckland apartment. Paul is an old work buddy of Wend's who moved to NZ 5 years ago to be with Matt who he met while travelling. Matt's an ex-Uni lecturer who now teaches English to foreign language students, while Paul organises programmes and events for adults with disabilities.



Anyway, a quick tour of their flat and a swift glass of Sav and we were off to climb Mount Eden to get a 360 of the City and find our bearings for the next few days.

Later, we enjoyed some quality nosh at a BBQ thrown by Helen, a colleague and good friend of Pauls. Quite an eclectic, multi-national gathering made for a very pleasant evening. We were particularly pleased to meet Helen's mum, June, who won a Silver medal for New Zealand in the 1950 Empire Games.



She kindly posed for photographs in the running vest she'd worn all those years ago and let us hold up the medal so we could pretend it was us who'd taken on the world in the 80yd hurdles.

June celebrated her 80th birthday this summer, which makes her the same age as my Dad. They're both as fit as fiddles but I know who my money would be on in a 100 metre dash.



Sorry Dad.

Day 63. Paihia. Flounder boy.

A quiet day but decidedly nutty night. We'd had a couple of drinks yesterday with our neighbours on the site - Anna, a Dubliner who enjoys alcohol, swearing and giggling, and Uwe, a German hippy businessman who works as a self-employed jeweller for 8 months and travels for the rest of each year.

The four of us clicked immediately, and bless the pair of them, they threw a little party for our last night in the van.

The slight problem was that once Anna and Uwe had bought all the food and booze, they hadn't bothered waiting for the Smiths before getting started. So by the time we returned to the campsite at 6, they were already trousered.

It was dead funny.



Uwe was comedy drunk, hiccuping continuously and telling us at least 14 times how he liked to prepare his potatoes. Anna found everything anyone said totally hilarious. And the pair of them were stumbling and falling about each time they got up for a pee.

Luckily, Uwe had already prepared most of the food before getting on the pop, so we could enjoy his marinaded lamb and fried potatoes while watching their Laurel and Hardy double act.

Once the music and 'singing' got into top gear we began attracting other campers to the shindig, and met a top bloke by the name of Stephan, who said he was originally from Switzerland and missed a good old knees up. He became quite sentimental for a while, telling us how badly behaved he used to be and regretting his newly found NZ sensible streak. Funny what a few beers does to people.

The party peaked when Uwe took an amorous shine to Anna, stripped down to his socks and underhosen, and announced that he was going into the Ocean to "Catch Anna a Flounder".



No-one tried to stop him as he waded into the cold, water, but she must have been impressed because 10 minutes later they were getting the lips on each other. It was a beautiful moment. Love was in the air, so we left them to it and hit the sack.

Day 62. Paihia. Mosquitos 31 Smiths 0

Nice campsite but completely over-run with mosquitoes. We'd spent 20 minutes swatting the little twats before lights out last night so were gutted to find a gang inside the van when we woke up. I'm sure they were winking at us, dabbing the corners of their blood-soaked mouths with little napkins. Our worst fears were confirmed when we held a bite count: Dave 19 Wend 12.

God, I hate mosquitoes.

Quickly forgotten though when Wend spotted a pod of Dolphins splashing about just off the beach.

Now Dolphins, I like.

Day 61. Tapotupotu Bay, Cape Reinga. Downwardly mobile.

Busy day today. We were up with New Zealand's equivalent of a lark for the 3 hour trip to Cape Reinga at the northernmost tip of the country.

It was a dull old journey and I was just telling Wend we'd made a mistake traipsing so damned far when we saw a sign for 'Giant Sand Dunes'. This perked us up no end, especially when we spotted an enterprising hippy renting sand surfboards. We paid our three quid, and after 15 seconds of comprehensive tuition were clambering up our first Dune.

These things really did live up to their billing. Absolute monsters up to 170 feet high made entirely of fine golden sand, which looks great, but makes them a real bugger to climb. Worth the effort though for the white-knuckle craziness on the way down.



We then visited the lighthouse at the top of the peninsula. Directly below is where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean, generating waves up to 10 metres high in stormy weather, but as calm as a village pond today.

Another site sacred to the Maoris, visitors are asked to be respectful and refrain form eating and drinking on the headland.



I think we spotted a couple of Maori Chieftains who had special dispensation - either that, or they were fat tourists who couldn't resist their lard sandwiches until they'd driven from the site. Morons.

Great beaches near the lighthouse too, and because most of the afore-mentioned fatties are too lazy to walk further than 5 minutes from their cars, it was possible to enjoy some skinny-dipping without fear of offending a porker.

Camped on a nearby Department of Conservation site. A bargain at a fiver a night.