Day 43. Wellington. More beer and a lot of waterfront.

A decade or so ago Newcastle and Gateshead woke up to the fact that they were sitting on a huge, marketable asset.

The quayside.

Like countless other cities throughout the world they cleaned up the old warehouses, threw up the obligatory penthouse apartments, built a gallery or two and generally made the waterfront the coolest part of town to live, socialise and generally hang out in.

Wellington is no exception. In fact, with most of the town spread out across such a large harbour frontage, it has seems to have taken the concept to an impressive, different level.



We spent a lovely afternoon walking the dog down into town and along the various quays, stopping only for emergency lager rations and pizza.

It's a hilly old place mind, so the walk back soon became a trip on the famous Wellington cable car. A quick kip to recharge the batteries and we were out again, this time with the whole Fisher clan, for a nice bit of sushi.

We like this place a lot.

Day 42. Wellington. At home with the Fishers.

Despite the forcast of strong winds on the Cook Strait we had a smooth ferry crossing from Picton to Wellington. Bit of an old tug, if truth be told, but an enjoyable trip out of the Sounds and an impressive view as we came into the harbour at the other end.



Put the van into mothballs when we arrived as we'll be staying with my old mucker John while in Wellington.

John has been living here for the past 15 years and in that time has seen Wellington transformed from a fairly staid, provincial outpost to New Zealand's most buzzing, up and coming City.

He's also managed to find himself a lovely house right next to the Botanical Gardens (yes folks, yet more sodding BG's), an even lovelier daughter called Jasmine, a crazy dog and a large and eclectic circle of mates, a few of whom we had the great pleasure of meeting this evening.



One of the guys, Inia, rents this massive gaff which acts as the local HQ for anyone in the neighbourhood who fancies listening or playing some music, drinking copious quantities of real ale or having a smoke. It's a brilliant place. We ended up staying and talking nonsense until the wee small hours.

As well as being incredibly hospitable, Inia turned out to be a very interesting bloke. John worked with him a few years back at Saatchis and they've remained good friends, but he now teaches Maori 'Kapa Haka', which is a combination of song, dance and martial arts. At one point, after a particularly large glug on the Ale, he had us all singing a traditional folk song.

Can't imagine it sounded too clever, but seemed like an excellent idea at the time.

John took us on a long detour on the already long walk home to check out a glow-worm colony. Glad he did in the end, hundreds of them twinkling their little bums off made for a bright end to a good night.

Day 41. Whites Bay. Hunter gatherer Smith.

Passed our last day on the South Island in Whites Bay. A pretty little place named after a slave who jumped ship in 1828 and set up a shack on the beach, hanging with the Maoris and generally enjoying not being a slave.

It's one of the few beaches in the area safe for swimming. Too cold for even a paddle at the minute, but probably rammed in the middle of summer.



Cranked the wilderness thing up a notch or two when I announced I'd be hunting for our lunch. Kissed my cavewoman goodbye and left her tending the single ring calor gas stove before heading into the unknown. Returned triumphantly 10 minutes later with a handful of green-lipped mussels I'd expertly snared in a rockpool less than 50 yards from the van.

Bloody lovely they were too.

Followed the feast with some locally grown Kiwi fruit that Wend had plucked from a supermarket shelf 2 days earlier.

Day 40. Whites Bay / Blenheim. On the Pinot prowl.

Hit the Marlborough wineries today.

Given our weakness for the grape this didn't turn out to be quite as life-affirming as we had hoped. The countryside here is quite non-descript, especially compared to what we've been seeing recently. And to be honest, once you've tried one new world Sauvignon Blanc you've pretty much tried them all (unless you're called Jilly Goulden. But then you'd be really annoying and no-one would like you).

Started reading a Jackie Collins that someone had left in a campsite kitchen. Totally abysmal.

Day 39. Whatamango Bay, Marlborough Sounds. Knee capped.

Wend woke up to a swollen knee this morning which put the mockers on our planned bike ride along Queen Charlotte Sound.

Think we've been overdoing it on the hiking front, our 5 hour route-march on the Abel Tasman cliff walk the other day perhaps being a tad ambitious for a couple of codgers like us.

Lovely sunny day though, so spent a lazy few hours driving up and down the Marlborough Sounds.



Found a superb spot in the evening to do some more wilderness camping with only a family of hungry ducks for company.

Used the Solar shower again, which is always hugely exciting.

Day 38. Smiths Farm, Queen Charlotte Sound. Meeting the medicine man.

Realised we hadn't had a pie for some time so called in at Motueka on our way over to the Marlborough Sounds. Steak and Ale with a light flaky pastry was the dog's danglies, scoring a credible eight and a half.



Went on to meet some interesting characters today.

Firstly, New Zealand's answer to Ray Mears who was hitch-hiking to the ferry terminal at Picton. Although his dayjob is some kind of nerdy I.T. consultant, Anton had been living in the bush for the past month, he therefore felt it his duty to teach us all kinds of stuff we'll never need to know. Like how to trap and skin a possum, snare and smoke an eel and concoct a totally natural remedy for period pains - still not sure why he'd mastered that one mind.

He became very animated when he spotted some innocuous shrub by the side of the road and made us pull over. Apparantly this magic bush is the answer to most of the world's ills; the berries relieve an upset stomach, chewing the bark will prevent panic attacks while the tips of the leaves mashed and mixed with boiling water make an invigorating cuppa.

While Wend and Anton were stripping the poor plant of all its vegetation a Swiss couple in a van similar to ours pulled up to swap campervan stories and told us of a good, cheap campsite on a nearby dairy farm.



Fabien and Cindy turned out to be a proper laugh and we spent a pleasant evening drinking their really nice, and our not-so-nice, wine. We're hoping to meet up again on the North Island, but failing that, have promised to visit Switzerland where Cindy assures us her Fondue takes some licking.

Day 37. Kaiteriteri / Abel Tasman National Park. D-list celebrity alert.

Seeing a couple of the natural wonders of the world made yesterday a memorable one. Nothing however, could prepare us for what we witnessed this morning when we pulled back the curtains in the van.

Sunshine.



To celebrate we donned life-jackets and jumped in a water taxi to the northern end of Abel Tasmin National Park (there are no roads, so all the cabs have outboard motors). The plan was to hike south, stopping off at the sandy coves along the way to go paddling and dip into our chocolate rations. We executed it to perfection, our last square of fruit 'n' nut disappearing as we left the final beach.

Knackered by the time we returned. I perked up when I noticed Tim Healy and his missus who used to pull pints in The Rovers Return were on our campsite.

Wend was unimpressed.

Day 36. Takara Hill / Kaiteriteri. More largeness.

Nineteen years ago one of my housemates was a bloke called John Harwood. He was, by some distance, the most boring man I've ever met.

Friday night down the Old Spotted Dog he'd have all and sundry in the palm of his hand, enthralling us with tales of what he'd had in his sandwiches that week. If tipsy, he might go on to enthuse about his boss's maroon Volkswagen Golf, but he knew his limits so would generally stick within his comfort zone of egg mayo and tuna sweetcorn.

John wasn't a bad person, just extraordinarily dull.

So I couldn't help smiling today as we hiked up Takaka Hill to visit the mouth of the biggest cave in the southern hemisphere - Harwood's Hole.

The cave is everything that its namesake back in England isn't: Deep, awe-inspiring and totally captivating. Again, our little camera couldn't do justice to the place. But with a 70 metre wide mouth and a 400 metre drop from top to bottom, I think you probably get the picture.



Great accoustics too, 'Toon Army' has rarely sounded so good.

Earlier in the day we'd driven past a sign saying 'PuPu Springs 3km'. This intrigued us, was it some king of geological curiosity, or just the local sewage works. Thankfully, it turned out to be a series of small lakes fed by eight natural springs and - according to the blurb on the infomation board - this is the second clearest water on the planet (the clearest being somewhere in the Antartic).

They'd built a nifty viewing window into the banks of one of the lakes to prove their point, and sure enough, you could see right across to the vegetation under the water's surface at the far end, some 60 metres away.

Up until that point, I'd been PuPu-ing their claim.

Day 35. Pohara Beach. Mites up, Tites down.

In an attempt to beat the rain we decided to go subterrainean and visit the Ngarua Caves. A futile attempt as it happens, with the overnight rain seeping through the cave roof onto our hard hats.



Interesting 40 minute guided tour. My favourite bit being when they turned out all the lanterns to show how dark things will be if Newcastle really do get relegated.

The bearded weirdy who took the tour reckoned the cave was used as the set for Gollum's bachelor pad in Lord of the Rings. A bit damp for our liking but each to his own.

Incessant rain slowly beginning to have worrying psychological consequences. Spent the afternoon and evening in the van playing books and reading our scrabble.

Day 34. Motueka. Twinned with Stoke Newington.

Other than spending about a month on the south island and a month on the north we haven't really set ourselves an itinerary. In fact, our only gameplan is to try and stay one step ahead of the rain; if it's sunny we hang around, if isn't, we move on. And because New Zealand has such localised weather patterns this has been working a treat.

Well, we ballsed things up good and proper this morning. It was bright and sunny when we set off from Carters beach, and throwing it down when we pulled into Motueka.

Not too bothered though, because this small town on the north coast is right up our street. The towns and villages we've visited up until now have been pleasant enough; there's always a good choice of places to have a beer or some scoff and generally everything is geared towards making a tourist's life cosy.

And yet, and yet...they've all been a bit souless. Bland even.

Motueka on the other hand is a little place with a lot of character. The main strip, with its string of coffee shops and eateries reminds us of good old Stokey Church Street. We counted four bookstores, two curry houses and a chippy within 200yds. There is even a joint flogging pipes, papers and other essential bits & bobs - evidence indeed that we're heading back towards civilisation.

Best of all was the Gecko cinema. The auditorium is the size of the Holloway Odeon's popcorn counter, and instead of the usual rows of seats the audience sit on sofas and easy chairs. For those who wanted to get totally horizontal, pouffes are available on request.



Kevin Spacey's 'Beyond the Sea' seeing as you ask. Most enjoyable it was too.

Slept in a carpark on the edge of town. One and a half quid it cost.