Having spent some time in South Africa visiting family (which is always a busy time) and a handful of days exploring Dubai, in addition to the long slog of work, saving all possible annual leave days in order to take two months off in one go, it was time for some rest and relaxation.  Where better to put one’s feet up than in Thailand?  Rob and I debated about the place where we could spend a month and really do nothing, and Thailand was the obvious choice for several reasons.  Firstly, a direct flight from Dubai to Phuket was available, so no unnecessary flights and transit time.  Secondly, it was just coming to the end of high season, so the price was right.  And lastly, we had come across an island we could reach by ferry from Phuket, so we could escape the commercial hustle of Thailand’s largest island and get away from it all.  Considering we had both been to Thailand before, both as individuals and together when we backpacked through South-East Asia, we didn’t feel we were missing out by spending the majority of our time in one place.

It was a very long day waiting for our flight to Phuket, with us checking out of our Dubai hotel by 2pm but our departure only scheduled at 3am the following morning.  After an uneventful but sleepless six-hour trip (although we again found the Emirates service lacking), we landed in Phuket at about midday local time.  After the dry heat of Dubai, that slap of tropical humidity after hours in airconditioned coolness was bliss.  We’ve realized our happy place is on, or near, the equator!  We took a taxi into Phuket town and gazing out the window, we could see some changes to the island, but overall, it all looked familiar – tons of motorbikes, potholed roads lined with overloaded powerlines overhead and the ever-present 7-Eleven outlets.  The surprise though was the amount of cannabis shops in and around town.  We planned to spend a few days in the Ecoloft hotel, a contemporary abode in the centre of town, with rooms fitted out with minimal furnishings and industrial style fittings.  It was simple, within walking distance of good food and just what we needed.  The complimentary mini bar, stocked daily with Oreos, Lays crisps, Coke, peanuts and bottled water, as well as the rooftop pool, was a bonus.  We spent many relaxing hours on the top floor during our stay, enjoying our books, wallowing in the pool, and watching the world go by seven floors below.  Upon arrival, having been up for way too many hours, we sought out some lunch after checking in on our first day, had an afternoon snooze to recharge then hit the streets to explore.

The town was bustling that night, being a Friday there was a night market set up that spanned three blocks.  The street was blocked off and was pedestrian only, with plenty to see and do – from trying roadside pad thai, to candle making, to listening to buskers looking for tips.  It was a bit too busy to stop and look so we wandered along, freshly squeezed orange juice in hand, as we took it all in.  Dinner that night was BBQ pork belly on skewers, enough to settle the hunger bug, and it was an early night.  The following morning, it was the usual wake-up coffee and a walk to the corner shop for some breakfast – nothing better than starting off your day with a bowlful of squid fried rice and a cup of traditional Thai coffee!  As is routine, with us having two feet and a heartbeat (phrase courtesy of my current manager and mentor!), we took a 3km stroll to Rassada pier to book our ferry to Koh Lipe, our ultimate destination.  We arrived at the ferry terminal and asked for two tickets to Koh Lipe in two days’ time.   The assistants behind the counter looked at us blankly, chattered with each other in Thai and eventually the older of the two told us in English that there were no more ferries, as it was now low season.  Our hearts sank – all our research indicated the ferries stopped running towards the end of May, so we thought we had at least a few weeks to be able to get to Koh Lipe direct from Phuket.  We were informed that we needed to catch a bus to Satun, then take the fast boat from there.  Now needing to get to the bus station, as Murphy would have it, there was no taxi in sight despite being solicited multiple times on our way to the pier, so it was a long trek back to the hotel to organize transport to the bus station to book our tickets.  Priority when getting back to the hotel though was cleaning the bird poo out of my hair, complements of a sea gull who decided to empty his or her bowels on me while we walked back.  That’s meant to be good luck, right?  It must have worked as we were able to book bus tickets to Satun without a hitch, but meant we needed to depart Phuket a day earlier than planned, and spend a night in Pak Bara, the departure point for the fast boats.  Even the driver who took us to the bus station was surprised to hear the ferry wasn’t running and called a whole bunch of people enroute to confirm for us.  By the time we had arranged our onward travel from Phuket, we were tired, annoyed and not communicating well so it was back to the hotel to regroup – nothing that a snooze and swim can’t fix!  We found a local restaurant for dinner that night, without a tourist in sight, so we knew we were going to get the real deal, authentic Thai food, and not the watered-down Western version served in the tourist hot spots. 

We took full advantage of the pool the following day, generally lazing about, probably not the best idea as we were going to be stuck in a bus the whole of the next day but hey, that’s what a holiday is all about.  We were up early on departure day and arrived at the bus station without incident.  The drive to Satun was scenic, lots of limestone, jungle clad mountains jutting out of the landscape – it made me think of the soccer team that got stranded in one of the caves in 2018, and at the time I made a mental note to Google where that happened, but never got around to it.  On an aside, the rescue occurred in Chiang Rai province, only 1,700km away from where we were!  One pit stop on the way to stretch our legs, otherwise it was drive, drive, drive.  We alighted at the small town of La-ngu, with the youngster tasked with offloading our bags unable to move my 20kg backpack!  He looked at me with respect as I hoisted it onto my back (my pack did after all contain most of my possessions after leaving NZ) and we began walking down the road to the tourist centre.  As we stopped at a roadside stall to check directions, a motorbike taxi pulled up next to us saying he could take us to Pak Bara.  How, we ask, with two packs each?  No problem he says, pointing at his feet, the small daypack there, the other big pack stays on our backs.  Give him 5 minutes and he’ll call his friend.  Rob looks at me, eyebrows raised, and I just shrug, why the hell not.  No words needed!  Next thing we’re each aboard a motorcycle, and we hightail off down the main road, wind in my hair at least – no helmets included, as we white-knuckled it to Pak Bara, our cores working overtime to keep us upright with heavy packs on our backs.  Boat tickets booked, we found our accommodation at Best House Resort, a basic room with utilitarian bathroom and gaudy red leather couch to add to the ambience and strolled along the waterfront in search of dinner.

We had to temper our excitement the following morning – we woke early as per usual, but our boat only left the pier at 10.30. However, we were so excited!  We had read much about Koh Lipe and saw some stunning pictures on the web – today was the day we were going to see it for ourselves.  A delicious ice coffee from a street vendor got us going, and we meandered to the pier to wait for our transport.  It was quiet so we thought it was only going to be handful of people heading over (it was after all now low season) however within 30 minutes, the terminal was heaving as boat after boat arrived from the island, dropping off visitors and getting ready to take the next set over.  It was great for people watching though.  We were eventually called for our boat and climbed aboard a 45-foot speed boat that had three 250 horse power engines on the back – we were going to fly to the island it seemed!  There were only a few of us on our boat, despite the masses in the terminal, so we loaded quickly and headed off, the captain opening the throttles once we cleared the marina area with the result there was not much talking with the engines turning over at 5000 rpm giving us a speed of 31 knots!  The sea conditions were great, with no wind, and minimal swell.  The only bounce came from us hitting the wake of the boats heading in the opposite direction, so the kidneys remained intact on the journey.  One of the kids on board was having none of it though, so Rob clicked into captain mode, and assisted, handing over some bags for his parents to use, doling out nausea tabs from the crew and giving advice to help the poor boy deal with his seasickness.  Me, I turned and looked the other way!

We arrived in paradise, with aqua blue, crystal clear water surrounding the tiny island that was to be home for the next two- and a-bit weeks.  As we approached, we saw white sand beaches backing onto jungle, with pockets of infrastructure.  Our hotel rep took us to our hotel on the eastern side of the island via a motorcycle taxi – taking us via Walking Street, the main drag lined with shops, restaurants and souvenir outlets.  Ironically Walking Street had more motorcycles on it than walkers.  Our hotel was very comfortable, right on the beach, with us having a corner unit that looked onto the garden, while at the same time giving us a view of the ocean.  The morning alarm was the sound of fishermen taking their longtail boats out for the day’s fishing.  It was bliss!  The sea was like bathwater, and one could wallow in the shallows for ages.  We had mostly fantastic weather, despite it being considered low season, with only a few rainy days, where a thunderstorm rolled over followed by a short shower, then it was back to brilliant sunshine.  It was disconcerting lying on the beach, seeing the storm clouds build up over the mainland in the distance, watching lightning striking down, and hearing the boom about 30 seconds later, while here we were in perfect conditions.  Even the fish eagles were loving the conditions, taking advantage of the updrafts, circling higher and higher until swooping down to catch their meal for the day.

Our days on Koh Lipe followed the same routine most days – up with the boats, a coffee in bed watching the comings and goings, breakfast buffet at the hotel (which included mocha ice-cream!) then a morning on the beach.  Our hotel was near the end of the beach, so there was not a lot of foot traffic in front of us as we lazed about with our books, popping in and out of the water for a swim.  There were also no beach hawkers, so it meant we were left in peace.  The hotel staff were present – friendly and approachable while not being overly attentive, which is exactly what we wanted.  We were however approached one morning by the hotel manager who greeted us by name and had a chat, handing over his card.  The people at the surrounding tables observing this gave us covert looks for the rest of our meal, probably wondering who we were to warrant such attention from the manager!  Often, at about lunch time, we wandered back to our room to freshen up, and either took a walk into town in search of sustenance (which regularly took the form of a fresh mango blended with ice) when it wasn’t too hot or lounged on our balcony and munched some crackers when it was scorching (some days reached 40 degrees apparently).  The cicada beetles sang daily, with all bugs joining in the symphony to create a high-pitched whine, reaching a crescendo followed by immediate silence, then repeating the cycle a few moments later.  The surrounding trees were also brimming with bird life – our favourite being what we found out was the black-hooded oriele, a bird that had a very distinctive and pretty call.  Afternoons were back on the beach, or next to the pool, before we wandered into town for some dinner.  The hotel manager must have taken a liking to us, as one night he offered us a complimentary feast, working with the chef to provide choice of traditional southern Thai food, which we devoured and thoroughly enjoyed.  It was even accompanied by a personalized menu – subsequently kept as a souvenir.  Rob had strict instructions that it was a tech-free holiday – a rule we only broke once on a rainy day where the tail of Hurricane Mocha drenched the island, so we snuggled up to watch a movie when it was too wet to enjoy the balcony.  The hotel put on a fire show every Friday and Saturday night, which we took advantage of, finding a spot on the sand to watch the spectacle.  One evening, Mother Nature provided the spectacle as an electrical storm lit up the night sky.  And of course, we had the requisite massage or two to really unwind, our therapists deciding that those knots must come out no matter what!

The snorkeling directly in front of our hotel was amazing, and the visibility was excellent.  We packed our rash vests in anticipation of spending many happy hours in the water like we did in the Pacific, and we did!  Only a few meters offshore, we could paddle out and float above healthy coral, watching the reef fish go about their daily business, hearing the coral click and buzz with life.  A few fish were curious, coming up and bravely swimming around our feet, but the rest were unperturbed as we soaked up their beauty.  Big, small, there was everything.  We saw multiple brightly coloured parrot fish on our excursions out to the coral, plenty of clams in a variety of colours (my favourite was the bright purple), sea cucumbers, angel fish, needle fish and a whole heap I can’t name.  Let’s not forget the clown fish, providing entertainment as they darted in and out of their anemones, some of them braveling coming closer as if to say hello!  We ventured further afield a couple of times, to spend some time above the sandy bottom adjacent to the small island about 100m offshore from the hotel, once even circumnavigating the island.  I found that a bit scary since the ocean floor dropped off steeply on the windward side, and you had no idea what was lurking below.  One exciting, a.k.a. petrifying, moment was Rob coming face to face with a very poisonous sea snake – we were slowly making our way back from one snorkeling session at the island, navigating an outcrop of rocks when the snake writhed up out of its hidey hole and started heading directly for Rob.  I was swimming quietly along when suddenly, I got a shove to the side.  Popping my head up, thinking what the hell, I hear Rob say firmly “swim”.  Not needing to be told twice, thinking he had seen a shark, it felt like we broke records getting back to the beach, collapsing on our towels out of breath.  Calming down I eventually hear that it was a black-and-white banded sea snake called a “krate” that caused the panic stations.  We avoided that rocky outcrop moving forward!

The standout feature of Koh Lipe though, aside from its breathtaking beauty, is the dog community.  The island is crawling with dogs, and the odd cat, a mix between stray animals and pets just out for a walkabout.  There are signs all along Walking Street, outlining guidance on how to interact with the dogs, the gist being if it is wearing a collar, its friendly, but no collar means be wary and keep your distance.  One morning, while waiting for the pharmacy to open, we stood opposite the 7-Eleven watching three local dogs take their position in front of the doors having learnt it’s the coolest place to be without going into the shop.  One even got so close to the entrance, he blocked the beam to keep the doors open, the airconditioned coolness keeping him comfortable!  The dogs are an accepted part of island life, with no one chasing them away. People even step over them if they blocked the entrance to shops or restaurants.  Some of the animals did look a bit worse for wear, bearing the scars of previous confrontations as they sorted out their own island hierarchy but mostly, they looked very well cared for.  In some cases, the dogs went for a jaunt on their owner’s motorbikes, casually sitting in between human legs in the footwell, while the scooter zipped along the narrow streets.  We even had a local dog befriend us, who came and settled in the shade created by our loungers and kept us company for the few hours we were on the beach (although her sudden bark to ward off perceived intruders made me jump out of my skin when I was having a snooze!).  My favourite though was the squint kitten who enjoyed a chin scratch at one of our dinner spots.  The fruit flies were a nuisance though, so we learnt quickly while eating dinner that one hand was meant for holding the selected utensil, the other hand was a swatter to keep the flies at bay.  And mosquito happy hour was between 6.30pm to 7.30pm, so any dinner outing meant an application of mozzie spray to the legs, arm and face before venturing from our room.

Interestingly though, we didn’t get the impression from the locals that they enjoyed having tourists on their island.  The general population didn’t provide the friendly Thai vibe we’ve experienced in other places in the country.  For example, one day we arrived at a restaurant in search of our mango smoothie and found the staff so busy on their phones they didn’t see us.  When we called for attention, they got a fright, then got into an argument amongst themselves as to who was going to serve us, with one woman sullenly getting up after apparently drawing the short straw.  Was it because it was the end of the season, and they were tired and hoping for the tourists to bugger off?  Were they just generally annoyed that their beautiful island is now a popular backpacker destination (and all that entails) after a direct ferry was initiated from Langkawi?  Hard to say.  Maybe the women didn’t appreciate the female visitors hooking up with the local men (of which we saw a lot), taking away the few eligible bachelors! 

Our time on Koh Lipe was well worth it, and we were very happy to have discovered this little haven, thoroughly enjoying the beach, the water, the weather and the food.  I would not recommend a visit during high season, where we were told the island is packed with people, so we were lucky to have been there in that period of limbo where the locals were preparing to shut shop in advance of the rainy season.  We wouldn’t go back, after all, there is still so much of the world we’re yet to see, but I’d be the first to name Koh Lipe as a destination for anyone looking for an island break without the commercialization. 

As I sat down to write this blog post, I had a feeling that it would be a short one for two reasons.  Firstly, it’s been a while since I’ve had the urge to write anything (not an ideal trait for the designated scribe!) but secondly, I found it challenging to find the right words to describe our short, but not-so-sweet, trip to Dubai.  An extended break from work had been a long-term plan, and during this time, Rob and I were contemplating various destinations.  Due to Covid and the associated travel restrictions, it had been over three years since we had seen our families, so it was a must for our itinerary to include a stop in South Africa.  From there, we made a call to spend the rest of our break kicking back in Thailand, but breaking the journey in Dubai, considering Emirates was the cheapest flight option.  We both only have ever transited through Dubai, so this time round we decided to spend a few days exploring and seeing for ourselves what the fuss was about.

With mixed emotions, we boarded our Emirates flight in Cape Town, destination Dubai.  Already feeling a bit down, as it is never easy saying goodbye to our loved ones, the trip didn’t get off to a good start.  We weren’t impressed with Emirates, disappointed with the state of the plane’s interior, which was very run down, in addition to the quality of the service from the crew.  We found it pretty surprising that Emirates is rated a top airline, but for us, they don’t compare to Singapore Airlines or Air New Zealand (are we sounding like spoiled jetsetters?).  We also had the experience of being seated near an autistic child who had a full-blown meltdown about an hour into the flight.  As a result, we were treated to blood curdling screams in the cabin for a good few hours until he eventually exhausted himself and fell asleep.  As much as I felt for the parents, it is hard to be empathetic in that situation, where you yourself were not in the best of moods.  The result was no sleep on the 9-hour flight, so we were drained and lacking in energy when we landed in Dubai at 6am local time the following morning.

Moving efficiently through customs, our bags already waiting on the side of the carousel when we picked them up, we hoisted our packs, and clicked into backpacker mode, meaning, public transport into town.  Luckily Dubai has an efficient metro system, at least from the airport, so the Red Line took us direct from Terminal 3 to the Financial District where our hotel was located.  A quick bus ride and 10 minute walk later, we found our hotel.  As it was too early to check in, we dropped our bags, and walked to Dubai Mall where we grabbed a bite to eat and did a bit of window-shopping waiting for everything to open.  Dubai Mall is one of the largest malls in the United Arab Emirates, so it wasn’t a quick stroll around.  One could spend hours in this behemoth mall, which is spread over multiple levels and contains over 1,200 retail outlets, from global chain stores to chic boutiques, never mind the Aquarium and Underwater Zoo located within the complex.

As we were housed very close to the Mall, it was our natural stop between our destination for the day when we went sightseeing and our hotel, so it was a great spot for people watching.  I’ve always known Dubai to be one of the more westernized of the Emirates, but the juxtaposition of the traditional east and outlandish west, did take me by surprise.  For us, it is important to respect the culture of the country we are visiting, so we found it quite confronting to be in a place where no matter which way you turn, it was either seeing traditional conservatism or extreme tackiness.  It was the local men and women dressed in the traditional, ankle-length, loose fitting robes (notwithstanding the fact that they were probably wearing an outfit from a high-street label underneath) versus the expat or tourist who felt the need to be dressed to the nines, in tight (and I mean tight!) shorts or jeans, flowery shirts for the men, or short skirts and revealing dresses (and more often than not, G-strings on the beach) for the women.  We found the Dubai culture to be very self-centred, with people going out “to be seen” and more interested in perfecting their selfie pout than soaking up their surroundings.  To be honest, I’ve never seen so many botoxed lips in my life!  I’m all for a selfie (as you can see from the pic!), but ours are more of a toothy grinned “we were here” variety for our own memories more so than for social media (does a blog classify as social media?). 

The Insta influencers were out in force when we managed to get up the Burj Khalifa, the iconic skyscraper making up every Dubai picture, standing at a record breaking 828+ meters high and towering over every other building in the vicinity.  We went up to the 125^th floor to the viewing platform, to get an almost birds-eye, 360-degree view of the city we came to explore.  It was very busy though, and very gimmicky, with artificial reality spots, “cracking” floors and selfie-spots.  Despite the overload of people, it was still an amazing experience to be so high up and seeing the city from a different perspective.  My own misconception was that Dubai was this huge metropolis of buildings, but in actual fact it is very flat, with pockets of high buildings surrounded by what I supposed you would call suburbia, where the buildings are mostly two, or three storeys high at most.  And of course, if you can’t beat them, join them, so we got our fair share of selfies in too!  The afternoon of Day 1 was a time for rest, whereafter we spent the early evening strolling along the river in search of some dinner.  With both of us being outdoor people, it was also unnerving to us that there were hardly any people about when we went for a walk.  More often that not, it felt like a ghost town, but given the heat, it is no surprise that Dubai is very much an “inside” place, with people choosing the relative comfort of an air-conditioned mall, restaurant, or car.  However, we did come to realize the next day is that one of the reasons people choose to remain indoors is not only due to the heat, but also the fact that parts of the city stink.  If you ever wondered how the landscaped greenbelts of Dubai retain their verdant colour, its because the local council uses recycled grey water to irrigate the gardens.  It was only plebs like us who choose to walk everywhere who had the pleasure of observing (and smelling) this eco-friendly initiative!

After a good night’s sleep, we woke early and headed off to the Old Town.  We struggled a bit to navigate the city and found the public transport system lacking from a tourist perspective, with no maps or information available, as well as a limited network in general.  Even the local staff at the bus and train stations gave us strange looks when we made enquiries on how best to get to a specific place, asking why we want to use a bus and recommending we take a taxi instead.  We did eventually find the souk, which looks like what old Dubai used to look like.  Although a quaint façade, the interiors were ultra-modern shops filled with expensive restaurants and touristy nick-nacks and souvenirs.  Scarf anyone?  It was great though because we got there early, so only a handful of people were around and we could get some good, people-free shots.  We caught the metro and jumped off to see the Dubai Frame and get a few photos.  It was scorching hot outside and after a morning of sight-seeing and becoming thoroughly dehydrated despite gulping down water, we called quits on the sight-seeing and headed back to the hotel for lunch.  The metro was now packed with midday commuters, mostly male migrant workers, so it was an interesting, slightly uncomfortable, experience getting back to the Mall which was our jumping off point.  I’d highly recommend any female travellers use the women-only carriage wherever possible if you are not travelling with a male, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.  Having found a Virgin Megastore in the Mall, we treated ourselves to long-overdue Kindles.  We spent the afternoon at the pool, setting up our new reading devices, and are now finally able to read the thousands of e-books we got our hands on while crossing the Pacific.

At sunset, we headed back to the Mall, with a stop at the food court to get some dinner of roast duck, noodles and veggies prior to making our way to the Dubai Fountain.  Every night, the crowds get treated to a spectacular light and sound show, with the fountains and lights choreographed to a popular piece of music.  We found a front row spot against the railing, directly opposite the Burj Khalifa, to watch the spectacle and it was so good, we stayed afterwards to watch another performance 30 minutes later.  It was great being out in the evening, not only with it being cooler, but seeing the city lit up re-emphasized how glitzy and glamourous it is, with people dressed to the nines enjoying a dinner out and fancy cars and the odd limousine cruising the streets.  Dubai must be the luxury-car epicenter – Ferrari, Porche, Lamborghini, Rolls Royce, Aston Martin, Maserati, Lotus brands are commonplace.

With our last full day in Dubai upon us, we decided to take the metro down to Dubai marina, a precinct filled with luxury yachts and high-end apartment buildings.  Dubai is well worth the visit if you are an aficionado of unusual architecture.  There are some impressive structures in and around the area, showcasing unique and eye-catching designs, so the Burj Khalifa is not the only fancy building in town!  After walking along the promenade admiring the skyline, we caught the tram to Jumeirah Palm gateway and found the monorail station to take us to Atlantis.  The monorail took us smack down the middle of the so-called trunk of the palm and gave us good views of the prime residential lots on the “fronds”.  We saw the original Atlantis, as well as the new Atlantis Royal hotel, another example of an architect’s dream becoming reality.  We did take a walk along the seafront but there was nothing to see.  Atlantis Aquapark is a waterpark on steroids, a great place for kids to expend their energy.  We investigated going up in a tethered hot air balloon to get an aerial view of the palm however the wind was too strong, so no flights were available.  After getting back to the “mainland” we contemplated going to the Burj al Arab, another iconic landmark, but there was no easy way to get there.  We had by this time walked a fair few kilometres so decided to head back for an afternoon to be spent poolside.  This was after all also meant to be a holiday!

On our checkout day, we had the full day to kill before our flight to Phuket later that night, so we made the call to take one last bus trip, this time to the beach.  We thought we had the right stop, but when we checked with the bus driver, he said no way, he’ll tell us when to get off.  We were travelling further and further away from where we thought the best beach was (according to Google) but after about another 10 stops or so the driver motioned to us that this was the place to alight.  He had taken us to Jumeirah beach, a lovely seafront location, and one of the few public beaches.  This is another thing that adds to the glamour and exclusivity that Dubai exudes – the Beach Club!  The best beaches are all paid-for, private access establishments, with sun loungers, pools, spas and restaurants which is not our scene at all!  Regardless, Jumeirah beach was humming with activity, with runners and cyclists sweating their way along the promenade, and plenty of people enjoying the warm water, including a big group of surfers taking advantage of the waves further up the beach.  We bought some takeaway coffee, plonked our bums on the sand and just watched the goings on.  It was a great way to calm my nerves prior to the flight later that evening, although we did have a slight hiccup trying to get back to the hotel, what with not having enough credit on our travel cards to board the bus!  Thinking it was an easy recharge, we walked to the nearest petrol station only to find they don’t recharge cards, but only issue new ones!  So now we have four souvenir travel cards from Dubai as a result!  We whiled away the rest of the day next to the pool before making our way back to the airport that evening, a challenge trying to wedge ourselves, and our fully laden backpacks, into a metro carriage filled to the brim with people.

I think you either love Dubai or you hate it.  We found it too glitzy and superficial for two people who crave a simple, uncomplicated lifestyle.  Perhaps we would have enjoyed it more if we fully embraced the full tourist experience.  Googling the Top 10 things to do in Dubai, most sites list the Burj Khalifa (tick), the Dubai Mall (tick), the Dubai Fountain (tick), the Palm Jumeirah (tick) but go on to list things like indoor skiing in the Mall of the Emirates (we left New Zealand to get away from the cold, why would we choose to go skiing?) and the desert experiences, like 4×4 safaris, sandboarding, skydiving, hot air ballooning, and camel rides.  As our destination post-holiday is Australia, our thinking is we’d rather enjoy a hot air balloon ride over the Red Centre.  And considering I’m not the biggest fan of being in a plane in the first instance, why would I ever choose to jump out of one?!  We are very happy that we’ve added Dubai to our list of “been there”, but it is not a destination we would choose to go back to. 

Seven years ago, Rob and I made the decision to relocate to New Zealand.  This was mostly because of seeing what an amazing country it was from our epic New Zealand backpacking trip, but the move meant we could also achieve some personal goals.  The move didn’t come without its downsides or risks – we moved away from family, we were two new drops in the Auckland population ocean, and didn’t know anyone, I was moving into a new job following a two-year hiatus, and Rob took a role (and a huge one at that) in making NZ our home.  Now, after a good few years, job roles (same company I might add), houses and towns later, I find myself feeling inspired on a flight to Hong Kong, with 11 hours of thinking time stretching ahead of me (with a few movies thrown in) to put at least some of my reflections from The Land of the Long White Cloud down on paper.

Upon arrival, our priority was getting back into the routine of work.  After backpacking through SOUTH EAST ASIA, followed by our voyage across the EPIC PACIFIC, settling into a regular nine-to-five was an adjustment to say the least.  I was now accountable to a team of people, and most of my time was no longer my own, and work travel and the associated long hours became the norm.  Not to mention, after spending every day for two years together with my significant other, Rob and I needed to get used to being apart, which was not easy!  Despite some initial teething problems, I found my groove again, and after Rob helped us settle into our new apartment, after three months (and three moves, more on that later), he found his niche based on his yachting experience.  Workwise, things have gone well, and have moved on from a clinical role to a business development role, and grew into management, now overseeing a team of people myself.  My professional development has come in leaps and bounds, and I have a few significant mentors to thank for that!

Enough about work though… nomads that we are, we are never satisfied being in one place for too long.  The years in NZ have seen us move ten (yes, ten!) times.  Granted, at least half of those moves were in the Auckland CBD, so do they count?  The first three months saw us migrate from the YHA (not ideal for an adult starting a new job and needing her beauty sleep), to an apartment hotel for a month, to a furnished loft apartment, to another apartment which became our home for two years.  With our own furniture, and my own bed (very important to me!), we morphed into townies, enjoying life in the CBD, trying out new places to eat (the Asian food court was the clear winner), running new routes (Auckland domain and the waterfront being our favourite routes), hopping on our bikes to explore further afield, or jumping on a bus and seeing different parts of the wider metro area. 

As fate would have it, being renters meant there was a chance the owner would want to take back the property, which she did, but luckily Rob found us another apartment in the same building which we took for six months.  Only six months you say?  Well, flashback to a very stressful period to when I was offered a secondment to Boston, being in limbo as to not really knowing when our work visas were going to be approved, and the landlord was not willing to give us an open tenancy.  Of course, Murphy’s Law meant that with a fixed tenancy agreement that came up for expiry, no work visa yet in sight, another move was needed, and we relocated to an Airbnb in the same initial apartment hotel for a month.  Fast forward thirty days, still in limbo, another Airbnb welcomed us for another month.  If I ever wonder when I started to go grey, I think this was when.  Multiple rounds of paperwork, and passport photos later, the immigration lawyer in plain words basically told us to not proceed with the visa application, as we risk a rejection due to the US’s newly implemented migration policies (thank you Mr. Trump).  It was at that point we cut our losses, packed up our remaining stuff into our backpacks and flew to Kuala Lumpur just “to get away” for a bit.  The timing worked well though, as we were close to flying back to South Africa for my brother’s wedding, and our first time back to see family in over two years.  We both love Malaysia and spending some time there after the stress and uncertainty of the preceding five months, was a very good move.

Wedding done (I was an unexpectedly blubbering proud “sussie” or sister for those English-speaking readers), quality time with family, a short break in Borneo, we returned to Auckland, into another Airbnb until we decided where we wanted to live.  Ultimately, we found that three years in the CBD was enough, and it was time to move to the ‘burbs.  But of course, not doing things by halves, we decided to move 50km north, out of the city, to a peninsula called Whangaparaoa, and found a newly constructed apartment building in the beachy suburb of Manly.  Five minutes down a set of stairs, we were on the beach of a protected bay, and for a while, that’s where we found peace.  Morning runs, evening strolls on the beach (when daylight savings permitted), a bustling café with the best banana choc chip muffins just downstairs, we were happy there.  I had been working from home for two years at this stage, so it didn’t matter where I was, as long as I had internet and a desk.  Manly was a great location as it was a wee (Kiwi-isms have clearly rubbed off on me) ten-minute drive to a branch of Rob’s employer, the staff of which welcomed him with open arms (who wouldn’t?!).  At this stage, we were NZ permanent residents and were now gunning for citizenship and knew we had to wait another year to apply.  A beach walk conversation morphed into a plan to move south, not to south Auckland (which should not be anyone’s first choice), but South Island.  An April Fool’s joke later to the family about moving overseas again (which was not found funny), a short Airbnb stay gave us a chance to find a more permanent home in Nelson.  To those who don’t know Nelson, it’s a small town at the top of the South Island, and boasts the most sunshine hours in NZ, with a beach and various walking trails just a hop, skip and a jump away.  A short six month stay in one house, we’ve found ourselves a cozy two-bedroomed house, a short walk from the centre of town and the picturesque Maitai River which Mother Nature decided was not full enough a few months ago, with the river deciding to burst its banks during the Nelson floods.  So we’re back in the ‘burbs, albeit now in a much quieter town, but the feet are beginning to itch yet again!

Living in a country that pretty much is a bunch of volcanos, extinct or otherwise, pretty much means Mother Nature likes to throw in a bit of excitement into what is otherwise a relatively quiet and unassuming existence.  We experienced our first earthquake while living in Auckland, waking up in the middle of the night with rattling dresser drawers and a bed that was moving for all the wrong reasons.  Not anticipating earthquakes, we weren’t on or near any major fault line, we couldn’t understand it and only realized after hearing the news report that we had experienced the shuddering of the earth settling into a new position.  Moving to Nelson, we’ve had our fair share of moderate shakes, nothing serious, but enough to sit up and take notice and think to oneself, is that it, or is there another one coming?  And do we need to prepare an earthquake pack?  Of course, earthquakes are associated with tsunamis, and living in Manly along the coast, we were in a tsunami evacuation zone.  Cue a deep-sea earthquake and subsequent tsunami threat, to the extent that Rob and his crew at work needed to evacuate the marina where they worked, and head to high ground, all while the tsunami siren continued to wail.  No tsunami was forthcoming (I’m not complaining) but the resulting coastal surge did make the evening news.  It is NZ after all, a potato the size of a human baby makes the news in these parts.  We’ve been hit by a couple of cyclones too, landing in one after coming home from a South African trip, and a second storm causing me to be stranded in Tauranga for a night with flights being cancelled when Cyclone Cook made landfall over the east coast.  And of course, our Facebook followers will have seen the post of the Maitai river breaking its banks in Nelson, with the district declaring a state of emergency from the floods and landslides.  Luckily, we were spared and stayed dry, but our neighbours one street over weren’t so lucky.  And of course, who could ever forget the devastation that was the White Island eruption.

Fortunately, our nature experiences have been mostly uneventful!  I mentioned earlier that we like to get out and about, but probably don’t do it as much as we want to.  With Rob working some weekends, it’s not often we can explore together.  But when we do, it’s about getting active and outdoors.  We bought mountain bikes in Auckland, which have taken us 50km around the wine island of Waiheke where no wine was involved, we cycled over the ranges from Auckland to the black beach of Piha and back (my legs did not thank me for at least two days after that mountain stage of the Tour de Auckland).  There were a couple of trips to the island reserve of Rangitoto too for some tramping up and around the summit of a dormant volcano, either jumping on the ferry to get there, or in one case, kayaking over from Mission Bay, a suburb located along the Auckland waterfront.  Our time in Manly also saw us buy Stand Up Paddleboards (SUPs to the uninitiated) so we paddled the Orewa and Puhoi estuaries a few times, and even tried our hand at surfing the baby waves at Orewa beach. 

Our time in the south has taken us tramping in the Abel Tasman and Nelson Lakes National Parks, cycling 65km from our home in Nelson around Rabbit Island and back, and more recently, saw us tackling the 40-odd km Coppermine Trail, an up and down mountain bike route that starts less than 3km from our backdoor.  The SUPs have also made it to Rabbit Island beach and to Tahunanui beach for a few outings, although rash vests are in order just in case we lose our balance – the NZ waters down south aren’t exactly known for their tropical temperatures.  While in Auckland, I joined a group fitness set-up that exercised in a park near the apartment, and it was through this group that Rob and I decided to tackle the Tough Mudder event, a 20km obstacle course.  What a great experience!  I had always loathed anything to do with obstacle courses, associating them with the “go team” mentality of corporate (and school) teambuilding activities, which is not my scene at all (yes, I’m an individual!).  But after significantly improving my strength and fitness, it was a challenge I was up for, and I loved every minute… well maybe not the electric shocks at the end… but probably loved the hot shower and pizza afterwards more so.  We ended up participating in two Tough Mudder events, but the first one is the most memorable for two reasons.  Firstly I didn’t think I’d be able to do it, but I have pictures of the post-event bruises to show that I could and in fact did, but also because we had the opportunity to run with Richie McCaw, one of the greatest All Blacks of all time (not that I’m saying I support the All Blacks), and I literally have the T-shirt to support the claim of “been there, done that”!  I thought I was done, but as I was re-reading what I’d written, it dawned on me that I hadn’t included any of our running events.  Rob and I completed a few organized running races too, achieving a goal of running across the Auckland Harbour Bridge in the Auckland Half Marathon but our greatest achievement (well, at least for me) was finishing the Queenstown Marathon.  It was the first time we had tackled the full marathon distance and running (and a lot of walking) the most scenic marathon in NZ is definitely one for the memory book.

Our weekend excursions haven’t been incident free though I’m afraid.  A casual bike ride through a Devonport park and an encounter with a gym mommy so engrossed with her phone and not controlling her dog resulted in Rob somersaulting over his handlebars and breaking his collar bone into three pieces.  Two ambulance rides and 36 hours later, the collarbone was surgically repaired, and Rob was in a sling for six weeks.  This happened two weeks before we flew to South Africa (the first time since relocating) so thank goodness for strong pain meds as Rob gritted his way through four long haul flights there and back.  The medical drama doesn’t end there I’m afraid… a Sunday surf at Orewa beach ultimately ended up at A&E again, this time due to a dislocated shoulder (Rob again, the same shoulder that had the fractured collarbone, the same shoulder that had been dislocated twice previously).  Through the miracle that is happy gas, and the soothing encouragement of the nurse practitioner, Rob managed to pop the shoulder back in place, and off we toddled home, arm in sling for another six weeks.  The surfing stopped, and we stuck to meditative paddling on calm, flat waters from there on out.    

All adventures weren’t necessarily local.  We took the opportunity to get out of town when schedules permitted.  Although we had travelled the country extensively when we were here in 2015, there were still parts of both islands where we hadn’t been before, so a few road trips were in order.  While on the North Island, we ventured through the caves of Waitomo, going “black water” rafting and gazing up at glowworms on the tunnel roof above us while floating down a freezing underground river.  It was there that we tasted probably one of the best steak-and-ale pies ever.  There were a couple of trips to Rotorua, during which we took full advantage of the sulphur springs at the QE Health Centre.  With my birthday falling in summer and close to a long weekend, we take advantage of the good weather, and go camping.  One of said camping trips was to Mt Ruapehu (an active volcano I think, I should know this but am too lazy right now to look it up), where we took on the Tongariro Crossing, challenging gale force winds as we crossed the saddle, bringing back the hell of pre-summit day on Kilimanjaro.  But another bucket list item ticked off, and we were both very happy to have done it as we had heard such great things about doing that walk. 

Another year we were in Paihia, unexpectedly coinciding with the Rhythm and Bays (?) music festival, with Shaggy serenading us for free, as the campsite was right next door to the festival grounds.  Another trip to Taranaki saw us climbing parts of Mt Egmont (yep, another volcano).  Down south, other roadies took us to Golden Bay, where we took an eco-tour along Farewell Spit, a beautiful and mostly untouched stretch of sand stretching deep into the Cook Straits.  We’ve travelled down to the hot springs of Maruia for a spa getaway and enjoyed the mountain resort area of Hanmer Springs, closer to Christchurch.  Our December break one year was spent along the West Coast of the South Island, travelling to Westport, Hokitika and across the Southern Alps.  Memorable for firstly being a very dramatic coastline, but also because of the weather.  We stayed in a place called Cape Foulwind for a few nights where the name says it all.  It was also snowing (in December) when we crossed Arthur’s Pass on our round trip back home.  If there is one thing I will not miss about NZ, it’s the weather.  We also made a conscious effort to travel down to Tekapo again.  Although having been there before, we wanted to take advantage of being closer to one of the Dark Sky Reserves and do some stargazing.  Ironically, two of the three nights we had booked were fully overcast, so our goal of being able to lie in bed and cast our eyes to the heavens (we booked a room with a glass roof specifically for this purpose!) wasn’t achieved.  However, night number three was spectacular, with shooting star after shooting star.  It took me back to the days of clear nights in the Pacific, in the middle of the ocean, no other lights around and just looking up (too often we only look down!).

We didn’t only restrict our trips to NZ though.  This of course being pre-Covid meant pretty much unrestricted travel.  If you’ve read previous posts, you’ll know that two of those trips were tackling the Inca trail and getting a taste for what a great Aussie roading might feel like respectively.  There were two trips to South Africa, one as I mentioned where we included a trip to Borneo on the return leg (as we had to travel via Singapore anyway).  Specifically, we travelled to Kota Kinabalu, in the Malaysian province of Sabah, stayed in a fancy hotel and spent our time recovering from a stressful few months caused by the US work visa saga.  We explored the town, visiting some of Rob’s old haunts from his first backpacking trip sans me (granted, this was before he knew I existed so he could be forgiven for not taking me along), and of course, enjoyed the deliciousness that is traditional Malaysian food.  Nasi lemak, roti with dhal, kopi… the mouth positively waters.  That’s the reason the Asian food court in Auckland was our all-time favourite eatery – it was the closest we got to a nasi lemak outside of Malaysia.  A highlight was venturing into the jungles of Borneo and spotting proboscis monkeys, with their distinctive oddly shaped noses, native to the area.  Waiting for the transfer back to the hotel, the driver decided to show me a picture of a massive snake that had been removed from the toilet stall that I just vacated reminding me that monkeys weren’t the only creatures we could see in the jungle.  Work also gave me a few opportunities to venture abroad, mostly to the US, but these were FIFO (fly in, fly out) visits and I didn’t get a chance to explore.  However, the taxi rides from the airport in Boston to the hotel in the Financial District, and various meeting venues, at least gave me a chance to see some of the historical city (and of course pick up the requisite fridge magnet).  Boston was graced with my presence twice, with me also getting the chance to see a bit of San Francisco for a conference.  Again, work related, but having a company credit card, and colleagues native to the city meant after work drinks and dinners in some prime locations, and even the experience of having a drink in a traditional speakeasy.  I was also fortunate enough to be offered the chance to travel to Vienna, again for a conference, although this one did not go well, so my Viennese experience is not positive for various reasons.  I did spend my last day though seeing the key sites using the Hop On, Hop Off tourist bus, which may be a form of tourist speed dating, but I still maintain its probably one of the best ways to see a new place during a time restricted work trip.  There were also some trips across the ditch to Sydney, Brisbane and Melbourne, also only for a few days.  The question is, do they really count as another country when most of the world still thinks NZ is another one of Australia’s states?!  Of course, everything came to a grinding halt when a certain virus decided to travel the world instead.  But we enjoyed our time at home, playing in our own backyard when in lockdown.

So here I find myself after the world has opened again, on another work trip, this time my destination being Bangkok (and 30-degree temperatures, hooray!) reminiscing about an amazing time in NZ.  An unexpected 30-hour delay in Hong Kong on my return journey due to cancelled flights gave me an opportunity to finalize this post, along with the great experience of spending a night on an airport terminal floor (if you haven’t done that at least once, you’ve never experienced life!).  Our experience living in NZ for the last six-plus years meant we saw more of the country, met some wonderful people, and stayed in great and not-so-great locations.  We took advantage of what the country could offer us in more ways than one, and I can proudly say we will shortly be achieving what we hoped to achieve.  My final thought before I wrap up?  The seven-year itch is real… what will the next seven years bring us?

After another hiatus in our travels, working too hard and getting bogged down by the hum drum of a nine-to-five, Rob and I decided it was time for a break from the rat race. Rob had leave, and I was at a point where work wouldn’t miss me if I took a few days off, so this was the perfect excuse to book a mini-break and take advantage of those air miles I’ve been accumulating. Air tickets booked, and we were headed to the Queensland coast of Australia, more commonly referred to as ‘Stralia or Straya, for a good ol’ summer roadie.

Day 1

Departure day arrived, and we were up at 04h15 to catch the ever convenient SkyBus to Auckland International Airport. A painless check-in (being an elite airpoints member has its benefits), a stroll through passport control, and on to the business lounge where Rob was introduced to the flash life of the Air New Zealand international lounge. An uneventful flight saw us land in Brisbane, and the heat and humidity were a welcome relief from the generally milder (read colder) temperatures of Auckland. A quick phone call and we were picked up and whisked off in a Jucy shuttle bus to pick up our camper van. After a brief intro to the merits of our Jucy “Crib” – a converted Toyota people carrier – we started our journey north, first having to navigate the unexpected midday traffic out of Brisbane, toward our first destination for the night, Maryborough.

Although we got our fill of breakfast fare in the airport lounge before leaving Auckland, we didn’t eat on the flight, and we were starving by the time we hit the road. Desperation made us stop at Straya’s version of Burger King aka Hungry Jacks where we gorged on typical processed hamburgers, chips, nuggets, Coke and an ice-cream. Tummies filled with crap and we were good to continue, although the first half of the drive up was a relatively quiet one in terms of convo, as Rob the designated driver got used to driving the Camper, which will be referred to in future as The Tank. After not driving for months on end (the benefits of living in a city with all amenities within walking distance) and when we did rent a car to venture into the country, Suzuki Swifts or Mitsubishi Mirages were cars of choice, so driving a people carrier in city traffic took some getting used to. We did have to appreciate the Queensland governments attempts at road safety, being creative in ways to keep drivers awake along the state highway by offering free coffee at rest stops and posting trivia questions on road signs along the route. Makes a welcome change from playing car cricket and “I spy”! We arrived in Maryborough in the early afternoon, after about 260km of driving. Although not far from Brisbane in distance, we were feeling a little weary considering the early start and the 3-hour time difference from home. The principality was not much to look at as we approached the outskirts, but the town itself is colonially quaint, with the “CBD” retaining its early day charm. Our chosen accommodation for the night was advertised as a “boutique” RV park on the wharf of the Mary river, but first impressions were that this was the place where retired boaties brought their yachts (and possibly themselves) to die a slow death. There was nothing boutique about the place, but it was a good first stop, the staff and the townsfolk were welcoming and friendly. The Tank parked neatly next to the river, we changed into shorts (a shock to the system as I haven’t quite gotten to the point of thinking NZ weather warrants a pair of shorts) and slops (thongs or jandals depending on where you are in the world) and took a stroll through the town to buy some supplies. Our first thought, it wasn’t yet 4pm but the town was pretty much shut down for the day. All the shops in the centre of town were closed, no cars parked on the streets, and minimal people around. This gave us ample opportunity to wander around and admire the many murals adorning the buildings in town. Maryborough is the birthplace of the author of Mary Poppins, so I got the requisite picture next to the statue of the famous nanny, located in front of the house where the authoress was born. Our RV park was also located adjacent to the heritage-listed Queens Park, which has a touching tribute to the soldiers who lost their lives in Gallopili, with hidden motion-sensor speakers broadcasting the chilling sound of thousands of soldiers’ marching feet as you stroll along the path. After enjoying some sundowners in a local pub, listening to the chatter of some local farmers who had come into town to enjoy a cold pint after a hot day, we grabbed a takeaway pizza for dinner and sat in the park watching the bats come out for the night, also in search of their nightly meal, before settling in for the night in the Tank.

When Rob and I first spoke about heading over to Straya for a holiday (long before this roadie was even a thought), we’ve always been a bit hesitant, knowing that the country was home to a multitude of things that could ultimately kill you. Lethal snakes, spiders, crocs, sharks, never mind the big fat hole in the ozone layer, to name a few. So, we clearly weren’t thinking straight when we booked our camper knowing that we’d be spending every night of our holiday in a nature area of some kind, where our chances of an animal encounter would be more likely. And of course, Straya didn’t disappoint. I’m not a huge fan of anything reptilian or anything with four or more legs that doesn’t bark, so hearing and seeing the frogs that congregated around the bathroom did nothing for me as their toady eyes stared me down with a look that said “I’ll be waiting for you when you walk over for your nightly wee”. I did insist we pack our torches so we could at least see where we were placing our feet after the sun had gone down for the day. But tiredness, and a general lack of forethought meant that for our first night, the torches were in the bottom of the bag, and of course, nature came calling and a midnight walk to the loo was necessary. Groggily we clambered out of the Tank, and as it was a full moon (and the lights were on in the amenities building) we walked over, me keeping my eyes peeled for those blasted frogs but luckily, they had gone back to their holes for the night. Business done, we walked back to the Tank, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that looked a little out of place on a drainpipe next to me. Yep, you guessed it… our first night in Straya and our first snake within striking distance. I don’t think I’ve reacted so quickly ever in my life, jumping to the side, pulling Rob out of harms way, heart in mouth. I almost had to turn around and head back to the toilet considering I pretty much shat myself! Our neighbouring campers probably wondered what the hell was going on as we almost ran back to the Tank, making so much noise with our feet to scare off any other slithering serpents that may be in the vicinity. Needless to say, the torches were never far way each night following that, and Rob did a very thorough scan of the ground before even setting foot out of the Tank. Paranoid maybe, but still!

Day 2

One of the other great things about Queensland (aside from being warm!) is the state does not observe daylight savings, so it was light at 6am in the morning. Nature is one of the best alarm clocks and having a gentle wake up by the sound of chirping birds, instead of the alarm of a mobile phone, is a relaxing way to start the day. Speaking of birds, Rob was in absolute heaven with the variety of birds around and spent many a happy hour bird spotting and trying to get that perfect shot as we meandered around on our roadie. I haven’t actually made the effort to check the names of all the species we saw, but there were a lot! A breakfast of muesli and milk was followed by a slow drive out of town as we continued our way north. The first half of the drive was to a small town of Gin Gin. Being ones to take the road less travelled, we turned off the secondary road we were one, and pointed the Tank onto a narrow back country road. This resulted in some white knuckle driving by Rob as passing oncoming vehicles meant having to move over from the single lane tar road onto a gravel verge – no issues for the drivers of the 4×4 vehicles passing us, one hand on the steering wheel, the other casually hanging out the window lifted in greeting (told you these folks were friendly) while poor Rob was glued in the 10 and 2 o’clock position! Arriving in Gin Gin (voted at one point the friendliest town in Queensland, although it seems every town we passed through was voted friendliest town at some point – maybe they take turns?), we stopped for a bio break and a pie and coffee before making our way to our stop for the next two days, Agnes Water. When starting our planning, we did consider travelling further north (we were thinking Townsville) but realized we just didn’t have the time… did you know Straya was so big??? The drive felt much like driving through Kwa-Zulu Natal back home in South Africa, the same temperate climate and similar vegetation eventually making way for thousands of square meters of sugarcane fields. Rob was obsessed with kangaroos, and every few minutes came the question “you see a roo yet?” – trying to spot a kangaroo in the Australian bush is like trying to spot a buck in the Kruger National Park travelling at 100km/hr i.e. not very easy. We did have to appreciate the quirks of the area, like speed signs randomly placed, just in case you forgot what speed the sign posted 50m further back denoted, and the naming conventions of the various creeks and gullies we crossed over, like Jackass Creek, Chinamans Creek (is PC a thing in Queensland?), Rocky Creek and 500m later, Stony Creek, and 7, 8 and 10 Mile Creek – we missed 9 Mile Creek but then again maybe we were too busy roo spotting to notice it. On an aside, we realized much later during this little roadie that instead of looking in the bush for roos all we had to do was look in people’s back yards!

Our drive first took us up to Seventeen Seventy, the place where Captain Cook first landed in Queensland in the year 1770 (who would have thought). Although the inlet itself was calm, the windward side of the peninsula was a different story, with the sea state whipped up into a froth of white horses as a result of the cyclone hovering just off shore. The wind was pumping, so holding onto our hats we went down to the beach and took our first steps into the Coral Sea.

We left the actual swimming for later until after we checked into our flash campsite for the night at Agnes Water, located right at the end of a long white sandy beach of a protected bay and Queensland’s northern most surf beach. After a walk into town for supplies, we were hot and sticky and in desperate need of a swim, and after a 4-year absence, it was absolute bliss to be able to swim in the sea again, waves and all, without freezing our bums off. I found my happy place again in Agnes Water, the sun, the smell of the salty air, the sound of the pounding waves so good for my soul! I even managed to get Rob to lie on the beach and just relax watching the surfers and paddleboarders playing in the water. That night, we fell asleep content!

Day 3

Bright and early and after a rejuvenating coffee, the day started with a long walk on the beach with the rest of the morning spent on the beach, swimming, attempting to body surf the waves and generally taking it easy. Luckily, we found a shady spot, as our pasty white skin just can’t take the sun, even with SPF 50+ sunscreen plastered on. A midday walk into town for lunch was followed by the usual afternoon siesta, and it was then the afternoon’s mission to spot a roo. After some enquiries we were told there was a circular drive just outside town where roos often spend their afternoons wallowing in the shade to escape the afternoon heat. So, we packed ourselves up and headed out for a bit of exploring of the locality. First stop was another beach called Chinamans beach, deserted considering the rough seas. The first thing that greets you as you reach the beach is the multitude of warning signs – stingers, dangerous surf, shallow rock, submerged rock and rip currents. I feel like the sign should have said “Welcome to Straya! If our wildlife doesn’t kill you, our beaches surely will”. But being ever so considerate, the beaches even display the Do’s and Don’ts of surfing behaviour. If the surfers pay attention to this code of conduct, who knows, but talking of this back home with our boot camp instructor (who’s a keen surfer himself), he said they need this sign in Piha where apparently it’s a free for all for surfers dropping in on each other (a surfing felony if there ever was one).

Back along the same road, passing a dead snake that some good Samaritan kindly ran over, and dodging a monitor lizard crossing the road (I’m sensing a bad joke here) we headed inland and gawped like tourists as we spotted our first mob of roos casually hanging out in someone’s driveway. It was a good day of roo spotting, with about 20 or so lazing about, munching on grass. We also took a trip up to Horizons Kangaroo Sanctuary where the “owner” takes in orphaned roos brought to him from various locations, but he was more interested in mouthing off the government than providing an educational experience, so it was with relief we escaped after having a close encounter of the marsupial kind. Speaking of marsupials, another sighting we were really hoping for during our trip was one of the koala bear, and although seeing plenty of signs warning us that “koalas cross here”, there were none to be seen. Wombats were absent too, much to my disappointment.

Day 4

Time to leave beach paradise so after a hearty breakfast in the beachside café of the holiday park, we packed up and hit the road to Bundaberg. We were planning on only staying one night in Agnes Water as we had trip planned from Bundaberg to the barrier reef for a day of snorkeling and sunshine, but because of the ever-present cyclone causing unfavourable sea conditions, the trip was cancelled so we ended up staying a second night in Agnes. Anyways, our trip South had us in Bundaberg by mid-morning and in time to join the 11am tour of the Bundaberg rum distillery. Our tour guide Damien, or Damo, was enthusiastic and informative as he took us through the process of producing this world class rum, from taking molasses (syrup gone wrong) all the way through the distillation process to result in the end product – billions of dollars’ worth of which is currently housed in the distillery surrounded by some serious electric fencing. It was surprising to hear that only 1% of the rum is exported outside of the Australia and New Zealand region. We got to sample some of which is kept in the distillery, and had a tasting choice of both a rum, as well as a liqueur. Not a fan of hard tack, I had my rum watered down with cola and still couldn’t take it so that part was kind of wasted on me. But although the liqueur straight was a bit heavy, the dark chocolate and coffee undertones would go really well drizzled over a scoop of vanilla ice cream! The only souvenir was a box of coffee and chocolate rum fudge from the gift shop!

After the distillery, we continued through the town to Port Bundaberg, ending up in the small holiday hamlet of Burnett Heads, located on the southern head of the Burnett river mouth where it joins the Coral Sea. The wind made our short overnight stay here rather unpleasant, and in hindsight we wouldn’t have stopped here if we knew beforehand of the adverse weather conditions. When I called the holiday park the day before, the caretaker said there was “a bit of a breeze” – if I knew that her definition of a breeze was in line with gale force wind, we would have continued and given the place a miss. Aside from a few shops, and shut up holiday houses, there was absolutely nothing to do here. A short walk around town to find some lunch confirmed this fact, so we whiled away the afternoon snoozing in the Tank, with roos in the neighbouring field for company. We also took a long walk to the neighbouring marina and enjoyed a sunset gin and tonic in the bar watching some brave (or rather stupid) yachts making their way back into the marina before walking back and guzzling chicken sandwiches and hunkering down for the night.

Day 5

To add our avian alarm clock, we awoke to the sound of rain hammering the roof of the Tank. In between showers, we packed up and drove off. The benefit of a camper… no need to pull down a tent to decamp – its just a matter of folding the bed away, moving the chairs and you’re good to go. We first stopped in Mon Repos, the turtle nesting beach, but although we were in nesting season there was no activity at the turtle centre because firstly, it was morning, and secondly, the cyclone had pushed the tide way up the beach and all turtle excursions had been cancelled. We did take a stroll along the beach, and it looked like there was some evidence of nesting judging by the tracks on the sand, but for us it was a case of “next time” when hopefully the weather would play nice. Continuing, we stopped in the small town of Howard for a breakfast of champions of a pie and coffee, and the rain showers gradually lessened, eventually ceasing all together as we arrived in Hervey Bay. Settling in camp right on the beach in Scarness, we walked to the shops, dodging guano bombs from the fruit bats hanging in the trees lining the footpath, and watching dolphins frolic in the bay. Hervey Bay is also home to one of the longest piers I’ve ever been aware of, Urangan Pier. Stretching out almost 1km into the Great Sandy Straight between Fraser Island and the mainland it was a key feature in the early exporting days of sugar and coal. Hervey Bay again reminded us of being on the south coast of KwaZulu-Natal, typical coastal towns which have grown exponentially so there is no clear differentiation between the different urban zones. It was lovely to see people taking advantage of the almost 14km long esplanade, with yoga and tai chi being practiced in the parks in the early morning. The only disappointment was noting yellow plastic buckets tacked to the walls of public toilets, urging users to place their syringes in them, instead of leaving them lying around. One highlight though – the amount of ice cream available, one shop offering gelato made in the Queensland hinterland, another shop offering a whopping 72 flavours to choose from (I mean, how do you make a choice?).

Day 6: Awake at sparrows fart, excited at the prospect of a day out on Fraser Island, we took a bus transfer to River Heads and caught the Fraser Island barge to put-put over to Kingfisher Bay. From there we met our ever-engaging tour guide for the day, climbed on the monster truck which was to be our trusty steed as we navigated over the sandy tracks to the various sites of the day. After a bumpy first hour, the first stop was Eulong Bay on the seaward side of the island, where we took the “on-ramp” to nature’s own island highway, 75-mile beach. As we sped along the sand, we saw how much the recent storm had battered the coastline with the weather pushing the waves so high up the beach we had to hug the dunes and, in some cases, even detour off the beach. One such occasion had us bumping over the “coffee rocks”, rock-like material caused by thousands of years of compression of the island vegetation, all done in crawl gear as our truck bucked and slid across the rocks while our guide/driver calmly chatted away as if this was all in a day’s work. The dodgy track proved to be no issue for trusty bus #9.

The tour included multiple stops, including the Pinnacles, an area of coloured sand, the Maheno shipwreck, and the freshwater Eli Creek with the drive made entertaining by the ongoing commentary from our guide. Although Rob and I didn’t quite appreciate the hour-long narrative on the 11 deadliest species of snake present on the island, and how one unfortunate camper was bitten in his sleeping bag (or that’s what was surmised considering that’s how his corpse was found). This little story meant an extra-long sweep of the torch along the ground on the way to the bathroom that night! The nerve-wracking crossing of the coffee rocks on the return trip was made extra special though, as we spotted two dingoes trotting along the side of the track. We were told that the dingo is now a pure-breed again on the island. These cunning kin of the wolf have even figured out how to overcome the cattle grids at the entrance of each settlement, so the grids are now electrified to prevent dingoes entering the various locations. There is a strong dingo awareness programme in place, with our guide explaining what to do if we do have an encounter and the conservationists have started a tagging programme to show each dingo’s level of interaction with a human. Red on a tag is the human equivalent of death row – one more strike and that particular dingo is history.

A disappointing lunch back at Eulong Bay was followed by a drive to Central Station, the logging headquarters of an enterprising bloke called McKenzie who set up the island’s forestry operations. Last stop of the day is the one we were looking forward to the most, and that was Lake McKenzie, a natural freshwater lake containing only rainwater. Sand and vegetation at the base of the lake prevent the water draining away, and the water is also slight acidic so there is no aquatic life at all. The sand surrounding the lake is also the softest, powdery white sand ever. Our kind guide gave us some time for a swim, which we thoroughly enjoyed, and as a result we were now running late to catch the last barge back to the mainland. We took off at speed, and after a rushed and sometimes stomach-churning drive, we caught the barge back across the strait, canned Bundaberg rum and coke in hand enjoying the sunset.

Day 7 and 8

Having finished off in Hervey Bay on a high, it was time to head to our final stop of the roadie, Noosa Heads. We took a detour to Rainbow Beach, another lovely holiday town just south of the most southern tip of Fraser Island. Tired of the main drag, the navigator (aka Kirsten) directed the Tank onto a new route, which ended up being a test of navigation skills as I took us on a pretty but severely corrugated dirt road, which tested the Tanks shock absorbers o the max. Our drive took us through the backwaters of Noosa, and we arrived in the coastal hub by lunchtime. By now Rob was feeling a bit weary from all the driving, having covered almost 1000km to date, so we decided to spend the last two nights in a campsite located right on the Noosa river. I can’t say I’m too enamoured with Noosa, finding it a bit too commercial and busy for my taste. Very touristy, with boutique shops lining the main drag in town, I felt out of place amongst the young and the beautiful – even the school kids were eating trendy acai bowls as their after-school lunch. The amount of traffic as we walked from the campsite into town to the beach was enough to give me a headache. A friend quite aptly compared Noosa to Marmite (or Vegemite to the plebs) – you either love it or you hate it! By now my slops/thongs/jandals had given me blisters from all the walking we had done over the last week, so I was happy to park in my camp chair on the river bank, the lumbering pelicans taking flight and hunting for their afternoon snacks providing our afternoon entertainment. Our last day was split up into a morning on the main beach trying to avoid being pummeled by the dumping waves, Rob getting one of the most serious sunburns ever (No, I won’t get burnt before 10am in the morning he says), having the most delicious teriyaki beef burger for lunch, packing up and getting the Tank ready for delivery back to Jucy headquarters tomorrow, and finally enjoying a wonderful family reunion between Rob and one of his many cousins, Lance and his family in the evening. Rob and Lance hadn’t seen each other for about 13 or so years so listening to two of the Jennings men reminiscing and reconnecting was a happy end to a great trip.

Day 9

Day 9 dawned and it was a two-hour drive back to Brisbane, to catch our mid-morning flight back home. Although we won’t do that type of camper van trip again (maybe one slightly bigger next time!), the trip proved to be a great introduction to only some of the delights that Queensland has to offer. Being both our first time in Australia (my previous work trips don’t count), this little roadie wetted our appetite for more, and can guarantee that this will not be the last Straya trip – we’ll be back, snakes and all!

Final road trip tally:

• Snakes = 3 alive, 2 dead
• Spiders = 0 alive, heaps of horror stories
• Roos = too many to mention
• Koalas = a disappointing 0
• Wombats = 0
• Birds = plenty (even a few sea eagles)
• Bats = lots
• Dolphins = 2
• Blisters = 2
• Sunburn = 1 stomach

The ultimate destination of our South American mini break was getting to another UNESCO World Heritage Site, Machu Picchu, in the Peru Andes mountains. First and foremost, we had to get to Peru which involved another long day of travel from Santiago. After a three-hour flight to Lima, a short stop-over in Jorge Chavez International Airport (where we tried not to inhale the distinctly fishy aroma emanating from the fish meal factories just outside the city), another 90-minute flight into the mountains, we arrived in Cusco, the gateway to the Inca Trail, and the start of our trek to Machu Picchu. After a bumpy approach and landing at Cusco airport, located in the middle of an unexpectedly large city, we were met by our local representative for a short drive to our hotel for the next two nights. Delayed by about 30 minutes as our driver tried in vain to retrieve the car keys he accidentally locked in the car, we eventually took a taxi to the beautiful Aranwa Boutique hotel, situated slap bag in the middle of the old town. At 3,399m above sea-level, the hotel even had oxygen-enriched rooms to prevent their guests suffering from altitude sickness. Having come from the below-average Ibis hotel in Santiago, the unexpected luxury of this hotel was more than welcome! Considering it is not very often we have the opportunity of staying in a high-end hotel, even the sight of a pure Peruvian chocolate on the bed after the staff have turned down the covers for the night was exciting! Having arrived and after dropping our bags, we immediately took a walk to the centre of the old town, and at dusk, the light was just right to get some amazing photos. The town is fabulously maintained, with all the old buildings pristinely preserved (putting Valparaiso to shame) and the square was teeming with tourists enjoying the evening out, but this part of Cusco probably only makes up 10% of the actual city, with buildings sprawling out in all directions onto the surrounding hills. Everyone warned us (including the travel doctor at the clinic where I got my yellow fever jab) about the altitude, especially when flying in from sea-level, but aside from feeling a bit breathless walking up a hill, we suffered no ill effects. Only my roll-on deodorant popped as a result of the changing air pressure (needless to say I didn’t have to worry about BO for the night considering the contents spewed all over me). Rob being ever keen to try out the local fare, quizzed our taxi driver on what is the best food to try, so dinner that night was alpaca! Considered a good source of protein and low in cholesterol, we were all for trying this, so dinner was alpaca steak and chips, while we had another local pipe instrument player providing the nightly entertainment. Today was also the day we met the rest of the Inca Legends (thanks Duncan for the fabulous title) joining us the on the trek and had a briefing with Adventure Dynamics director (and luckily for us, guide for the trek) Sean Disney. A bit of history, Rob and I met Sean when he took us up Kilimanjaro in 2013 (your can read about that adventure here) and it was good to catch up with him five years down the line. After an introduction all round, the group learned about our upcoming itinerary, received our welcome packs, and the all-important duffel bags we needed to pack with our equipment and clothes needed on the trail. The take-home message… pack light! After Kili, Rob and I expected the same size duffel bags (like 60-odd liter capacity), and having clothes for both Santiago and the trek, had packed accordingly. I kid you not, the duffel bags were so small, the sleeping bag took up more than half the space allowance. This could have easily started a mutiny but we all dubiously took our bags back to our rooms and packed the bare necessities. The item I was most upset about leaving behind… my pillow. Yes, I admit it, like a security blanket, my pillow travels with me (I HATE hotel pillows, and don’t get me started on the sheets).

The next day dawned bright and early at 06h00 (a welcome change after the 08h30 sunrises in Santiago) and after breakfast, we commenced the day tour of the Sacred Valley. The first stop was a small animal sanctuary, with Andean bears, alpacas, llamas, pumas and condors in residence after being rescued from the wild. We were told we may have the opportunity of seeing all these species on the actual trek but this was not to be. The most impressive were the condors, and although they won’t win any awards for their appearance, they definitely are top ranked for their size. With a 3m wingspan, the enclosure didn’t provide much opportunity to see them at flight, but one did take a chance, swooping down from the top of the enclosure straight over my head to land one meter behind me. Rob was unfortunately a bit delayed in getting the GoPro going so we missed getting footage of the flight. Next stop was the quaint town of Pisaq nestled in the Urubamba valley, with a drive through the village up the terraced mountain-side to our first set of Incan ruins. Almost the entire side of the mountain was terraced and used as farming grounds for the Inca city at the top, with the terraces preventing erosion thus preventing crop loss from landslides. The scenery across the gorge and of the surrounding valley was amazing, and although there were quite a few tourists, the one-way system allowed for everything to flow nicely and there were no “traffic jams”. Our guide Valerio (who accompanied the group for the entire trek) explained all about the Incan lifestyle, hierarchy of their society as well as gave some history of the civilization-ending Spanish invasion and ultimate conversion of the society to Catholicism. The day was a festival day, and all around were brightly coloured decorations and fireworks echoed like cannon-fire throughout the valley. Time for lunch, we stopped for a feast to satisfy even the largest appetites, enjoying alpaca carpaccio, alpaca stew and all things alpaca together with other more sedate options for the less adventurous eaters). A short drive took us to Ollantaytambo, a small Inca village set on the banks of the Urubamba river, with an Inca archeological site set on the hillside behind the town. Valerio took us around and pointed out various interesting facts, most of which I unfortunately can’t remember as most of the time I was looking around and not really listening (sorry Valerio!). One thing I do remember is the Sun Temple was perfectly placed to align with the Winter Solstice and the rising and setting of the winter sun. With plenty of stairs to climb, it was the warm-up to what the legends were facing in the coming days, and the terraces were a perfect opportunity to stop, admire the view and, more importantly, catch one’s breath, before heading up to the next level. The day took us all along the Urubamba river and from our tour bus, we could see that the towns were generally neat and well-kept, the brown mud-plastered houses a stark contrast to the brightly coloured cloth the Peruvians are famous for. We passed through a town renowned for another traditional Peruvian meal – guinea pig! Guinea pig statues and signs everywhere, you could easily mistake this as an animal worshipped and respected by the locals (like cows are in India) until you pass the restaurants with the open-air ovens roasting pigs on sticks! Two large pigs can apparently feed a family! It was also strange to see that the dogs run free, but all other animals are tethered, often noticing a young girl or boy walking their sheep, llama or alpaca through town on a lead, all in an effort for a photo opportunity and a couple of sols. Tired from our day out, we arrived back in Cusco at nightfall, and after dinner of an alpaca burger (I was alpaca’d out after this trip!), it was an early night in anticipation for the next day’s start of the Inca Trail.

Day 1: Prologue

The first day’s trekking first started with a few hours on our bums, first for the drive back to Ollantaytambo, and the start of the trail at the Km 82 landmark, and second, waiting on benches at the entry checkpoint because (yes I’m naming and shaming) Wendy and Peter forgot their passports. Thank goodness for local networks, phones, Whatsapp and whatever other technology was in place to get copies emailed through! Despite the slight delay, the group was cheerful, Sean was nonplussed (as he always is), spirits were high… and then the rain started. Our first group shot, a photo of us grimacing against the rain and icy wind gusting through the valley! Rain gear out (thank goodness this was in our backpacks, it wouldn’t have fit in our duffels anyway), and we were off! Day 1 was a flat introduction to the trek, with minor undulations in the terrain taking us along the river, passing various Inca ruins to our first camp. The first day’s walk was punctuated by short stops to allow porters and asses (both human and animal variety) to pass – apparently we weren’t walking fast enough – and gave our guide Valerio an opportunity to explain highlights of the region to us! He told us about a pretty flower, known to be hallucinogenic, which is often used by locals to provide cushioning for a pillow. Was seriously tempted to give this a try, considering my poor pillow had to be left behind!  The rain eventually cleared just before our lunch stop, and our afternoon walk brought us into camp at Wayllabamba, a breathtaking setting at 3000m above sea level, with our tents set up a slight incline, off the main path, in a valley surrounded by snow-capped peaks of the Andes. Day 1 was what I refer to the commercial part of the trek, as we passed multiple settlements, with local families having tuckshops where trekkers could buy water, soft drinks including the sickly-sweet Inca cola, and in some places, hard tack for those wanting a night cap. Although our team of porters set up a toilet tent, it was just for “number one” and anyone wanting more, had to pay one sol for access to a porcelain throne. After a tent wash with wet wipes and bowl of warm water, it was time for tea. Hot chocolate, crackers and popcorn was followed by dinner, where we were formally introduced to our team of porters (aka the heroes of the trip) who carried the majority of our gear, set up our lunch and nightly camps and kept us well fed and hydrated. A happy bunch, the porters smartly dressed in the tour company (Peru by Locals) fleece, and the chefs in chef whites and hats, each individual shyly stepped forward, introduced himself with his name and role, accompanied by loud applause for everything they did for us along the route. Santos, our chef, and his sous-chef spoiled us at meal time, the dining tent decked out with a long dining table, chairs, serviettes beautifully presented with hearty breakfasts, and lunches and dinners were often four courses, presented by Santos in the same way as a Michelin-starred chef, with a dessert included (by the way, did anyone lose weight because I sure didn’t!). The resident cat made itself comfortable on a few laps during dinner, but apparently didn’t quite take to Dave, clawing him in the process of trying to find a bed, making Dave (and the rest of us) jump up, with plates, cutlery and other table items going flying!

Day 2: Did someone say stairs?

Today, we reached our highest point of the trek at 4215m above sea-level to Dead Woman’s Pass. But I’m jumping the gun a bit here. The first night in camp was relatively comfortable (minus missing pillow), but slightly cold. The worst part is eventually warming up then realizing you need to take the midnight trip to the loo, and the resulting internal debate of “do you or don’t you”. I tell you it is not an easy decision, first to unzip a warm sleeping bag without the material getting caught, fumbling around trying to find the headtorch, putting on the required footwear, unzipping the tent without disturbing the bedmate (impossible), rezipping the tent to stop any nasties climbing into your sleeping bag in your absence, finding the toilet without tripping over your neighbours tent cables, and then repeating that process in reverse order to get back to bed. Our evening briefing of “be prepared for stairs” the night before was also not conducive to a good night’s sleep! Morning tent service of coca tea was our wake-up call, followed by breakfast after packing up and allowing the porters to break camp. The first hour’s walking continued to follow the river, then that dreaded right turn brought us to Peru’s version of the Stairmaster. Hour after hour (five to be exact) of stairs, stairs and more stairs constructed out of rock, designed to test the strongest thighs, our continuous slog punctuated by breaks to catch our breaths and appreciate just how high we had already climbed. Stunning views over extremely jagged mountains and valleys filled with jungle, rain-forest type vegetation greeted us at every turn, and looking down, you could see the snake of people trudging up the mountain. The last two hours before lunch were intense, with ears popping trying to equalize with the gains in altitude. I have to say I wasn’t very impressed upon the initial purchase of my Oboz boots, with a black toenail the result of wearing them in on the training hikes leading up to this trip, but I take back all the bad things I said about them, the boots proving their worth with a vice-like grip on the slippery rocks (I only slipped once the entire trip and that was only after we started our steep descent down to camp). The most humbling thing of the day (aside from the spectacular scenery) was watching the porters charge up the mountain path, with their sandaled feet, leathery and calloused, dirt embedded so deeply under their toenails, surefooted in their steps having completed this journey hundreds of times before, all while carrying 20kg on their backs. It was good to see their loads are regulated, with each pack weighed by the head porter at the start of each day, and each porter wore a brace to protect their backs. With chests heaving, and quads burning, it was up and over Dead Woman’s Pass (so named because the profile of the pass resembles a woman’s face and bosom – why dead I don’t know – maybe because both men and women are dead tired after the long uphill trek). Photos done, it was into cold weather gear as we commenced the knee-killing descent into rain and down to camp. The second night’s camp was at 3600m in altitude, cold and wet, but I doubt no one took much notice, too tired to care. However the location, and not the altitude, took our breaths away, with our tents set up to a backdrop of a high cascading waterfall, feeding the adjacent fast-flowing river, and a view of the mist-shrouded valley below. Dinner that night was slightly more subdued, but things perked up with the delivery of cake, baked by our fabulous chef, as congratulations for conquering the toughest, most demanding day of the trek!

Day 3: The Inca Flats

Day 3 was a day of endless ups and downs, narrow paths and sheer drops, mostly in mist and pouring rain. After a terrible night’s sleep, I woke up a bit shaky, but after a sustaining breakfast of eggs and strong Peruvian coffee, I felt ready to take on the day’s trekking, described by Valerio as “Inca flat” and “mostly downhill”. He did however forget to mention that the first hour of trekking was an almost vertical climb of stone steps up to some Inca ruins back up to 4000m, before the “mostly downhill” part of the walk, and that “Inca flat” is not flat at all. Hello lactic acid. Short sharp climbs were followed by treacherous descents down steep slippery stairs, some through Inca tunnels carved through the rock. While we gingerly made our way down the path, the porters were a sight to behold, descending in what could be characterized as a walk-run, stepping from rock to rock without losing their balance – so much more impressive than the freight-train impression I had of the Kili porters. Taken by surprise by a rain shower, the last 30 minutes of walking before the lunch stop resulted in most of us being soaked, and I only essentially started to dry off after the rain cleared and we started the afternoon leg. Dessert made up for the wet lunch tent, with the chef treating us to dessert of jelly (I can’t remember the last time I had jelly as Rob hates any kind of food that “wobbles” – read jelly, custard etc.). in general, we were so spoilt with food on this trip, and the porters enjoyed plenty of leftovers, maybe that’s where they got their energy to run and leap their way to each camp. Our path on Day 3 took us past plenty of Inca ruins, each one more impressive than the last, as we meandered our way to the last night’s campsite. Day 3 will also be the day remembered for being the day of mozzie bites – but in this case, it wasn’t mozzies that were biting, but some other Peruvian jungle monster bug that zapped me on my legs, and left huge red, oozing welts despite the use of insect repellent. After lunch, we were given the option of turning right or turning left at a junction in the path near the campsite – a right turn would take us directly to camp, a left would take us to camp via more Inca ruins. Knowing we were not likely to return to the area, Rob and I of course turned left, and have absolutely no regrets adding another hour to our walk. The jungle parted to a huge Inca ruin, Intipata, another area where the Incas carved out terraces in the mountain side, with a rainbow arcing over the ruins, snowcapped mountains surrounding us on all sides. We could see our night’s camp from the ruins, and as it was getting late in the day, we soaked up the view before heading down. Not the nicest of camps (the squat toilets are referenced in most literature relating to the Inca trail) with the result that camp permeated with the smells of bodily functions. But it was our last night on the trail, we got treated to yet another cake after dinner, and it was the night we got to thank the porters for all of their hard work in a tipping ceremony. Fayrouz was an absolute gem, being the spokeswoman of the group who, with the help of Valerio, thanked the team in Spanish, despite not speaking the language at all. An early night was required in preparation for the 03h20 start the following morning.

Day 4: Destination Machu Picchu

Day 4 was all about getting to what we all came to see… Machu Picchu. But before we got there, there was still a good couple of hours of trekking to do. 03h00 came with a quiet wake-up call from the porters, with the aim to get to the checkpoint before it opened at 05h30, in order to get to the Sun Gate at dawn to get some spectacular shots of the sunrise over Machu Picchu. Unfortunately, that was not to be, and as we got ourselves organized, that’s when the rain started… With the rain came with the decision to wait at camp for the checkpoint to open as there was no shelter at the checkpoint itself. So to keep as dry as possible, we ended up waiting for an hour and a half under the only shelter at camp – yup, you guessed it, next to the squat toilets and all their pleasant smells. Decked out in all our wet-weather gear, we set off at full pace, climbing steadily up, missing multiple lookouts, focusing all our energy purely on maintaining our footing on the slippery, narrow sections and sheer drops along the path. The path took us onwards and upwards, via a set of steep stairs called the “gringo killer” which was essentially ascended on hands and knees to prevent any accidents. Eventually, after a surprisingly quick walk (although it was probably over 2 hours) we made it to the Sun Gate, or on this particular date, the Gate of Wind and Rain, with the swirling cloud only allowing us occasional glimpses of the Incan mecca below us. We headed down, led by Valerio and Machu Picchu in all its glory eventually revealed itself to us from the guardhouse at the top of the complex. The citadel is smaller than expected but still magnificent, and an amazing feat of architectural design and engineering, with the accuracy of its construction as well as its placement so high up in the mountains blowing my mind. As we started our abbreviated tour (we were after all tired, wet, cold and hungry) we made our way through the various sections of the complex, the temples, the urban zones, the rock quarry and farming sectors and ultimately the exit! Rob and I decided to take advantage of our second entrance option, and as the clouds lifted, and the sun shone down, we could get that all-important selfie with Machu Picchu in the background to say we were there! The only negative aspect of the place is that being a popular tourist destination, the complex was overrun with people, with busloads being ferried up the mountain from Aguas Calientes town below. I got a bit annoyed after while as each time I just wanted to stop and take in the view, I was asked (sometimes very rudely) to get out of the way as I was always in someone’s photo. I even noted a couple of occasions where men stepped over the “no go” barrier to go behind a wall or rock for a pee – is there no respect for historical sites these days? After exiting Machu Picchu for the second and final time, Rob and I headed down to Aguas Calientes town and to our hotel for the night. After a well-deserved hot shower, we strolled around town and took in the sights before a team dinner that evening. At 2000m above sea level, we were still high but felt like we were at the beach with all the oxygen after Dead Woman’s Pass!

Our last day before starting the long journey back home to the various parts of the world we all came from was filled with getting the legends back to where we started from, Cusco. This involved a very scenic train ride from Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo, where we were introduced to the scariest Peruvian mountain lion I’ve ever seen, or more accurately, one of the crew members dressed in the gaudiest costume ever, mask on, blonde mane of hair flying everywhere, purring each time “it” came into contact with a guest – all part of the train entertainment while the rest of the crew modeled the clothes weaved from baby alpaca hair. A tourist trap if I ever did see one! Everyone was a bit weary upon our eventual arrival in Cusco, with most of us using the afternoon to relax, before enjoying a delicious dinner at a local restaurant before we parted ways the next day.

The trip is well worth it, and if you are prepared to rough it a bit, and are conditioned for stairs, I highly recommend the Inca Trail as a bucket-list item. At each turn you are greeted with a different site, be it mountains, valleys, waterfalls or rivers, and each section had distinctly different vegetation ranging from dry succulents to rainforest. The trail also had a distinct smell on it and it was hard to tell if this was the odour of unwashed selves and our fellow rancid trekkers, rotting vegetation or the smell of the passing porters munching coca leaves! Ultimately it was more about the journey, rather than the destination, with some strenuous trekking interspersed by amazing sights, breathtaking views and jaw-dropping scenery, all accompanied by good laughs and delicious food shared with new friends. Meal time conversation was almost always lively banter, topics ranging from celebrity gossip, murder mysteries and bathroom habits (yes Robyn, sometimes the number two can happen unintentionally when you are just planning on having a number one). Thank you Robyn and Pieter, Duncan, Dave, Fayrouz, Yanal, Wendy and Peter, and as always, Sean for a memorable trip. Sean, on a side note, your ever-present humour, calm demeanour and professional attitude makes any trip with the Adventure Dynamics team highly recommended and an experience of a lifetime. Thank you!

It’s amazing how the first words are always the most difficult. Since our last post in March 2016 (so long ago!) a lot has happened in the life of Rob and Kirsten. Two years later, we find ourselves with regular jobs again, living on the other side of the world in New Zealand (yes, we loved it so much in 2015 we decided to relocate and be responsible adults for a while) and working through the daily grind all in an effort to save for our next epic adventure.

It was one lazy Saturday morning that we stumbled across the opportunity for a trip we both have on our bucket lists – the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. And when investigating flights, the only way from NZ was via Santiago and so set in motion our plans for a short South American holiday. Here is a taster of our experiences in Smoggy Santiago… the first stop on our adventure.

Months of planning brought us to 27 Apr 2018 when the day of our long flight to Santiago dawned. I had been up late the night before trying desperately to ensure all pertinent work emails had been answered, actioned or delegated in between packing for our trip. It was a relief to wake up on that Friday knowing that for two weeks I’ll be unreachable! After whiling away the day with mundane chores to pass the time (read – housecleaning), we made our way to the airport, high on anticipation. We had a long 12-hour flight ahead of us, but luckily, the aisle seat of our three-seat row was not allocated, and we could spread out and get some rest while we flew across the expanse of the Pacific Ocean we had sailed across only two years prior.

We flew LATAM for the first time and have to say I was mightily impressed – superb, modern aircraft and a delicious dinner of gnocchi, with cream, mushrooms and sundried tomato, followed by an amazing chocolate brownie and Chilean red wine. The red wine accompanied with a helpful sleeping tablet ensured a pretty decent night’s sleep! Our first sight of South America was at Concepcion, a port familiar to Rob in his days on the cargo ships, and most recently, the port team Scallywag made their way to following their loss of a crew member on Leg 7 of the Volvo Ocean Race that Rob and I have been following. A left turn saw us heading North for a bit, the majestic Andes rising up through the clouds on our right, as we descended to the sight of the dry, dusty desert landscape surrounding the mammoth city of Santiago. From the air it was clear (despite the smog) to see that Santiago is a city filled with people (apparently 40% of the population lives here) with the city sprawling in all directions in a central valley flanked by the Andes to the East, and the Coastal mountain ranges to the West.

After touchdown and an easy pass through Immigration, our bags were the first off the carousel and we located the Turbus into town. One word – TRAFFIC! And lots of it! After two hours in a bus with seriously dodgy suspension, we rode through dirty, crowded suburban streets to the Turbus central station, hoisted our bags onto our backs, and delved into the underworld of the city’s Metro system. Big, cumbersome bags on our backs during Friday evening peak hour Metro traffic wasn’t fun and resulted in perdón and disculpe (both mean sorry) and con permiso (with permission) being the first Spanish words out of my mouth in this foreign land, when we had to try and get out of the sardine can which was the train carriage. Luckily for us, our hotel wasn’t too far from a Metro stop and we settled into our room unscathed. The 13^th floor of the Ibis Santiago Providencia hotel was our home for the next 5 days – a lucky number for some, unlucky for others. I wasn’t too fussed, not being superstitious and all that, and had read previously it was actually recommended to have a room higher up due to the city noise at night, but as we found out later that night, a room on the 13^th floor doesn’t help with noise if you have a window that doesn’t shut completely, and the sound of bus airbrakes at 1am is surprisingly loud!

After a decent few hours of sleep we woke refreshed, but to pitch darkness (well as much darkness as a city of 7 million people would allow). Checking the time thinking jet lag was the culprit for this unexpected awakening, it was already 06h45 according to our watches. Out comes the phone for wifi to check the local time (just in case we buggered up when re-setting the time). Yup, 06h45, with sunrise only at 08h30! I can tell you this delay in sunrise compared to what we were used to threw us a bit, and towards the end of our stay, we were only waking up at about 08h00 which is unheard of for us. After a typical Spanish/Chilean breakfast of sweet pastry and coffee, we found our local supermarket for some refreshments (and deliciously fresh bread straight out of the oven), then we hit the Metro to the old city. With plenty of people around, some who were obviously tourists and some who were not, Rob was on high alert for scammers and pickpockets and I got a mouthful each time I lagged behind admiring some fabulous piece of old architecture. We got some pictures, but I can’t say the old city was very pretty. The buildings in the area are excellently maintained but with everything covered in a fine brown dust, it just looks dull. The river throwing through the central city was also filled with litter, and although the adjacent park was the only greenbelt in the city, it smelt of piss most of the time (not sure if the council used fertilizer or grey water to keep the grass green, which may have contributed to the smell!). The city parks were a popular place to spend the day it seemed, with gravel paths available for pedestrians, and cycle lanes teeming with bikes. With our meandering and dodging water puddles (the parks were constantly being watered), we also realized that the park was the place for the youngsters to demonstrate their love for one another, taking public displays of affection to another level, often stopping for a snog in the middle of the path, oblivious to the world around them, then carrying on with their stroll once their ardour was satisfied, at least temporarily.

With our earlier confusion with the time, we also came to note the city is filled with clocks of various shapes and sizes, but not one had the correct time anyway which gave new meaning to Chile time (in hindsight it would have been good to ask the locals of meetings/appointments etc. ever started on time given every single clock we saw had the wrong time). The most exciting thing of the day – riding the metro (on a Saturday, it was still surprisingly busy) but with far less crowds that the night before, Rob noticed that the wheels of the carriages were actually bus tyres following a track (like those old electronic go-kart toys) rather than train tracks one sees in Paris for example. The same afternoon, after our usual siesta, we took a stroll to the Costanera Center Torre 2 (also known as Gran Torre Santiago), the tallest building in Latin America, with 64 stories. After an earpopping, 40 second elevator ride, we arrived at level 62 for a bird’s eye view of the city in all directions, then headed one floor up to the open-air deck. With the smog, we could hardly make out the snow-capped Andes in the distance, but it was still great to get that perspective of the size of the city, something you don’t realize when on ground level. And of course, when in Rome do as the Romans, so the rest of our Saturday was spent dodging people in the 5 levels of the mall at the bottom of the tower as we familiarized ourselves with local fashion, culture and food (should I be surprised that the queue for the movie The Avengers, or whatever the latest sci-fi blockbuster is, was around the corner and out the door?). Walking back to the hotel, we stumbled across a street market, with the entire road closed off to traffic, with one end dedicated to a stage and mosh pit, a local rock band banging out the tunes while the more sedate punters were lounging at tables set up on the sidewalk, sipping sangria and enjoying the ambience.

Sunday saw us have an early start for an 08h15 pick up by tour company Turistik for a day trip to Vina del Mar and Valparaiso on the coast. A pleasant 1h30 drive out of Santiago took us through the first set of Coastal Ranges via a 5km tunnel into the Casablanca Valley, the most fertile part of the region fed by an underground river, with lots of wineries, and fruit and vegetable farms. A second tunnel, this one 3km saw us enter the hilly outskirts of the Valparaiso region, a place where window washers, street clowns and fire dancers abound at every traffic light and street corner. Our first stop, Vina del Mar, a place the brochures advertise as a quaint coastal “town” but is anything but… the sight of a huge metropolis greeted us as we made our way through the poor districts filling the slopes down to the apartment towers lining the seafront, with not an inch of free land available. With the day being cold and overcast, and outside of peak summer season, the place was still full of people and me being averse to crowds, I’d hate to see it at its busiest – I don’t imagine Vina del Mar would be the best place to escape the hustle and bustle of the city for a relaxing holiday! A quick stop at the picturesque flower clock (which surprisingly had the correct time!), the required selfie taken, it was back on the bus for a drive through the centre to Parque Quinta Vergara, a landscaped park with open-air stage although why we stopped here, I’m not sure as there wasn’t anything to see. Back on the bus, and to the beach, and our lunch stop. At 16,000 pesos (about NZD 35) per person, we opted to find something local instead, but with limited time, and being on foot, we were restricted to the beach front restaurants which were charging the same exorbitant prices. I won’t dare tell you where we dined *cough* pizza hut *cough*! Good enough to settle the tummy rumblings before we headed to Valparaiso, a World Heritage site.

A multitude of colourful houses dotted the mountainside as the bus struggled up the steep streets for us to start our walking tour, we could see why the area is a haven for artists, with colourful street art (read graffiti) adorning the majority of buildings and streets. Our guide even warned us not to take anything valuable with us, and to be on the lookout for pickpockets, and not to lose the group as we’d never find our way out of the rabbit’s warren of streets. Both Rob and I commented on the bus ride back that we were pleased to have taken the tour, as we wouldn’t have seen half the sights, or understood the history of the area if we had been independent tourists. Rob had visited the area previously on the cargo ships and made a remark about how the city has grown exponentially since he last visited. His memory… being in port offloading containers, with the Chilean armada doing drills nearby, firing live ammo into the water where the cargo ship was berthed.

Overall, we enjoyed the day out, and have a tick against another World Heritage Site that Rob and I have visited together. The city does have a kind of artistic charm to it, with a multitude of art, colourful facades of the houses, and a plethora of architectural styles to keep the eye entertained, but we didn’t know if we should be looking at the scenery or keeping our eyes to the floor to avoid standing in the multiple landmines of dog poo kindly left behind by the packs of street dogs roaming the alleyways. On that note, the street dogs were a common feature wherever we went. It was difficult to tell if the dogs were stray, or actually had owners who let them roam free, as most were in pretty good health, with very few mangy coats and visible ribs. They roamed in packs, playing and jostling as they followed us down the streets, or passed out on the sidewalks oblivious to the people walking past them. They are unbelievably street smart, even knowing when it was safe to cross super busy streets (would you believe me if I told you they even cross at the lights, not a stray – excuse the pun – jay-walker in sight). A couple of people in our group were afraid of them, and our guide said, “don’t worry about the street dogs, they are kind” and from our observations during our time in Chile, are an accepted part of society, with a good number of households leaving bowls of food and freshwater on the sidewalk for the dogs to enjoy. The few dogs we did see belonging to owners were dressed to the nines in their canine couture, decked out in their designer doggie jackets to protect them against the icy wind as they trotted haughtily along on their leads! We topped off our day with Chilean ice-cream after dinner when arriving back in the city, and although overwhelmed with the choices of flavor available, I can’t say the ice-cream provided the same gastronomic delights that comes with a mouthful of Italian gelato! Still to experience a traditional Chilean meal though…

Monday saw us searching for eggs for breakfast, something which seemed to be non-existent, so we settled for some continental grub of a fresh roll with ham and cheese, and a Nescafe from the local café as we waited for the fog to clear. A stroll along the river as the sun burnt off the fog (only to be replaced by the ever-present smog) took us to the Santiago Metropolitan Park, the largest urban park in Chile. We took the cable car up to San Cristobal, had a wander around the top skirting the crowds surrounding the Statue of the Virgin Mary and admired the view (or lack thereof). We had actually read that the pollution at times is considered worse than Beijing, and that the government recommended the population avoid outdoor exercise! For our part, the pollution had its effect with poor Rob suffering constant red and itchy eyes, and both of us coughing and sneezing our way around the city. The hill seems to be a mountain bike mecca, with cyclists slogging their way to the top, catching their breath and racing down the slopes to the bottom. We decided to take the more sedate route using the funicular down to the suburb of Bellavista and enjoyed the 45-degree descent down the hill (although the poor girl behind us couldn’t say the same, down on her bum, clutching the sides of the carriage with white knuckles petrified for the entire 2 minute thrill ride). Lunch was a tasty meal in the “el patio” area, a place of plenty restaurants, bars and mini boutique type cubicles selling jewelry, clothing and souvenirs. Our search for a traditional Chilean meal had us eating dinner in a local restaurant near our hotel, where we ordered a Chorrillana, a dish consisting of a plate of French fries, covered with especial (in our case, beef, chicken and sausage), topped by fried egg and caramelized onions. Washed down with a local beer, we enjoyed our dinner sitting at our street-side table where local musicians and singers provided some entertainment and touted the tables for tips before moving on to the next. Our entertainment ranged from a harmonica playing hippie to a pop-star wannabee with big boobs whose biggest talent was humming along to whatever was playing on her stereo while she kept her balance of the highest pair of stilettos I have ever seen!

Our last day in Santiago was 1 May and should have been our day to leave the city for our next adventure on the Inca Trail, but a lack of foresight saw us in the city for another day. A public holiday, the city was dead, with all restaurants and shops closed, and few people bar us wandering on the streets. On a positive note, this was the day we found eggs for breakfast! The one and only open restaurant was an American-style diner where I treated myself to a B.L.T with egg and Rob tried the scrambled egg mish-mash of whatever leftovers the “chef” found – suffice to say mine was the better of the two meals! Anyway, the day gave us a chance to get our laundry dry (having used the shower and a bucket to clean the smalls needed for our next leg) and pack and prepare for our travels to Peru the next day. When originally planning our South American trip, the main event was always going to be the Inca Trail, but we were still pleased to have visited Santiago, and definitely want to explore the rest of Chile, considering we only saw a miniscule amount of this 4000km plus long country.

Our last post had us arriving in what was to be the southernmost point of our travels through New Zealand, Dunedin.  The highlight of Dunedin… the chocolate factory for me, the Speights brewery for Rob!  Who knew that Cadbury was such an international chocolate, sourcing their beans from Ghana and Malaysia, roasting them in Singapore, before mixing the resulting cocoa mass with Australian sugar and Kiwi milk to end up with the famed Dairy Milk!  We also found the steepest street in the world, Baldwin Street, which has a rise of 1m for every 2.6m forward.  After a couple of photos at the top we had a laugh walking down the gradient while Scott decided to test his car’s brakes!  The day after had us enjoying a drive along the Otago Peninsula firstly stopping at Larnach Castle and thereafter driving to Harington Point, the site of the only mainland Royal Albatross colony in the world (although we only spotted one gliding out over the water).  The area was also home to both yellow-eyed and blue penguins, but since they only return to their nests at dusk, we didn’t get a chance to see them.  It was a great couple of days in Dunedin then we started back to Christchurch, stopping at Moeraki Boulders.  Here we parted ways with the family, them heading straight back home, while Rob and I took a detour in a rental car to visit Mt Cook National Park, Mt Cook being the highest mountain in New Zealand.  Going back into the mountains I was expecting more of an alpine look to the countryside, but I was reminded that we had climbed above the normal winter snowline, so instead of green pine trees the landscape was a desolate brown with only a few thorny bushes dotted along the way.  Arriving in the village of Mt Cook National Park, our plan was to take a boat trip to the terminal face of the Tasman Glacier, but it was recommended we rather hike to a view point.  Good thing we did because we were extremely disappointed with what we saw.  Although bigger than Franz Josef Glacier, it was definitely not as impressive; the surface of the glacier was covered in a thick layer of sand blown down from the mountains.  At first glance you wouldn’t have thought you were looking at a glacier.  The only give-away was the chunks of ice that had broken away from the terminal face and congregated at the mouth of the lake.  Thereafter we hiked to a view point of Mt Cook itself, with two nerve-wrecking suspension bridge crossings.  Just a few days previously we saw footage of trampers who were plunged into an icy river when the bridge they were crossing collapsed.  And seeing the amount of steel cabling used to reinforce the bridges and prevent them from swaying maniacally in the wind howling through the valley did little to comfort me!  From Mt Cook we travelled to Lake Tekapo to get a photo of the famed Church of the Good Shepherd, an extremely old church with one of the best views!  Upon arriving in town we decided to do something different; instead of choosing the usual hostel bed in the YHA we chose a camper van for the night!  A good idea at the time, but not so great when a certain someone (me) had to get up in the middle of the night, walk across the garden in the freezing cold and use the bathroom in the hostel building!

In the middle of October we were back in Christchurch and spent another week with Sheryl and Co.  Scott disappeared to go watch the end of the Rugby World Cup so we kept Sheryl and kids company for a while.  We even visited the gym a couple of times, and I enjoyed a hot yoga class with Sheryl too!  We said a sad farewell on 20 October and headed north to the Malborough Sounds, a beautiful area with fingers of pine-covered land protruding into the Cook’s Strait.  We had another rental car and it was a great driving experience for Rob, who was dreaming of a career as a rally driver as we twisted our way through windy roads!  After a brief stop in the fishing town of Kaikoura to enjoy a lunch of fresh fish and chips while surrounded by squawking seagulls in what felt like approaching summer weather, we continued on to our destination of Anakiwa.  Thank goodness we had a car because Anakiwa was so isolated, we would have been bored out of our skulls if we couldn’t take a drive to explore Picton, 25km away, and more of the Sounds.  The Malborough Sounds are a network of sunken river valleys with three bodies of water comprising it; Queen Charlotte, Kenepuru and Pelorus, with a number of islands dotted throughout.  Anakiwa also marks the end of the Queen Charlotte Track, one of New Zealand’s best trails.  From Malborough we travelled to Motueka which was to be our base to explore Abel Tasman National Park.  Being too early to check in at the hostel, we continued exploring the beautiful beach town of Kaiteriteri and surrounding area.  While in the Nelson area, we enjoyed a great but tiring 25km hike along part of the Coastal Track of Abel Tasman National Park.  Very early on in our time in New Zealand I was very happy and relieved to hear about the lack of snakes on the islands, so tramping through rainforest actually involved taking in the scenery rather than me trying to determine if the tree root I was just about to step over was a slithery serpent or not!  It was fantastic walking, tramping to a meditative soundtrack of trickling streams, chirping birds and waves lapping at the shore.  Even the rhythmic clump-clump of our boots crunching along the packed sand path did little to disturb the peace.  After a picnic lunch in a secluded cove we did an about turn, retracing our footsteps back to the park entrance, only this time getting wet as the forecasted spots of rain became intermittent showers!  The walk back was therefore done in double time!  We had the track mostly to ourselves in the morning since we started out early, but on our way back we passed a good number of hikers; they had our sympathy with the mizzle turning into drizzle and then full on rain.  A hot shower back at the hostel followed by craft beer and cider at the local Sprig & Fern tavern was most welcome!  We dropped our rental car off in Nelson, watched SA lose to NZ in the rugby then caught a bus back Picton to catch the ferry back to Wellington.  The ferry is the best way to view some of the 1500km of coastline making up the Malborough Sounds and has been rated as one of the most scenic boat rides in the world.  Thankfully the weather played ball and the crossing between North and South Island was flat; the Cook’s Strait is known to be rough!

Back in Wellington, we took advantage of the sunny weather that we didn’t have the first time and visited the Beehive, the site of New Zealand’s parliament.  And even though it was a Public Holiday (Labour Day) they still offered free tours of parliament so we stood in the room where the powers-that-be make the laws!  The most interesting part of the tour was the basement and seeing how the structure has been earthquake-proofed.  After an unusually sunny period, we left Wellington on a wet and windy day using a rental car and drove north to Napier.  Although still a scenic drive, it was nothing compared to the sights on South Island.  Arriving in Napier mid afternoon gave us an opportunity to have a look around.  Unfortunately it is not a town that one can write much about.  Filled with arty-farty types, it was a bit incongruous in that it is also a port town with rough tough sailors coming off the cargo ships.  With the weather being inclement we drove up to a lookout point on Bluff Hill which the locals are very proud of but all we got was a bird’s eye view of the container terminal, with the side overlooking the town completely overgrown with vegetation.  Back down we parked the car and walked through the main shopping district and from what we saw we were happy we were only spending a night there.

Leaving Napier we continued our drive to Bay of Plenty and the seaside town of Mount Maunganui.  On our drive up we stopped in Taupo briefly for a coffee and Rotorua (where we spent some time before going to Christchurch) but this time with our own car we managed to stop at some rapids and cascades at Huka Falls outside of town.  With 200 000l of Waikato River water plunging over the 9m rock face every second (enough to fill five Olympic Swimming pools), the resulting bubbles give the falls their name, “foam” in Maori.  Arriving in Mount Maunganui we were too early to check in to the backpackers so we went directly to Mount Mauao, a volcanic hill sacred to the Maori and walked halfway up to get some photos of the bay and nearby Tauranga.  We didn’t do the complete walk to the summit as we only had a parking space for an hour and didn’t want to risk a fine!  We found the area very similar in feel to Jeffrey’s Bay in SA, popular with surfers and fishermen.  Enjoying an afternoon beer in one of the locals we found the bartender was South African who had been living there for nine years – funny but an Afrikaner will never lose that particular accent!

Following Mount Maunganui we drove further up the coast to an area called The Coromandel, considered to be one of the best areas of North Island.  We spent three nights in a tiny settlement of Opoutere in a cabin at the YHA hostel and can see why the area is popular with holidaymakers; close to Auckland, kilometres and kilometres of white sand beaches (although the water is still cold) and what seems to be an agreeable climate, but that is subjective as us sun loving South Africans were still in track pants and fleeces, having not fully adjusted to the weather!  Our first morning after arriving in Opoutere was spent exploring – we had a car, why not use it?  We drove to the seaside village of Hahei and had a good walk along the coast to Cathedral Cove, a huge arched cavern eroded by the sea.  Following that we drove to Whitianga and wandered around town.  New to the area is a development similar to St Francis Bay with its canals and waterways, where huge fishing boats are moored on private jetties in front of equally huge houses.  A delicious fish and chips lunch preceded the slow drive back to the YHA, stopping in Tairua.  The entrance to the marina of this town is overlooked by Mt Paku which of course we had to climb!  After stretching our legs we arrived back in Opoutere and decided to take advantage of the sunny weather and first walked to the beach, and there after climbed to the top of the hill behind the YHA.  On the deck of our cabin we also enjoyed the shows put on by the native Tui bird, which has an extremely versatile vocal range, chirping prettily at first then screeching like a banshee the next.  The Tui proved to be difficult to capture on film; every time Rob got the camera ready, the bird “did a Bella” and flew off.  I say “did a Bella” as one of my dogs back home is extremely camera shy and does a runner at the slightest hint that her photo will be taken!  The second morning in Opoutere had us on the water of the estuary in kayaks, but the weather turned so it was back home for coffee on the deck!

Leaving Opoutere we headed to Auckland on Rugby World Cup Final day, to find out the All Blacks managed a convincing win.  So the bars and pubs of Auckland city were filled with jovial drunks at 09h00 in the morning!  That night we splurged on tickets to watch “Le Noir – The Dark Side of Le Cirque” and what a treat that was!  An absolutely amazing show with men and women who shouldn’t naturally be able to bend their bodies that way!  It was as if they didn’t have a single bone in their bodies.  The Ringmaster himself was a hoot – he managed to manoeuvre himself into a large balloon, change his outfit and came out dressed as an All Black and even did the Haka!  The music and costumes were fantastic, totally in keeping with the romantic, sensual, and sometimes erotic theme.  It was a captivating performance which had us entranced and spellbound for two hours, with some jaw dropping moments making the audience gasp aloud.

Feeling like we had seen what we wanted to see in New Zealand, and knowing we had a bit of time to kill before flying home to SA, we travelled north and based ourselves in the Bay of Islands, in a town called Paihia.  Popular with the cruise ships, Paihia is where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840 which established British control over New Zealand.  While there we rented a car for a day, a dodgy Nissan sedan aka grandpa-mobile with cobwebs on the side mirrors, and drove to the northern most tip of New Zealand, to Cape Reinga.  It is here where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean, with the two counter currents smashing together to create a surf break of white rolling waves far offshore.  Known as a “maelstrom”, it is much more dramatic than the Indian Ocean meeting the Atlantic!  At the point we were surrounded by leather-clad bikers out for a day’s ride.  I wouldn’t say bikers in general look like they follow the healthiest of lifestyles so I had to laugh to myself hearing one of them say she was in the “fat-burning zone” as she and her mates huffed and puffed their way up the path from the lighthouse!  Renting a car was half the price of a tour bus and we got to choose our own route which made for another scenic drive.  I had a moment of childish pleasure climbing up one of the massive sand dunes and running back down, all while being caught on camera!  We also stopped briefly on 90 mile beach, which is an endless stretch of white sand only 55 miles, or 88km long, which is registered as a state highway but only used by tour busses and 4×4 vehicles brave enough to risk the tides.

Our time in Paihia was spent tramping!  With lots of walks in the area we enjoyed a good few hours on the trails almost every day, through forested areas as well as along the coast.  We also managed to get across the bay to the quaint town of Russell which used to be New Zealand’s capital but is now a tourist-orientated boutique town filled with restaurants, bars and expensive accommodation.  Not always known for its tranquillity, it was once referred to as the Hell Hole of the Pacific due to a period of drunken lawlessness in its days of being a whaling station.  Russell is also home to New Zealand’s oldest Church, the Christ Church, established in 1836 and said to still have scars from cannon and musket balls, but we couldn’t see any evidence of damage while there.  Of course, we visited the Waitangi Treaty Grounds too and it ended up being an informative morning learning about New Zealand’s history.  Our fondest memory of Paihia though is The Coffee Shack, an old shipping container on the side of the road converted by a husband-and-wife team into a mobile coffee shop!  The shack ended up being a daily stop for us during our last week in Paihia and the hosts Neil and Becky were probably the best coffee barristers we knew!  After a couple of weeks in Northland, we headed back to Auckland, bid farewell to Kiwi land and flew back to SA for a happy reunion with family and friends.

So 6000 words later I think I have captured the best of our time in New Zealand!  Two and a half months were spent in this beautiful country, and I believe we made the most of it.  Rob, having visited before, was extremely pleased that I loved it too.  Will New Zealand hold anything in store for us in the future?  Only time will tell!

Although our epic sailing adventure across the Pacific came to a premature end in Fiji, New Zealand was our ultimate destination when we first set out from Panama. So despite disembarking from the yacht in Suva, Rob and I still made plans to head to the Land of the Long White Cloud, Aotearoa in Maori!  Firstly because I had never been there, and we didn’t know when we’d next be “in the area”, and secondly it was a good opportunity for Rob to visit his sister and her family after 10 or so years of not seeing each other.  After enjoying the time in Fiji, we departed from Nadi on 13 September bound for Auckland.  It was an uneventful flight on Air New Zealand and although delayed, the safety briefing before taking off made up for it – a video with some of the All Blacks rapping the safety features to the theme song of the movie “Men in Black”.  Good to hear so many chuckles from the passengers!   So we land in Auckland and queued for immigration, only to be told there is an immigration alert on Rob’s passport and we got pulled over and told to wait for a supervisor.  After waiting ten minutes we had a short interview, had to give Rob’s sister’s details for a background check, to then be told to go collect our bags and come back.  After some red tape we eventually got our passports back with a three month stamp.  A bit of a nerve-wrecking entry into the country!  After that little bit of a delay, and still having to queue to go through customs, as well as wait for the bus shuttle into town, it was about 02h30 in the morning before we got to bed that night!  And Rob got his laughs by seeing me dressed like the Michelin Man; I was absolutely freezing in the icy temperatures of the lower latitudes after having been in the Tropics for the past eight months!

The next morning was a wander around Auckland city centre, strolling down trendy Queen Street with all its brand shops and coffee bars.  We went up the Sky Tower, the highest building jump in NZ at 192m to street level, and the tallest free-standing structure in the Southern Hemisphere.  Despite having the SkyJump available, we weren’t courageous enough to tackle that and stuck indoors!  Our brave moment was standing on the glass floor peering down at the ground below us.  That afternoon we walked to the suburb of Mt Eden and walked up Mt Eden hill, just one of the many dormant or extinct volcanoes dotted around Auckland and got some great views of the crater itself, the city, harbour and North Shore.  I’ll say this very early on in this blog post so I don’t repeat myself.  In all the cities and towns we visited in New Zealand, we were blown away by how clean and neat everything was, litter and graffiti free, with even the public toilets kept in good condition and continually stocked with toilet paper.  We really appreciated the fact that it is a very pedestrian friendly country with wide pavements, walking and cycle lanes.  We only saw about three vagrants, but were never hassled.  We even saw the police engaging with them making sure that they hadn’t been drinking and were keeping out of trouble.  The next day we caught the ferry across the harbour to the “urban, seaside village” of Devonport.  Devonport is one of Auckland’s oldest suburbs, and home to the navy.  Being very picturesque, the area was made up of doll-like wooden houses with intricate lattice work around the Victorian style wrap-around verandas, complete with white picket fences!  There was a frigid wind blowing so after wandering up North Head to explore the old gun placements, bunkers and tunnels used during the war to protect Waitemata Harbour, and exploring the streets, we headed back to the YHA at lunchtime.

After a brief visit in Auckland, we headed to Rotorua, a four hour bus ride away.  We used the Intercity service, and in most cases with our bus rides, we nabbed the front two seats to get the best view during the ride.  The Intercity bus service was particularly enjoyable because the bus drivers used a microphone and provided ongoing commentary about the places we passed, and this was the case on most of our bus journeys.  There was even free Wi-Fi available on the bus, just in case the views outside the windows weren’t captivating enough!  We saw plenty of sheep grazing on rolling green hills, a characteristic sight, and each time we passed through a new town, the words most commonly out of our mouths were “What a pretty town!”  As soon as we arrived in Rotorua we dropped our bags and headed to Te Puia Geothermal Valley and wandered around the reserve, spotting various bubbling mud pools, which can reach temperatures of 95°C, and steaming geysers emitting quite a strong whiff of what smells like farts after a few too many fried chicken dinners!  The valley was formed 240 000 years ago by volcanic activity, and sitting down waiting for the Pohutu geyser eruption, we burnt our bums on the hot rocks as we listened to the muted roar of thousands of litres of water boiling underneath us.  They say water temperatures in the geyser chambers can reach 300°C but it couldn’t have been too hot on that particular day as ducks were enjoying a bath on the surface.  There are approximately 500 mud pools and 65 geysers dotted around the area, and on our wanderings we came across two dormant geysers, with Mother Nature turning off their pumps a good few years ago.  Our second day saw us wandering the town, past the old colonial style Government House now home to a museum, and past an old Boer war monument dedicated to a New Zealander killed in the war.  We really enjoyed our time in Rotorua, the only downside being the eggy fart-like smell emanating from the street drains!

The next day we caught an afternoon bus to Wellington via Lake Taupo and past Mt Ruapehu, one of the highest mountains in NZ, standing tall at 2797m, although the day we travelled the peak was shrouded in cloud and only caught glimpses of its snow-covered slopes.  From forest covered landscapes and fast flowing rivers dotted with trout fisherman braving the elements, it was a stark contrast hitting Desert Road.  As the name suggests, it’s a road cutting through harsh, dry scrubland often used for military training.  Eventually we arrived in Wellington after dark and the icy cold wind was a slap in our unprepared faces as we walked to the YHA 2km down the road.  The warmth of the hostel was a welcome relief!  The next day involved watching Fiji lose to England in the RWC, sad face, and thereafter a walk around town, first stop at the Museum Art Hotel, which was literally picked up and moved 120m when the government wanted to demolish it.  Thereafter we visited Te Papa, the museum of NZ, which was a bit wasted on us but it at least provided a respite from the driving rain outside.  A break in the weather and we made a dash for Lambton Quay and up the funicular to the top of Mt Victoria and got some good views overlooking the harbour.  Stayed indoors mostly after that because of the foul weather.  It was pouring with rain the next day but we braved the outdoors for a while to wander through the famed Sunday market which was just supermarket fruit and veggies put on display.  Wellington gets blasted by weather fronts coming over the Tasman Sea; the guidebooks even say don’t bother with an umbrella, wear a waterproof windbreaker instead!  All I can say is the expensive rain jacket I bought before leaving SA definitely got its use in New Zealand!

A couple of days later we decided it was time to head south.  We waited at the YHA before catching a bus to the airport, which took us through the narrowest single lane tunnel we have ever seen.  That evening we caught a flight to Christchurch for a Jennings reunion!  We ended up spending a week with Rob’s sister Sheryl and her kids while Scott, her husband, flitted around for work.  Sheryl was great in taking us around in the mornings while the kids were at school, and afternoons we wandered around the city.  It’s a shame I didn’t get to see Christchurch before the devastating 2011 earthquake as now it’s just a city of gravel parking lots of where beautifully old stone buildings used to stand.  Derelict buildings stand abandoned, often with the word “clear” spray-painted on the sealed entrance – a sign that there were no bodies when rescue teams swept the buildings searching for victims.  Facades are covered with scaffolding, and the city rings with the sounds of jackhammers and cement mixers.  A quirky mall has developed as a result, with the shops all being converted shipping containers, with the area being named “ReStart Mall”!  The Avon River was flowing as strongly as ever as the city gets rebuilt, with the traditional Punting on the Avon still going strong – the English version of going on a gondola!  We were lucky enough to spend two nights at the family’s holiday house in Akaroa, about 100km from Christchurch.  A former French settlement it was a wonderfully quiet village with some quaint shops along the main road – my favourite being the fudge shop!  We enjoyed some good ‘tramping” – kiwi lingo for walking/hiking – through the countryside, dodging sheep poo as we climbed higher up the hill to get a great panorama over the Banks Peninsula.  Once back in Christchurch we went to watch Canterbury lose to Taranaki in a well-contested rugby match.  Canterbury’s mascot Larry the Lamb was a great source of entertainment!  We were also spoilt by being taken to Porters ski field a couple of days later where I had my first experience on skis!  Although extremely apprehensive on the drive up into the mountains, I took to skiing like a duck to water and had an absolute blast!  For four hours the family only caught glimpses of me as I was up and down the slope, time after time, and I was grinning from ear to ear when I was called back to the car!  I stuck to the beginners slope for the most part, but attempted the intermediate slope once and ended up with a very wet bum.  Next skiing excursion will involve a lesson from a pro who can teach me to turn!

At the end of September we said a temporary farewell to the family and headed to the West Coast.  We have two standout journey’s from our time in New Zealand, and one of them was definitely catching the KiwiRail TranzAlpine train as we traversed our way over (and through) the mountains separating East from West.  As the train steamed higher up into Otira gorge, we caught dazzling views of the mighty Waimakariri River, 151km long and ice fed from the Southern Alps.  The high Southern Alps were formed by two tectonic plates pushing against each other along the very active Alpine Fault, making them the fastest growing mountain range in the world.  The rivers on South Island are crystal clear and fast-flowing, and being mineral rich, they have a brilliant icy blue colour; one could get hypothermia just by looking at them!  After a short stop in Arthur’s Pass to discharge passengers, we had a full safety briefing as we prepared to enter Otira tunnel, which was one of the longest tunnels in the British Empire, and one of the few that is not flat with a 1:33 descending gradient.  Our destination was Greymouth, a former gold-mining town, but now a simple tourist town which doesn’t really warrant a stay longer than an hour!  After a night in a strange hostel in town, we headed to the township of Franz Josef for three nights.  Our trip down had us hugging the coastline for most of the journey, and after seeing so many advertisements for the famed “West Coast White Bait fritter” I decided to try one in Hokitika.  Excited at the prospect of some novel Kiwi cuisine, all I got was a few pieces of white bait (little fish, sprats) cooked with egg to make an omelette, which was squished between two slices of white bread!  Another great thing about the bus service is that is also acts as a freight/delivery service, dropping off parcels in backwater towns where the bus driver is greeted like a long lost friend!  So on our way to Franz Josef we passed through the smallest town in New Zealand, Pukekura, with a total population of five (yes, five!) following a baby boom a couple of years ago.  Possum Pete (the local version of Crocodile Dundee), his wife and three children reside there, and because his homestead has a post centre, it is classified as a town!  He is famous for making possum pies which have subsequently been banned by the government, and his bushman centre is often fondly referred to as Roadkill Restaurant.  The “town” is slightly off the beaten track so the daily newspaper is delivered via bus, and in true newspaper delivery style, the paper is tossed out of the window into the driveway without the bus stopping.

We arrived in Franz Josef village mid-afternoon, and of course it was raining again!  Franz Josef is one of the big glaciers on the West Coast but unfortunately is receding quickly.  We spent most of the time in the hostel due to the weather, with an occasional stroll along the main road to get weather updates from the helicopter operators.  My conversation with one of the pilots went something like this…

Me: Hi there, do you think the weather will clear enough to fly?

Him: Not likely.

Me: But we can see the mountain now?

Him: If you can see the mountain, it’s going to rain.  If you can’t see the mountain, it is raining.

The pilot showed me the synoptic charts and typical, the weather was only going to clear when we left (we were on a schedule to meet the family at a later date).  Back in the day when Rob first visited, he was lucky enough to take a walking tour on the glacier itself.  Nowadays the ice has retreated back, making the glacier’s terminal face unstable and unsuitable for access by foot, only by helicopter.  We seriously considered a helicopter trip but Mother Nature didn’t think it was a good idea.  Luckily we had a break in the relentless rain to take a hike through the valley to a viewing point to see the terminal face.  It is hard to believe that the valley we hiked through was once completely filled by a frozen river!  We timed our hike perfectly; 100m from the car park the heavens just opened again, but thankfully an umbrella, rain jackets and boots ensured we were well protected.  All the literature about visiting the national park said “Be Prepared” yet there were still some people in shorts and t-shirts who got drenched in the downpour.  The mulled wine for sundowners with no sun that evening warmed our chilled bodies well!

At the beginning of October we headed to Queenstown.  I mentioned previously two standout journeys, and the bus ride from Franz Josef to Queenstown is definitely one of them.  Our first driver, Steve, thought himself a comedian, punctuating his commentary with jokes and one-liners, referring to competitor bus service, Kiwi Experience, as the Scary Experience.  Steve proved to be a photographer’s dream driver but the Highway Patrol’s worst nightmare, often slowing down and sometimes stopping completely, regardless if we were on a single-lane bridge, so the passengers could snap off a few pics.  Rob took full advantage considering this was probably one of the most scenic bus rides ever.  The West Coast is often referred to by natives as the “Wet” Coast considering the amount of rain it gets, and it shows with miles and miles of lush rainforest complimented by a beautiful backdrop of snow-capped mountain peaks.  Before arriving in the town of Haast, Steve piped up to say the next bridge we would cross was named after his ex-girlfriend.  The bridge was named “Windbag”!  I was just waiting for another ex-girlfriend reference when we stopped outside the Grumpy Cow café for a bathroom break!  We were extremely lucky not to have any South-Westerlies blowing the day we travelled; with no wind to bring the rain the air was extremely clean, with the mountain features so sharp we could make out every crevice and jagged peak against the clear blue sky.  As we moved out of the West Coast and into the Otago region, the terrain became much drier, and we entered New Zealand’s fruit bowl of Wanaka, with plenty of fruit orchards lining the countryside.  After skirting The Remarkables mountain range, we arrived in the expanding and apparently thriving Queenstown.  Although not really our kind of place being a small city filled with hard-core adrenaline junkies, we almost felt like we needed to whisper that we weren’t there to experience the famed jet boating or to try and kill ourselves on one of the extreme downhill mountain biking trails.  We took the cable car up Queenstown Hill and enjoyed the view over the town, Lake Wakatipu and surrounding mountain ranges.

From Queenstown we travelled by bus to the small town of Te Anau which was to be our base to visit Milford Sound.  Passing endless green pastures dotted with livestock, we caught sight of plenty of spring lambs prancing around – a very cute sight until you realize how good lamb tastes on a dinner plate!  Our bus driver mentioned that you know an area has received plenty of rain is when all the sheep have middle partings along the centre of their backs where their fleece has parted as a result of becoming completely sodden!  On our excursion to the sounds we stopped alongside a grassy plain which was one of the locations for a big battle scene in the Lord of the Rings movies.  The journey to Milford took us into real Alpine territory; the scenes we were treated to on our way up the mountains were breath taking.  Surrounded by high mountains on all sides, we saw evidence of recent avalanche activity, with a lot of snow drifts where snow and ice had tumbled down from the cliffs above.  Once we arrived in Milford we boarded a boat and went for a cruise on the fjord, a narrow and deep inlet of the sea surrounded by high cliffs.  Rudyard Kipling previously referred to Milford Sound as the eighth wonder of the world.  And thanks to all the rain the area had had, water was streaming down the cliff faces in torrents, creating white spidery veins of water against a dark cliff face, as well as gushing waterfalls, some of which the captain of the boat actually went under.  We enjoyed a barbeque lunch on board and while munching away the Captain sidled up to a pod of fur seals lazing on the rocks, however there wasn’t much sun for them to bask in the warmth of on that particular day!  We continued on to the entrance of the 15km long fjord where the Tasman Sea literally rolls into the sound, causing the boat to rock quite considerably as we turned to head back to base – child’s play after eight months crossing the Pacific!  Waiting for the perfect shot of Mitre Peak, the scene which epitomises Milford Sound and the subject of all the postcard pictures, we saw we could only get the photo from the shore!  But the boat ride was still fun and a different way to experience the sounds.  On our way back to Te Anau we stopped at an area called The Chasm where a river has created a deep gorge and eroded the rock into marvellous formations.

After Te Anau we headed to Dunedin via bus to meet up with the family.  It was an uncomfortable bus ride for me as we were joined by a strange duo who, typically, decided to take the seats directly behind us in an otherwise relatively empty bus.  The pair consisted of an elderly lady who had smells of old mothballs wafting off her and her equally aged son with a crazed look to him and the wiry hair of someone who stuck his fingers in a live electrical socket and enjoyed it.  The son who may or may not have lost his marbles along his life’s journey sang incoherently for most of the journey with the occasional random outburst or response of “maybe that was when I was in the hospital” to a comment made by his mother.  I was also treated to the sound of him continually rubbing the upholstery of the back of my seat and half expected some gnarly fingers to come sneaking past the headrest and start fondling my hair.  Thankfully we only had to endure this for a couple of hours before arriving in Dunedin and joining the family who had rented a holiday house overlooking Dunedin harbour.

That concludes our journey from north to south!  Read more about Dunedin and our meanderings from south to north in the next post!

It was with much excitement and anticipation that we set sail from Vava’u in the early afternoon of 10 Aug and had an uneventful three days sailing to Fiji.  The only uncomfortable moment was when we changed our bearing in order to miss reefs resulting in a long day of beating into the wind, making the ride a bit bumpy.  The best moment of the sail was crossing the International Date Line on my night watch!  Although we had crossed the political Date Line when entering Samoan territory a few months back (we lost a day moving from 5 Jul to 7 Jul when we arrived in Samoa), we crossed the geographical 180° meridian crossing from the Western Hemisphere to the Eastern Hemisphere on the night of 12 Aug.  And we managed to get a short video clip of the GPS changing from W to E!  We arrived very early the next morning at the island of Vanua Levu, the smaller of the two biggest islands in Fiji, if that makes sense!  We had a hassle free customs and immigration clearance in the town of Savusavu.  As soon as we were cleared we all headed to shore, Captain and First Mate to pay the clearance fees and Rob and myself to find the local places to eat!  We found a great local eatery which made a fantastic curry and it became the place we frequented during our stay in Savusavu.  The town was small, one main drag with the supermarkets, clothing stores, post office, a handful of restaurants and a few roads branching off into the housing areas.  It was also clean, with lots of rubbish bins along the road.  Definitely not something we saw while in Tonga.

The next morning we went ashore quite early in the hope of renting a scooter to travel around the island, but after a talk with the rental agency, we decided against it.  For the cost of the scooter, it wasn’t worth renting it as we were limited to the places we could ride.  Majority of the roads were dirt, and with rain the previous evening it would have been a bit treacherous.  So instead we explored the town further, heading up into the hills to get some views over the marina and see the suburban areas.  The houses were well kept, and we definitely got the same sense of pride we saw in Samoa when it comes to the locals looking after their possessions.  We were admiring the scenery from the road in front of one guy’s house and out he comes, introduces himself, finds out we are from South Africa and immediately started talking rugby!  After a quick chat we headed back into town and along the coastal road to find some hot springs.  A few missed turns, taking the scenic route again, we eventually found them.  Nothing spectacular, just a few small pools of water surrounded by rocks, but the amazing thing was the water was literally boiling, bubbling out of the hole in the ground and was scalding hot.  A very visual reminder that we were standing on top of an active volcano!  Local women brought their pots and cooked their food over the water.  That afternoon was spent at a local bar playing Mexican Train dominoes with our English and Aussie mates.  The locals in the bar were a bit rowdy and overfriendly after enjoying one too many Friday drinks, but again, as soon as they heard we were from SA, drinks were offered and the rugby talk started!  Two things to note about Fijian men: each buys a 750ml bottle of beer with small glasses shared between the group.  There is no sipping of the drink to savour the taste of good, cold Fijian Bitter; a little glass is poured, then downed like a shot, refilled and passed along to the next guy.  So they became as drunk as skunks in a very short period of time but were still mellow and full of fun, with no signs of aggression!  Secondly, mention you are from SA and you have a friend for life, with invitations back to their villages to stay!

That Saturday following our arrival, we caught the local bus to the end of the coastal road to the Jean-Michel Cousteau Dive Resort.  Although very exclusive, it had lovely bungalows and gardens.  The resort is on the shore of a marine conservancy but the hotel didn’t allow outside snorkelers – we had to book a tour at an exorbitant price, so we gave that a miss.  We enquired about the room rate for interest sake – 2400 Fijian Dollars for one night in their cheapest room.  Multiply that by six to get South African Rands!

After a quiet couple of days on the boat and around town, Rob and I decided to rent a car and travel around the island for the day.  It was a bit drizzly and miserable to start, but as we travelled further north the weather cleared and we had a wonderful day.  After travelling part of the beautiful Hibuscus Highway, we turned off onto a dirt track (we had a 4×4) and took a circular route to the island’s capital of Labasa.  It was quite a long drive through numerous villages, some big, some small, with friendly residents who often stopped whatever they were doing to give a vigorous two arm wave when we passed!  Even a volleyball game was stopped so we could be greeted!  The best way we can describe some of the houses is that they were fancy shacks – made with corrugated iron sheets, but well constructed, neatly put together, and often very brightly painted.  The schools also looked in very good nick.  We found the island to be very diverse in terms of vegetation, moving from tropical rain forest, to what almost looked like dry bushveld, and then to endless plains of sugarcane surrounded by high mountains.  Just outside Labasa was a sugar mill with hundreds of trucks lined up on the road, piled high with cut sugar cane waiting to be offloaded.  We crossed numerous railway tracks in the area and saw railway carts being loaded in the fields, being pulled along makeshift tracks as the cutting progressed down the line.  We didn’t pay much attention to Labasa, being an industrial town and arriving late in the afternoon, we were tired and hungry which meant it was just a lunch stop before we continued on.  We travelled back to Savusavu on the intercoastal road, up and over the mountain range separating north from south.  It was a day well worth the expense of hiring a car.

While in Savusavu I went to two local yoga classes to try and get some activity in.  The instructor was some hippie American who spoke more like a drill sergeant but at least I got some pointers on the more technical aspects of the different poses.  The time in Savusavu was also spent setting up our blog which we hope you are enjoying as it gets updated!  On the morning of 23 Aug we left Savusavu and motored along the south east coast of the island bound for Taveuni.  After anchoring for two nights in two different bays as we made our way along the coast, we motored over to the island of Taveuni, dropped anchor just off the town of Somosomo, and took a quick trip ashore to find a taxi to take us to the International Date Line on land.  A great photo opportunity but it was a bit of an anticlimax to straddle the line – we were rushed as Captain wanted to leave quickly for the next island so we didn’t have time to appreciate the site.  After that we motored over to the island of Qamea and anchored in a beautiful bay for the night.

After Qamea, we motored into a lovely cove off the island of Matagi and anchored for a couple of nights here as it provided good protection from the wind which had been picking up over the last week.  The bay had a few coral bombies which we snorkelled around for a while.  We were not sure if the coral was actually diseased in this area as a whole bunch of coral was stained a luminous blue colour.  It was quite remarkable to swim over what looked like deer antlers and see the tips glow blue when the sun shone on them.  End of the month and we headed to Koro Island to slowly start making our way to Suva, the capital of Fiji.  Being a long way down the road, and Stewart tired of overnight sailing, we planned to stop at a couple of islands along the way.  First being Koro at which we arrived late at night, so we didn’t go ashore here to explore.  The next morning we headed off to Makogai Island, significant in Fiji’s history as being the site of a leper colony which opened in 1911.  Over 4000 leprosy patients landed on this island, 1241 of those patients died, and the graves of the deceased are still present, the tombstones littered amongst the trees and extending all the way up the hillside next to the village.  Only the stairs to the entranceway of the Leprosarium still remain with the rest of the building demolished.  When we went ashore to explore, we wanted to present a courtesy gift of kava root to the village chief but he had gone to the capital.  Normally the kava root is ground up and made into a ceremonial drink and shared amongst the village chief, elders and visitors in a sevusevu ceremony, but we missed out on this with the chief being away.  Oh well!  We read the same had happened to our English and Aussie mates so at least we weren’t the only ones to miss out on this tradition.

On Spring Day we sailed to Ovalau Island, and the old colonial town of Levuka.  Levuka is Fiji’s first World Heritage Site, being the former capital of Fiji and the site of the country’s first bank, post office, government and newspaper, the Fiji Times.  It was a very pretty town, and with its old colonial buildings (same dating back to the early 1800’s) it contrasted completely to the villages and towns we had already seen.  The quaint storefronts and original weatherworn clapboard buildings still remain, and although looking a little shabby at the time of our visit, there were signs of refurbishment.  The town is now home to Pacific Fisheries Company Ltd so there was a distinct fishy smell in the air!  After a night in Levuka we sailed to Suva and anchored off the Suva Royal Yacht Club, and being in the midst of what looked like a shipping graveyard with wrecks strewn around in the harbour, it definitely didn’t have a royal feel!

So unfortunately after First Mate lost the plot and decided we were no longer welcome on board after letting loose a few choice words in my direction, we left the boat in Suva and found a guesthouse to stay for a couple of days before moving on.  We accompanied Captain to Immigration to clear off the boat, and had a bit of a hiccup at this stage.  Without going into detail, we managed to get everything resolved after the weekend and said our goodbye’s to Captain.  We had a great time in Suva, enjoying the time to recharge and get things ready for the next leg of our trip.  We had a good couple of walks around the city, coming across a function in the community park celebrating 160 years of the Chinese in Fiji.  Even the Prime Minister was there and we were able to catch sight of him as he did his meet and greet.  This was a much better experience than the one in Tonga waiting for the King to pass!  We also enjoyed the views from the seafront promenade, walked past the very upmarket Grand Pacific Hotel, and caught the presidential guard on camera as he barred the entrance to the grounds of the presidential palace.

After Suva we caught a bus to the west side of the island to the town of Nadi (pronounced “Nandi”).  Although supposed to be a non-stop service, we had to change busses about four times before reaching our destination due to mechanical issues with the first bus.  Eventually we arrived at our hotel in Nadi, Aquarius on the Beach, which was a great place to stop for a few days.  Very close to the airport, we had the noise of jets landing and taking off, but it wasn’t too bothersome.  We were right on the beach, had a swimming pool, and the bus to town stopped right outside our door!  We explored the port of Denerau, which is essentially just a marina and shopping complex filled with expensive restaurants, with exclusive hotels surrounding it, and spent some time in Nadi town.  The only interesting thing in Nadi was seeing the biggest Hindu temple in the Southern Hemisphere, but we didn’t go in as we were wearing shorts and as such weren’t dressed appropriately.  One day we decided to splurge and treat ourselves to an island tour, taking a high speed catamaran to South Sea Island, a smaller island in the lower Mamanuca group.  We spent the morning there relaxing on the beach, swimming and even tried our hand at stand up paddle boarding!  After a BBQ lunch which was a bit disappointing, we boarded another boat which took us around all the other islands in the group, such as Bounty, Castaway (not the movie island) and Treasure Islands.  We also caught a glimpse of the actual island where the movie Castaway was filmed.  We enjoyed the day out as we wouldn’t have had another opportunity to visit this part of Fiji.  We also caught a bus 25km up the road to the port town of Lautoka.  Known as Sugar City it is also home to Fiji’s first sugar mill which is still operational, so there was a pungently sweet smell in the air while we walked around.  Being a port, Lautoka was surprisingly clean with a lot of parks dotted around, and it was a pleasant morning exploring.

We loved our time in Fiji, and were made to feel so welcome by the locals.  On our travels so far we can definitely say that Fiji has the best scenery, best people and best food in the Pacific!  It is one of the few places where Rob and I have said to each other that it is a country we would go back to.  We are eternally grateful for the opportunity Captain gave us to join the boat and sail across the Pacific, and despite a few bumps across the way, it was an experience that was totally worth it.  From Panama to Fiji, via the Galapagos, French Polynesia, Samoa and Tonga, we can definitely say it was a trip of a lifetime!

Malo lelei from Vava’u, Tonga!  So after leaving the beauty and friendliness of Samoa, we arrived in Tongan waters midway into July after a horrible two night sail.  How I didn’t get physically ill on this leg I’ll never know but I am eternally grateful the rough seas only lasted for 36 hours.  Although not affected by squalls and rain, the wind was of the direction that we were beating into it; meaning big swells that the yacht crashed over every 30 seconds or so for a day and a half, making the ride super uncomfortable and sleep almost impossible for me.  Ironically, thereafter, the wind dropped completely and we had to motor the rest of the way to Tonga, with the sea as flat as glass!  We arrived in the island archipelago called Vava’u, consisting of about 30 islands, and cleared customs and immigration in Neiafu, which is the second largest “city” in Tonga (that is if you call a town with one main street a city!).  On our way to Vava’u we were going to call in to a set of islands called Niuatoputapu, or more commonly the “New Potatoes” as no one knows how to pronounce the name.  However a break in the wind would have had us stuck there for weeks before being able to push further south to Vava’u.  Arriving in Tonga we were unpleasantly surprised about how much cooler it was – we had just travelled a few more degrees south of the Equator, but those few degrees really had an impact on the temperature… which resulted in long sleeves, blankets on the bed and the tans started fading rapidly.  Going from temperatures in the mid-30’s down to 20 degrees is cold I say!

Since there wasn’t much to do there sightseeing wise Rob and I sampled the local eateries almost on a daily basis.  Rather than spending our time in the yachty cafes lining the water, we hit the back streets and enjoyed delicious lamb curry, fish burgers, fried chicken, rotis, chicken curry pies and of course, ice cream!  Nothing beats a spicy curry with a refreshing soft serve ice cream afterwards to cool the mouth!  And it didn’t help that our friends from Panthera, Richard and Geri, and our Aussie mates, Steve and Angela off Pannikin, shared our love of roadside dining, so it was often a group of us sampling the local fare.

We spent quite a bit of time exploring the local villages around the main town.  Tonga is one hell of a lot more run down than Samoa – there was absolutely no sense of “house pride”.  There was a lot of junk lying around, not just general litter, but proper junk; rusting cars, old microwaves and computers, tons of scrap metal.  We are not sure if the locals just don’t have the facilities to dispose of such things, or if they just don’t bother.  Houses were derelict, gardens and vegetable patches were unkempt, and yes, lots of lots of pigs and piglets running around, foraging on road verges, in yards, basically everywhere we looked!  The people are still generally pretty friendly, more so if you greet them in the local language with a smile and a wave, and are more curious as to why we were wandering around rather than unwelcoming.  And of course, as soon as we mentioned we were from South Africa, the talk turned to rugby, and then we were strangers no more!

A highlight of our visit in Tonga was to see the newly coronated King as he came into town.  We had conflicting information as to the time he’d be passing through on the way to the Royal residence, so we ended up spending five hours on the side of the road before witnessing the cavalcade come past us.  And typical that the Queen was sitting on our side of the road so we didn’t even catch a glimpse of the King himself!  But the excitement of the school kids and the fanfare of the whole thing made the afternoon a lot of fun.

Another afternoon and we headed for the hills, or should I say just the one hill present in Vava’u at a whopping 131m above sea level!  After a short strudge and a difficult climb up some really steep stairs we reached a couple of lookouts over Port of Refuge where we were anchored.  It’s amazing how pretty things look when you put a bit of height into the equation!

After spending the week in town, we picked up anchor at the weekends and headed to the outlying islands for a couple of nights at a time.  The first excursion out was to Kapa island.  Although the wind was freezing Rob and I hit the water for some snorkelling.  Not much marine life but Tonga definitely has some of the biggest starfish we have ever seen, as well as tons of tiny and large jelly fish, with the tiny ones stinging us just like they did in Las Perlas.  We managed a walk around the island along a dirt track about 10km long before heading on to another anchorage.  The second night was spent at the other end of Neiafu, in a cove under a tree full of fruit bats whose screeching is more of a racket than ten screaming babies.  We rowed the dinghy closer to shore and with expert timing, I clapped my hands like a real tourist and Rob managed to photograph them in flight.  The next day we moved on to Pangaimotu, and anchored in a sheltered bay with a floating art gallery selling rubbish trinkets.  Of course we had to go exploring.  We took the dinghy ashore, climbed over the small ridge to the other side of the island to a beach littered with blue bottles – not ideal for swimming.  So we continued on our trek, up and over a ridge covered in native bush before stumbling across a local guy roasting a piglet on an open fire in preparation for his lunch.  Our mouths just watered in anticipation of our planned Tongan feast scheduled for the next weekend… more on that later.

The big “wow” of our Tongan visit was definitely an unplanned excursion we took with Richard, Geri, Steve and Angela.  Rob and I have added swimming with Humpback whales to our ever expanding experiences!  The whales come into Tongan waters at that time of year to raise their young before heading to colder waters.  We headed out at the end of July at about 08h00 to the outer islands to scout for whales.  We spotted a mother and calf swimming around and followed them for a while before they settled enough for us to jump into the water with them.  We had two opportunities at this point to snorkel with them and all we can say is WOW… there are no words to describe the experience.  The boat stopped, and with much shouted excitement and rushing, the snorkelers piled into the water after the guide, faces in the water watching these majestic creatures.  The Mom was absolutely huge and we were so close we could even see the barnacles on her tail and the remora fish that swim underneath them.  Baby was neatly tucked under her belly in Mom’s slipstream but Mom kindly rolled over to her side as they swam past so we could get a better look.  A third opportunity came a little later in the morning when Mom and Baby swam into calmer waters and they stopped about 50m behind the boat.  In we jumped and Mom allowed us a really good look before diving and swimming underneath us within what felt like touching distance.  As Mom swam underneath me, she swished her tail with such force I was tumbled in the water by the wash, and she disappeared from view.  We absolutely froze when we climbed back onto the boat and it took forever to warm up with the help of coffee prepared by the crew, but the experiences were so worth it.  Even whale watching from the boat, seeing them surface and wallow right next to the boat, or splash their fins or dive and give us a good tail shot, was amazing.  I will never say that whale watching in Hermanus in the Western Cape is boring, but seeing a whale breach five meters away from the boat we were on, and on top of that, actually being in the water with them, doesn’t even compare to watching them from the safety of the shore.  A bonus was that we stopped at a place called Swallow’s Cave on the way back to the harbour which Captain said we’d go to, but we never did.  So Rob and I had the opportunity for a quick snorkel in the cave which was absolutely wonderful and so surreal.  We have Richard to thank for the shots of us and the whales but unfortunately photos don’t do justice to the real thing!  Swimming with seals, check.  Swimming with sharks, check.  Swimming with rays, check.  Swimming with whales, check!

Rob also had a bit of bonding time with the “boys” by participating in the local Friday yacht race around the harbour.  Steve decided he’d like to see what Pannikin could do in a race so the two Fridays we were there were race days!  The first race saw our boys second for a while before a few mishaps put them in fourth, but the second Friday they got into real race mode and won!  Although we won’t mention that there were only three boats participating!  But first prize was still a free pizza from the hosting restaurant and then a round of rum punches at a local bar.  Being Rob’s birthday, he was also the subject of a song improvised and sung by the restaurant manager, with some naughty innuendos courtesy of a few choice pieces of information from me!  On our way to claim our rum punches, we came across an impromptu cultural show so we were treated to local Tongan dancing and singing.  However the “real” entertainment came from the bar where the local transvestites put on a dance show.  We savoured our watered-down rum punches and stayed to watch the girls (boys?) dance and lip sync to their favourite songs, dressed to the nines in their favourite dresses and lavish high heels, while they played to the men in the audience, hoping for tips to be shoved into their bosoms.  Very funny and a laughter filled evening, but not something I’d do again in a hurry!  It was a bit disturbing watching a man with better legs than me strut his stuff in heels so high I would break my neck if I attempted to stand in them!  Never mind that they were doing cartwheels and flickflacks in them too!

The biggest disappointment though was our Tongan “feast”.  We motored over to Lape Island for what we were told would be a real authentic Tongan food experience.  What an absolute rip off.  Firstly, on arrival, we were told we would not be having roasted pig as there weren’t enough people.  Really?  This was the whole reason for wanting to do the feast in the first place.  Then the so-called island tour was a short walk through a derelict village with our host who could only talk about money and how much previous yachties had donated to them.  The “feast” was mostly Western food like coleslaw, potato salad, and fried fish, but there were some other local delicacies which half made up for the rest.  Our host also had some serious sour grapes about another guy hosting feasts on a nearby island.  Well at least that guy’s guests got pig!

Our experiences in Tonga were a real mixed bag, with high’s and low’s and everything in between.  But nothing can take away from the experiences we gained there, and now we definitely have some good stories to tell!  Our original plan when joining the yacht was that we would sail directly to New Zealand from Tonga.  However, with Captain feeling the urge to keep moving, three weeks in Tonga was enough, and he decided we would set sail for Fiji, an unplanned destination not originally on our itinerary.  And another, unexpected and completely welcomed stamp in our passports!