From the Convent to the Prison

Waking up a bit sore and tired from my day-long trek across Tongariro, I hit the road again towards the center of the North Island and Lake Taupo, the largest lake in the country. I had initially planned to head Southwest to Mt. Taranaki, but I overheard a few conversations of some of the locals, and a huge rain and wind storm was on its way, so the majority of both islands were going to be wet and windy, with the exception of the East coast of the North Island, so that's exactly the direction in which I headed. As usual, the drive to Taupo was very nice, very scenic and there are very few people on the road. Also as usual, my car is working fine, yet the trick door is giving me a bit of frustration and embarrassment, but I still just find a way to play it cool, as cool as you can look when popping the door open from the backseat and jumping out to catch it before it closes again. My first stop at Taupo was Huka Falls, a nice blue waterfall and chasm just off the main road. The falls were nice, but I was told that it would have been prettier in full sunlight, but I didn't have a few days to waste, staring at the water to change color. From there, I headed just a few minutes up the road to the hotbed of geothermal activity known as Craters of the Moon. It is just a small park in the middle of nowhere behind some trees, but you can instantly see something is unique about this place once you walk in. In every direction, you can see funnels of steam rising from the ground. A small trail leads you around for closer looks at each of the steam pots or mud pools and surrounding stunted vegetation, and you are urged many times to stay on the trails, as steam and mud have burned many an ignorant tourist, clambering closer to get the perfect picture, when POOF, they are engulfed in a boiling geyser of hot mud, melting their skin almost instantly, leaving behind just a pile of bones and some regretful travel memories...well, I may have exaggerated, but the first part is true.

So, heading East, I drove over a few more incredible passes with great views of the landscapes below as I made my way to Napier, on the coast. Undulating hills and sun-drenched yellow and light green fields surround the road, making it hard to keep my eyes on the road. Every drive through the countryside has been an amazing trip and afforded more than a few impromptu photo opportunities. Not really sure what to do in Napier, I came upon the end of the main road, facing the ocean, at a crossroads. Remembering that I had read about Whale Rider being filmed in Gisborne, I followed the sign to Gisborne to the North, instead of heading 20 km South to Napier. Since I was that close, I figured that I'd want to see the scenery as I remembered some serene beaches and peaceful roads along the ocean. Well, I got what I wanted, but I soon found out that Gisborne wasn't all that close.

I had also been planning out my gasoline so that I'd be able to fill up in Napier again, but with my change of direction, I started to get a bit worried, as it turned out that Gisborne was actually a few hours away. Given the state of my rental car, I didn't quite trust the gas gauge anyway, and a few times the light came on, indicating that I wasn't far away from being stuck on the side of the road. Even more comforting, I was driving over some large, steep mountains/hills, hoping around every bend that I'd see a sign of civilization or at least a sign for a city in the next few minutes, but I continued to grow more and more worried as I saw nothing. I thought of turning back towards Napier, but I basically felt like I had passed the point of no return, so I was just left to hope that the one or two small dots on the map contained gas stations, which isn't always the case. The first dot turned out to be little more than a few houses within shouting distance of each other, so that option was shot. At the same time, the radio gods smiled on me and somehow granted me a bit of reception on one of the two stations that my Japanese import radio would pick up. Fortunately, the scenery was still great, so I wasn't too worried. After a brief stop for a picture, I re-entered the car with a million things going through my mind, the top two being the fact that I was about to run out of a gas and reminiscing about the Kenny Loggin's hit "Footloose." One of my childhood friends had a picture series of him and his grandmother singing along to the song, with the lyrics and sheet music in the frame, so that memory also came to mind as I distractedly pulled back onto the road and headed along, hoping for the next town. About a minute later, coming up a hill, I was more than a bit startled to see a huge logging truck come flying around the corner, barely in control, heading straight for me in my lane. A split second and a few expletives later, the thought popped into my mind that he's actually not the one in the wrong lane. As I had pulled back on the road from the stop, I guess I hadn't been paying enough attention and my instincts of driving on the right hand side of the road my whole life had taken over. Luckily, I regained my senses, and I was able to swerve back into the left lane in time to make a safe pass, not ever getting extremely close, and I'm sure he cursed the stupid American as he drove by. Soon after, I did find a small town, and they had one gas pump, so my car and trip was saved. They also had a decent deal on a double scoop of ice cream, so I indulged myself after my hair-raising experience and the disappointment still lingering from my Bay of Islands ice cream escapade.

Over 200 km away, it was more than just a detour, but it was worth it when I finally made my way into the quaint town and eventually spent another pensive evening on the deserted beach, watching the sun disappear over the hills and the ensuing pink and orange skies. I also consulted my guide book for a place to stay, and I found out about Flying Nuns Backpackers, a convent that had been converted into a hostel, so I knew that was the place for me. The convent was nice and clean, but it was abuzz as a result of a ton of Brazilian and Australian surfers being in town for a competition in a few days. After I dropped off my stuff, hoping that no one decides to steal it (as you must do in a hostel - though I always keep my important or expensive stuff in a backpack with me at all times), I went into town and found an Indian takeaway restaurant, so I ordered my usual chicken tikka masala, which was, as usual, excellent. As I'm writing this, I'm a bit hungry, and I really wish I had some more of that right now. I talked to the restaurant owner for a while, and I was again impressed by the small town hospitality as he asked me about my home, my job, facts about my country, etc. He was amazed by how far away I am from and how many people are in Atlanta and the US.

From Gisborne, I drove the road back down to Napier, still accompanied by yellow hills and deep blue water on either side, and I made a few detours when I saw interesting looking roads or photo stops that couldn't be missed. Napier is touted as one of the Art Deco capitals of the world, since an earthquake and resulting fire destroyed most of the city in 1931, so everything was rebuilt with the most modern style of the time, hence the art deco (pronounced DEE-co). There are city tours and books highlighting the style, but being a small town, it really wasn't as impressive as it was said to be. Again looking to the guidebook for a place to stay, I found a perfect place for the night. The Napier Prison had been decommissioned in 1993, and it had since become a place for tours and a hostel, so I definitely couldn't pass up the opportunity to stay one night in a convent and the next night in a jail, just to even out my karma. I wouldn't want to be feeling too saintly just yet. Up a steep hill on the edge of town, the building retained the original, menacing facade of the prison, complete with the gates and barbed wire surrounding the roof. After being examined through the sliding window like they have at those exclusive bars that you see in movies, I was let in and booked a room for the night. Some of the rooms are literally in the exact cells where the prisoners stayed, but I was booked for a spot in the warden's quarters. Shortly after arriving, I joined the tour of the prison/hostel, seeing the isolation cells, the tiny hole dug into the side of the wall for those that were thought to be insane (and certainly were after spending a day or two in complete darkness in the dirt under a wall, along with some spiders), the workout room, and the main cells - still filled with the carvings in the wall and graffiti messages about white power, black power, and any sort of power in between. We heard the stories about the prisoners that had occupied those rooms, where some of them were now (other prisons), where a few of them tried to set fire to the rooms, tried to kill themselves, where a few are buried, etc. Apparently they used to have pictures up of some of the prisoners from those rooms, but a few of the guests had started to recognize the pictures as their dad or friend, so they stopped doing that. They also showed us the spot were supplies, and sometimes prostitutes, were smuggled in from an overhang on the edge of the prison, and we saw the aptly labelled "Hanging Yard" where four or five of NZ's worst criminals were hanged and now serves as the area to hang your clothes to dry. Another clever sign points the way to the bathrooms with a reminder, "Don't drop the soap!" Interestingly, the tour guide was a British woman with a strong Irish accent, whose mother is Irish, and she could have sworn that I was Irish, based on my accent. More than a few other people have mentioned that along the way of this trip, so I may have a hidden nationality that I didn't know about. Top o' the mornin' to ya. The prison tour was fascinating, but it's really a strange place to spend the night, if you think about it too much with the spirits and memories floating around the place. The tour guide also assured us that the whole area had been blessed (or whatever the Catholic word for it is - demons exorcised, maybe), so we were alright. Sometimes there are night tours where the backpackers get to wear masks and scare the visitors, but unfortunately I wasn't there for one of those nights.

(Huka Falls just outside of Taupo...a nice tourist attraction within a five minute walk of the parking lot)

(The steam rising from the boiling mud pots and fumaroles at the Craters of the Moon)

(Craters of the Moon looking steamy)

(The Flying Nun Backpackers, a popular hangout for surfers and nuns...mostly surfers these days)

(The dry hills and long beaches of the Gisborne area)

(Napier Prison Backpackers - the entrance still uses the same prison doors and gates...note the barbed wire)

(The obligatory mug shot. I think the charge was "offensive, ridiculous facial hair" or something like that)

(A beautiful road along the coast between Napier and Gisborne)

(Some cows enjoying the view just around the corner from that last picture)

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Tongariro Crossing and such

As I mentioned earlier, the day trek across Tongariro Park is supposed to be one of the best in New Zealand, so I was already looking forward to the hike, and even more so when I overheard a few locals at my hostel that had driven up to do the hike in the great weather that we were having, as the weather in this area is often very volatile and can bring cold or rain at a moment's notice, making the hike considerably less enjoyable, since the majority of the hike is completely exposed to the elements. Also, this entire national park has a few well known sites, as the Lord of the Rings trilogy used the site as their version of Mordor and Mt. Ngauruhoe as Mt. Doom. I'd tell you more details, but the movie was long, and I don't remember much of it, and then Brett would just be mad that I disrespected the "best trilogy ever." A bus ride took us to the start of the 10 mile hike, and soon we were off, as the hike is supposed to take about 7 or 8 hours, and the last bus left late in the afternoon, so most people weren't keen on the idea of being stuck on the mountain.

The scenery started off with a few small, dry shrubs, lots of large red, orange and black volcanic rocks and large mountains around each side. About an hour into the walk, we came to the most difficult portion - Devil's Staircase, I believe. It starts off with a steep uphill, and then, just to be consistent, continues with a very steep uphill for the next 40 minutes. From the bottom, looking all the way up to the top, seeing the tiny figurines slowly make their way up the mountain, the trail is daunting, and the view is no less discouraging once on the side of the mountain. Scrambling over big boulders, sliding back as you step on bits of gravel and ash, feeling like you're walking up an eternal staircase, the climb was slow going, made a bit less enjoyable by an incredibly whiny Canadian who was complaining to her friends and anyone that was lucky enough to be in her vicinity about how she'd never do this again, and how unhappy she was that they convinced her to do the walk. Despite the burning feeling in my calves, the view below us was amazing, and after about 45 minutes of walking, I reached the top and took a break, marvelling at the view below and watching the next set of walkers cross the threshold and breathe a sigh of relief.

From here, we had a great view of Mt. Doom/Ngauruhoe, which is said to be a very tough climb, since it is very steep and covered in layers of ash, meaning that you slip back after every single step, and there was really no time to add on a 3 hour detour. At this point, the trail crosses a desolate, windy area that looks like a salt flat with absolutely no vegetation, just some random stones and a lot of dirt, bordered by a dried up sulfuric lake and two volcanic peaks. At this point, I remembered my iPod and came up with the perfect music match for my hike. This desolate area reminded me of a movie in which they are traveling by motorcycle through a barren part of the Patagonia in South America, so I summoned up the Motorcycle Diaries soundtrack and had the absolutely perfect accompaniment for my solitary, desolate walk. I came to another steep hill which led us to the highest point on the trek and a view of a few bright green or blue sulfuric lakes on the other side of the peak, known as the Emerald Lakes. As I slowly slid my way down the gravelly hill, taking a step, then sliding another two, I got past the strong sulfuric odor and found a spot on a rock to have another peanut butter sandwich and some of my fruit. Another long crossing was upon me, before reaching a large crater lake and the downhill portion of the journey. At this point, I also met an Irish girl named Emur and a girl from Seattle named Weena who shared a few stories with me as we made our way down the mountain (and I hope I spelled their names correctly). We talked about leaving our jobs, travel destinations visited and slated for our next trips and anything else that came up. When speaking about some Asian vacations, Emur told us a story of her experience taking some anti-malarial pills. Many anti-malarial pills are said to be really strong with quite a bit of side effects, particularly known to cause very crazy dreams among many, many people. I also spoke to someone that said his girlfriend got really, really depressed on them (another side effect), and within two weeks time, she was talking about suicide, so these pills are quite potent. Anyway, Emur apparently took some of the ones that were not supposed to affect your dreams, yet she told us about one of the weird dreams that she did have. Apparently, she and her friends were sort of prisoners or detainees during WWII in Germany, though not in a concentration camp or anything like that. She and her friends were playing kickball to pass the time, and then, all of a sudden, a group of officers decided that they wanted to join the game - among them, Adolf Hitler. Not being able to say no to Hitler, they resumed playing with the new additions, though she said that Hitler was cheating a bit and running the wrong way around the bases. Frustrated, they continued playing his way, and after conferring, decided that none of them really wanted to confront Hitler and tell him that he was cheating. As you can see, some interesting conversations have come about from the random friends that you pick up here and there.

Finally, we continued down the back side of the second volcano, and eventually, we made our way from the rocky terrain into some grasslands which eventually gave way to a bit of forest and some much needed shade. The first 3/4 of the trek is completely exposed to the sun, with a few hot portions and a lot of wind swirling across the flats, with the final portion the only part with any significant vegetation and eventually cover. The walk was somewhat challenging, especially the first portion, and it turned out to great day for it in terms of the weather. As a volcanic park with three active volcanoes, the land is covered in volcanic rocks, sulfur pools, ash, gravel and a few small plants, making for a harsh, yet interesting, sweeping landscapes. I decided to take the rest of the day easy and head back to the same hostel for a quiet night around the tv and my comfortable bed before heading off tomorrow, though I'm not quite sure of my next stop or even direction. Perhaps Mt. Taranaki, which was used as Mt. Fuji in the Last Samurai. No, not all of my trips are based on movies, but that is a good idea...

UPDATE: On March 18, the large crater lake of Mt. Ruapehu broke through the walls of the cauldron and caused a lahar (volcanic mudslide/flood), rolling down the mountain, picking up boulders and debris along the way. Fortunately, after a large eruption in 1995 and 1996, scientists had been anticipating and preparing for this event, so there was minimal damage and no one was injured, though some rivers flooded and plants were wiped out, though it's a bit scary to think that I was just a few minutes away from the lake a few days earlier.

(The first portion of the trail, on a boardwalk that crosses over some of the boggy parts)

(Just after finishing Devil's Staircase, which is below, though you can't really see it here)

(Mt. Doom in the background and the dried up sulfur lake. You can see the tiny trail in the dirt over my left shoulder. It's the light brown line in the darker brown part.)

(The Emerald Lakes - fortunately the picture doesn't come with the pleasant odor of sulfur.)

(A self timer nicely composed with the mini tripod from Mike - thanks)

(Protecting myself from the elements along the windy portion of the trail...I've been told that this picture looks like Afghanistan, but it's not)

(The Red Crater in the foreground and Mt. Doom in the background)

(Once again a view of similar, yet impressive scenery, and again you can see the tiny trail of on the left edge of the picture)

(The grasses along the backside of the volcano, where at least some vegetation grows)

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South to Waitomo Caves and Tongariro (which means nothing to my readers)

Despite thoroughly enjoying having my rental car, I've discovered another interesting quirk. It seems that as the day progresses, the lock on the driver's door seems less and less inclined to let me in. It works the first time I try it in the morning, but after that, it's only has about a 40 or 50% success rate. I've developed some strategies and theories about getting it to work, but nothing seems to quite work. If I'm able to partially unlock it before the electronic mechanism kicks in and slides the lock all the way to open, sometimes that works, but it is quite a difficult, precise thing to do. After a few tries of that, I usually just slyly put my backpack or something in the backseat, since fortunately the other doors unlock, pretending like I needed to get back there in the first place, then playing with the lock and opening it from the inside, propping the door open, then popping my head out of the backseat and sticking my arm around the catch the door just before it closes itself again, then acting as though nothing is out of the ordinary. I'm sure I look a bit like I'm stealing the car, but no one has said anything to me yet, so let's hope that streak continues. Also, since the radio only picks up one classical station and one or two pop/rock stations for about 10% of the drive, I've had a lot of time to think and enjoy the scenery, which is quite nice, enjoying the solitude and beauty of nature. Every once in a while, I'll enter a town and see billboards and advertisements for the local radio stations, taunting me with frequencies above 90. Speaking of billboards, I've also seen a lot of those warning of the dangers of speeding or driving while tired, noting that "Red means bloody red" (a red light), the 100 km is a limit, not a target - drive to the conditions of the road, and take time to rest - for example "Going to Sleepsville? Stop in Woodville." and "Wakey wakey. Welcome to Wairoa." Clever.

So, along with the Camry, I headed down, back through Auckland, to the Waitomo Caves, an area full of limestone caves and glow worms. With frequent photo stops, windy roads and construction areas that slow traffic, things seem to take longer than they look at the map, though the driving is beautiful, so I can't complain too much. In addition to the great views, I stopped at a few grocery stores for some lunch and snacks, so along with plentiful peanut butter sandwiches, I've been enjoying potato chips and a ton of sour candy. In one town, I found the Sour Mix and Match bag, including sour worms, rings, sharks, and other random, sugar coated delicacies. These have made the drive that much better, and I've become addicted to them. As I've told a few people, I'm like a kid when it comes to candy, though with a bit of disposable income, it's a dangerous predilection. Anyway, I got to Waitomo late in the afternoon and found that the main hostel was booked solid, though I got lucky and found another one ten minutes down the road, on the way to the middle of nowhere. It turns out that I missed most of the tours for that day, so I decided to wait around and take a tour of the caves first thing in the morning. I met a Taiwanese guy named Jimmy that had lived in San Francisco for a while, so we shared some stories and complaints about our rental cars, arguing over whose car was better/worse, and we also found out that we'd be doing the same tour in the morning.

For dinner, I treated myself to a local pizza place - days and nights of peanut butter sandwiches and pasta left me wanting something more. As it happened, the pizza wasn't particularly good, though the atmosphere was amusing. As I placed my order, I noticed over the speakers that they were playing Milli Vanilli's classic, "Blame It on the Rain," and I'm not even going to pretend like I don't like that song. It's a quality pop hit of the time, even if they didn't sing it themselves...someone sang it, and that person did a good job creating a catchy tune. As it turns out, the cd player also thought it was a catchy tune, so it continued to repeat, over and over and over. Now, this honestly wouldn't have been too bad (I really do like that song), but it was also skipping and going backwards and forwards, so singing along in my head, just as it would get to the chorus or another great part, it would skip ahead or back, leaving me a bit unsatisfied and frustrated. Finally, right before leaving, the 35 minute song was laid to rest, and, of course, I did have to go listen to it on my iPod to hear the real thing in all of its glory and non-skipping splendor.

The caving/black water rafting tour is one of the highlights of the region and basically the only reason why people come to this area. Early in the morning, I drove down the road to the starting point for the tour, where we met Simon, a local driver full of interesting stories, bad jokes and under his breath comments making fun of the other people. The six of us on the tour (me, Jimmy, and four British friends) loaded into the van, and we drove off into some random sheep fields, up to a spot with a circle of tall trees. We did some brief training on the equipment that we'd be using, got suited up in wetsuits and helmets with attached lights, and then we walked down to the trees and saw the chasm that we'd soon enter - a narrow opening about 30 feet wide by 100 feet long. We attached to the cables and rappelled down the 90-100 foot drop, into the shallow water of the stream that flowed through the opening. From there, we grabbed our innertubes and jumped in the waist or knee deep water, floating along peacefully as we moved into the caves, into almost complete darkness. A few minutes into the caves, the guide instructed us to turn off our lights and look around, as we were in the first area that contained the glow worms (not to be confused with the sour worm candy that I was eating earlier). All around us were tiny little lights, just a few feet above our heads, along the ceiling and walls of the cave. It looked as though we were suddenly surrounded by a sky full of thousands of stars, somewhat like those glow in the dark star stickers that people put on their ceilings, except much, much more plentiful. It was a brilliant display to see the glowing worms all around us, almost everywhere you look. The worms are actually fungus gnat larvae that live along the cave walls. In order to attract food to their sticky lines/webs, they emit a light similar to that of a firefly, and then they reel in the catch once they feel the line move. The color is produced as they burn their waste, and they stay in this state for about 9 months. Then, they emerge as the gnats, though without a functioning mouth, so they quickly reproduce, then die of starvation and exhaustion after just a few days of life. Whatever the case, the light show was amazing.

We moved through that main cave along into another portion where the water was about 8 feet deep, where a few people fell in when the guide said "Oh, it's just knee deep, you can stand up." I'm sure he loves tricking people with that one. Next, we found some portions of the cave where the walls grew taller and more narrow, and we did a bit of caving, basically meaning shoving yourself into extremely small holes that look to be a bit smaller than the size of your body, though after a bit of squirming and pushing, you can make it through...definitely not an exercise for claustrophobics. Thankfully, I made it through all of the holes, and we moved on to the final part, in which we climbed into a similarly small hole, pushed our way up, behind a cave wall and ended up 20 feet over and above where we had started. Our whole group made it up (which is supposedly rare, since many are afraid to try it or unable to fit), and we enjoyed a warm drink and some chocolate before heading face first down the steep hole to get back down. A bit muddy and not really feeling my feet as a result of the cold water, we made our way back to the opening, about 1 km back upstream. We finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel, secured ourselves and rock climbed our way back up the chasm wall into daylight. The five hour tour was definitely worth the money, and the guide took pictures along the way for us, so I bought the cd, but I split the cost with Jimmy, the Taiwanese guy, so he's sending me a copy of the cd when he gets back to Taiwan...I hope. I probably should have just paid the extra money to get my own, and, no, I'm not mentioning how much that cost difference would be. Eventually I will post those pictures, but it will be quite a while.

So, I left Waitomo Caves and headed South towards Tongariro National Park for some trekking and sightseeing, all the while driving through more amazing scenery and more verdant hills and beautiful valleys, lined with trees, sheep and cows. The one day hike across Tongariro is touted by the guide books as the best one day hike in New Zealand, so it has a lot to live up to, so I hope it doesn't disappoint.

(A view of the Tasman Sea from a rest stop on the way to the caves)

(Some random river along a mountain pass)

(Looking at the scenery and road on the other side of that random pass)

(Some sheep and Mt. Ruapehu in the background - part of Tongariro)


(A nice view of the grasslands outside Tongariro)

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Going North in the North Island

I don't know why I didn't initially think of the idea, but after the owner of the hostel recommended that I rent a car as a way to see the North Island, I jumped at the idea. He had a few contacts in the industry, so he was able to call and talk the price down a little bit to get me a "nice sedan" for 8 days, allowing me to pick it up in Auckland and drop it off at the Southern end of the North Island, in Wellington, after a week or so of criss-crossing my way around the island. Independence provided by a car is an incredibly nice luxury when travelling, allowing free stops for lunch, hikes, photo opportunities, sour worm candy (several of those stops), and it also allow you to get outside the tourist track, which can be viewed as a positive or negative. So, the owner of the hostel called his friend and booked a car with unlimited mileage for about $28 per day. Afterwards, I realized that I didn't really have any idea about the company, type of car, stipulations, etc, but I figured I'd be fine. Well, as it turned out, my trepidation was well-warranted. Despite the assurance of renting a car from a company known as Quality Rental Cars, after being picked up to get the car, I could see that it might be an interesting experience. First, the older German fellow ahead of me tried to get his car, though it turned out to be a pretty bad super-compact car, and he was unhappy with his rate, the insurance and the perceived price that another lady was paying in comparison to him. Incorrectly, he saw the lady's receipt and thought he was comparing the same thing, so he felt he was getting ripped off, though I tried to explain to him on the side that he wasn't comparing the right numbers, but the language barrier and his persistence left him without a real understanding of what I repeatedly tried to point out.

My turn at the desk consisting of one worker, in fact the same worker that was the driver to pick us up, was just as exciting. While the insurance policy was explained, I realized that I would be in quite a bit of trouble if I did get into an accident, and I didn't want to pay the extra premium that still would leave me out some money if an accident did happen. Even so, he filled out all of the paperwork, then I went to go take a look at the car. "It's the green one out there that just pulled up, right?" I said, pointing to the fairly new, four door sedan that just pulled up to the outside of the building, and he agreed. Then, as I reached to open the door and check out the car, he corrected me, and it turned out to be the tiny blue hatchback, right next to it, broken windscreen and all. According to the brochure, this car was lovingly labeled as a backpacker's special, since there are few adulatory terms that could apply to it. With its size, I would have had to pull out the front seat and sit in the back to drive it (a la Hightower from Police Academy), and I mentioned to him that I was promised a four door sedan at that rate. Unfortunately, there was not much to be done at this point, since we are at the offsite rental agency, more or less at his mercy. He said there were no more cars left on the lot (this is a small, shady agency), but then after searching for a while, he came up with one. It didn't look too bad from the outside, but upon closer inspection and pulling the cobwebs away from the passenger side mirror, it had it's share of problems, scratches, etc. All in all, it wasn't too bad, though. It was a dark blue 1994 Toyota, labeled as a Camry, though it certainly didn't have the size of engine that the Camry has in the United States, nor the body style, so it was definitely an import special, also meaning that the radio frequency goes from 76 to 90 FM, meaning that I miss 95% of the stations. On the other hand, I was excited that this car was a manual transmission, so that would be fun, though a bit odd as I fought my instincts and learned to shift with my left hand. The car also had about 130,000 miles on it, though I had confidence on the reliability of a Toyota, so I accepted the car and hit the road, an hour or two later than I had planned.

I drove North to the Waipou forest, an area full of lush greenery, ferns, and massive kauri trees - trees that once were spread over the North Island but have become a bit more scarce due to logging and deforestation. Parts of the road in this park are almost overgrown with ferns jutting out into the road and one lane passes around massive trees that were spared when the roads were created. As I pulled up to the park's campgrounds, I found that I had just missed the early afternoon closing time, but I was able to talk through the window to the ranger closing up shop and get a key for a tiny, spartan cabin just down the road at a quite good price, though I did lie when he asked if I had a sleeping bag and/or gear, but I figured it was harmless. So, I got to the cabin, which was simply a tiny nook in the wall for supplies, a wooden floor and a thin mattress on a small perch against the wall. I was also warned to watch for kiwis (the birds, not the New Zealand people) on the road, since a few had been killed, and they are becoming more and more rare. While there was still an hour or two of daylight, I decided to drive down the road and see a grove of the famous kauri trees - a sort of NZ equivalent to the towering American redwoods, just a 30 or 40 minute walk from the parking lot. I made it to the first set of trees, the Four Sisters, which are four of these massive trees all growing from the same spot with ages of 200, 400, 600 and 800 years old. I also met up with a local tour guide and his two clients who invited me to join his tour, which was a great bit of luck, as I got a chance to hear the legends that go along with these behemoths, as well as noting some of the intricacies of the forest that my solitary speedwalk would have missed. Deeper into the forest, we prepared to come upon Te Matua Ngahere, the Father of the Forest. Our guide greeted the tree with a few phrases in the Maori language, and we turned the corner to see a tree that seemed to create its own light and aura around it. While the rest of the forest was beginning to fall under darkness, this huge tree stood out, visibly brighter than the rest, perhaps because its foliage and root system have prevented other growth from coming in too close. The size of the tree was nothing short of unbelievable...over 100 feet tall, but more impressively, about 50 feet around in circumference. The base of this tree looked like a building, though it is sacred and fragile, so it's forbidden to touch the tree or get any of those cheesy pictures hugging it to show the immensity. The tree has also been determined to be about 4,000 years old. We sat on a bench in the forest for a little while drinking hot chocolate and coffee while staring at this giant, imaging the things that must have passed before it in its enduring time on the planet, then we eventually moved on and parted ways after thanking the guide for letting me join on the interesting tour. When I got back, I decided it was time for sleep and layed down on my towel on the uncovered matress. Soon, I found out why the ranger had asked about the sleeping bag. I initially went to bed in just a pair of shorts, but I woke up freezing just a few hours later. Gradually through the night, I woke up and put on more and more clothes, first a shirt, then pants, then socks, then gloves, then a hat, then my jacket. Despite all of my clothes, I still woke up cold and a bit unrested, but I was happy to see that the showers did have warm water, so it wasn't too bad. Following the great shower, I returned to the trees, which were just as impressive, and I also visited Tane Mahuta, a slightly taller though thinner tree, known as the Lord of the Forest.

Leaving the beautiful and inspiring Waipou Forest, I drove across the peninsula, through windy roads of rolling hills, alongside green pasture land and glimpses of the ocean. I reached my next destination, the Bay of Islands, just in time to drop my bags and run to the pier for a boat tour of the 144 islands that surround the blue-green bay. High up in the North Island, the water and occasional beaches almost have a tropical look with brilliant white sand and green water, though other parts of the rugged, rocky coastline have the sort of Irish cliff look, covered in lush grass. My tour was relatively empty as it took us on a large speedboat/catamaran with approximately 30 others. We first toured some of the closer islands, learning about the owners, envying the caretakers that get to live in and tend to those houses, then we moved out towards one of the main attractions - the Hole in the Rock. This is simply a cave carved into the side of one of the large, rocky islands that has evolved after years of erosion (the number of years of erosion might be up for debate for some of you readers) into a tunnel, just large enough for our boats to pass through. The captain took a couple of minutes to explain some of the stories around the rock, then carefully guided the boat through the opening and out the other side. On the way out and back, we saw many large schools of fish swimming along the surface and hit some massive waves, much to the delight of the squealing Australian kids standing on the bow, delighting in every wave and trough, which I have to admit was quite fun when standing on the bow and feeling the power of the ocean, then the resulting weightlessness as the boat seemed to drop out from underneath you. (Much more fun than the Fijian boat adventure leaving Wayalailai)

Our final part of the boat tour was to fulfill the guarantee of seeing at least one sea mammal on the boat or else you would be granted a free ticket to try again the next day. Our sister ship spotted some of the numerous dolphins in the bay, so we speed alongside, met up with one other dolphin watching boat and were witness to a brilliant display of a group of about 10 or 15 dolphins, swimming around, jumping, feeding, playing and hamming it up for the pictures. Actually, these are truly wild dolphins that just happen to be plentiful in the bay and as curious about humans as we are about them, so you are not allowed to touch them, despite them swimming very close by. Some of the groups usually swim with the dolphins, but they were disappointed to hear that there was a baby dolphin in the water, meaning that they couldn't get in the water with them, since the mother-child bond among the animals is strong enough to evoke some violent, protective actions from the mother if any of the swimmers were deemed to be too close. Pods of about five dolphins each swam back and forth, underneath and around the ships as we cruised along, a few of them doing some acrobatic jumps out of the water, a few just swimming alongside. After twenty minutes of watching the amazing creatures, we concluded our tour and headed back to the bay. Back in town, I had a small dinner and walked around town and the local beach before heading back. On the way to my hostel, I saw a few different stands with ice cream, which seemed quite appealing at the time, but I couldn't justify to myself paying the inflated tourist prices. As I was looking at some postcards at a shop next to the ice cream shop, a miracle seemed to materialize before my eyes. An older man right behind me came back with two ice cream cones, one for him and one for his wife. When he presented them, the wife vehemently denied the cone, saying over and over that she wouldn't eat it and would have asked for one if she wanted it. The husband said he had already bought it, and there was nothing that he could do now. Of course, I heard the whole story, so I continued to look at the same postcard over and over, trying to look like the poor, young man that could use a free ice cream cone when the husband assessed the situation. I played out the scenario again and again in my mind, as I waited for the realization from the husband. I couldn't believe my luck. Then, somehow, the scenario never did materialize. The husband took both of the ice cream cones, continued bickering with his wife, and they both went off down the street, leaving me hungry and disappointed. I had been so close, yet I wasn't going to ask for the cone outright. I just couldn't believe that the perfect situation had arisen and somehow not worked out at the same time. Still a bit hungry, I went back and stayed in a small hostel for the night, which was touted as being very strict about quiet time and rowdiness, meaning that it should make for a quiet night, but apparently a few drunken Brits didn't get the memo, so I, along with two other girls in the dorm room, suffered through some extremely loud, obnoxious, slurred conversations as we tried to bury our heads in our pillows and sleep.

(The road through Waipou Forest...green...I told you.)

(Along the trail to the kauri trees - pronounced a bit like curry...maybe courry...depends on your accent...native New Zealander is best)

(Te Matua Ngahere shining like a beacon in the forest)

(Showing off because the fern next to me matches the fern on my shirt and is New Zealand's national symbol)

(The tiny cabin at the campsite and my car, with the key in the door handle. Each of those cabins is actually split into two.)

(The Hole in the Rock - and the rock next to it)

(The rocky coast and a tiny lighthouse on the hill at the edge of the mainland in the Bay of Islands) (One of the alluring beaches at one of the many islands in the Bay of them)
(Quick trigger fingers and a propensity for taking many, many pictures thanks to digital cameras helped capture this dolphin - capture in my picture, not in my fishing net...I don't even eat tuna. Except for in the Cook Islands)

(A typical view of the countryside along the small roads of the North Island, usually even a bit more hilly)

(The sunset in Paihia, the entranceway to the Bay of Islands)

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Auckland at a Glance

Arriving from an early flight from Nadi, I found myself in the Auckland airport and greeted by an impressive entranceway featuring some nice carvings from the native Maori people, or at least a convincing replica of it. In fact, much of New Zealand, particularly the North Island, has a strong Maori influence in terms of the people, the place names, the architecture, and of course, the bloody history of colonization. Anyway, I arrived in the airport, again with no plans for the day, nor a place to stay, nor with much of an idea of the city, as I hadn't had much time to devote to researching Auckland itself. I wandered aimlessly, stumbling upon a free computer for a few minutes and then a very helpful information booth. Being a country very accessible to tourists, New Zealand has tons of information booths, brochures and maps everywhere that you find a large number of tourists, so this proved to be great luck for me. I browsed a few brochures and talked with the assistants before deciding to book my hostel. My first choice was on lunch break by the time we called, so we went for the second choice, just up the road, Lantana Lodge in the city section known as Parnell. I took a shuttle from the airport, and upon entering the neighborhood of Parnell, I was immediately pleased with my choice. The streets are lined with coffee shops, cafes, restaurants and more, surrounded by quaint houses, mostly of classic Victorian style, quite an elegant and demure look. My hostel is a large, old house that has been converted into a hostel with a beautiful bright yellow tree standing in the front yard, in the midst of a residential community and only a small sign indicating its presence. I met a few of the obligatory Germans, Brits and Israelis in the hostel, then I started my walk downtown to explore the city.

The city center/centre (or CBD - Central Business District) was only a 20 or 30 minute walk from the hostel, so I headed downhill, towards the waterfront and some of Auckland's major attractions. My first impressions of the city were some very nice views of laid back cafes, a multitude of parks and trees, a picturesque bay and a few unique, nicely designed buildings that would make my urban architecture loving friends happy (Paul, in particular). I walked along the ever popular Queens Street along with a bunch of other tourists and annoyed locals as I zig-zagged back and forth across the sidewalk, taking pictures, looking for cheap souvenirs and places to eat and deciding which side of the sidewalk was the appropriate side to pass on, considering that the drivers here drive on the other side of the road, much as the walkers veer to the left instead of right when coming upon another walker, though tourists don't always follow the rules. It's like a game of paper, rock, scissors, where you try to out-think and predict the next move of your opponent before making a deft, last second move, though there were a few of those awkward moments when both people move the same direction, then the other, then stop and laugh, then the same direction again, until someone finally pushes the other one out of the way. And they say Americans are rude...I don't know where they came up with that. After a tragic meal at a Thai noodle house in a sort of food court/alley, I gazed upwards and found my way to the Sky Tower - Auckland's version of Seattle's Space Needle. (The meal was tragic because in spite of finding a decent Thai noodle dish, just as I sat down, I looked up and found the one single place that I had missed along the food alley was another Thai place advertising one of my favorite meals ever, nam tok, but it was too late to cancel my other order, so I had to sit and dream of the beefy, cabbagey, spicy, basily goodness that could have been mine) The Sky Tower certainly dominates the skyline at 328 meters (about 1,000 ft), being the tallest structure in the Southern Hemisphere, and it has an observatory and point from which you can do a sort of sky dive with some cables down to the bottom from at around 600 feet above the street below, in true Kiwi fashion, infusing a bit of outdoor/adventure into even its buildings.

I also visited one of the many parks within the city, Albert Park, and enjoyed the warm, sunny day along with many of the University of Auckland students laying out around the park, under trees, on benches, on blankets in the green grass, listening to the chirping of birds and insects. I took a brief walking tour of the campus, right on a nice hill downtown and visited the nearby Auckland Museum for some lessons on local history, flora and fauna. In addition, the museum has a wing devoted to New Zealand's major wars, including WWI and WWII, so I learned a little about ANZAC Day, the impressively large percentage of the population that joined our side during those wars (one of the highest percentages as a percent of the total population, if not the highest), and a melancholic display devoted to the Holocaust - some of the tragedies and some of the triumphs as the memory of those horrible times and the lessons learned live on. Working my way through these exhibits and reading the stories of the young soldiers and prisoners, their sacrifices, losses and incredible achievements once again reminded me of what a completely different time and life they experienced and gave me a further appreciation and gratitude for the relatively easy lives that they have afforded us. Many of them years younger than I am today gave their lives selflessly in the name of freedom and country, and here I am today, complaining about having to work long hours or not knowing what city to visit next. A particularly poignant quote on one of the boards from a general at a crucial, bloody battle said something to the effect of "I'm not asking you to fight for your country; I'm asking you to die for your country." And that is exactly what many of them did. Besides the unimaginable situation of being in the war, the emotions and repressed memories that come out of those who experienced it must be similarly unbelievable, witnessing and being part of some of the worst expressions of human character and conflict.

On a lighter note, I did find a bus ride that encircled the city, did a cheap city tour, saw some of the other interesting neighborhoods that surround the CBD and generally got a good impression of the city. Wrapped around a pleasant green harbor, the city and its suburbs dot the volcanic hills of the countryside, stretching out and amassing a population of around 1.5 million people. Despite the opinion of some of those outside of Auckland, it's a rather nice city, green, clean, friendly enough, and attractive enough to warrant a visit (not to mention the fact that most international flights will come to its airport anyway). After my two nights here, I'm going to rent a car and tour the North Island for about a week.

(A view of the city and the Sky Tower from across the harbor. This view was taken one-handed in moderate traffic at 50 mph, approaching a guard rail and road divider (to which I almost got a little too close), driving on the wrong side of the road, checking my map, so I hope you appreciate it. The black dots that appear to be in the sky are apparently a few of the unlucky bugs that my car met along the way.)

(Some of the many attractive gardens and trees in the city parks, this one just outside the Auckland Museum.)

(The CBD and Albert Park from the Sky Tower)

(We've got a jumper...but in a good way. The 192 meter plunge from the observation deck to the bulls-eye below, attached to cables on each side that slow you down.)

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Fiji: Yasawa Islands: Wayalailai

After two great nights at Drawaqa Island, we moved on to Divetrek Resort on Wayalailai (aka Wayasewa aka Little Waya) Island. We were again very fortunate to find that our resort was not one of the popular ones amongst the major booking agencies, so we arrived to find about 7 people in the resort. This island and one other one were among the most impressive naturally, as seen from the boat, so it was great to be staying in such a beautiful place. There is a small beach with some lounge chairs and hammocks, then a steep hill leading to the first terrace with a few thatched roof huts and a large grass field where locals from a few of the nearby islands gather to play rugby every night. Up another steep set of stairs is the second terrace with the dormitory room and main hut for meals. Beyond that, the island continues upwards with a dense green forest and finally a massive rock face that dominates the Southern side of the island, known as Vatavula.

At dinner, Lucy, Jade and I met up with a few of the other guests including a young Dutchman named Ronald (apparently the Dutch like Fiji - or maybe the Dutch are just drawn to me) and a Japanese guy named Shim who we recognized from our International Night a few days earlier. To pass the time, the four of us (Shim went to bed) asked for a board game and after hearing the choices, we decided upon anything but Monopoly, so we made a few specific requests for games that the owner had listed, though after five minutes, he proudly turned the corner with the all too familiar box of Monopoly, so we played for an hour or two before conceding to the real estate tycoon, Ronald. Early the next morning, the five of us (Shim is back) went for a hike, along with an old man from the resort who was our guide. As we ascended the steep, sometimes slippery terrain, we passed amongst all sorts of vegetation including cassava (bread fruit) and mango trees and some other fruits of which our guide didn't know the translation. We also carefully passed under a tree that is said to be so poisonous that its itching effects would make one scratch away their skin - a cheap glimpse at the world of a heroin addict.

Out of the forested section, we ventured into fields of four to six foot high grasses and patches of sugarcane, which make a nice hiking snack when you cut the stalks and suck out the sweet juice. We then climbed on top of a 15 foot boulder that can be pushed from the side to make it sway from side to side without the risk of falling down the mountain (or so we believed), giving it the name Wobbling Rock. Fijians are so creative sometimes. Ten minutes later, we reached the top of the peak for some fabulous views of our resort straight down below and a few of the surrounding islands. We took a few pictures perched precariously over the sheer rock face, then we moved on to our climb down the back side of the island to the local village and sand bridge connecting to Waya, the adjoining island. Just as we got down to the village, the sky opened up and poured down rain, so we got soaked, but luckily we weren't far from cover. Heavy rain on top of the mountain would have made the trek much more arduous and not so enjoyable, so the timing wasn't too bad. We entered the local village of about 30 small, very simple huts, located right along the coast, after having been ordered to move to that side of the island by the government after a few landslides coming down the mountain in previous decades.

In the village, we were welcomed into the home of our guide's daughter for a nice lunch. Her house was very, very basic with just two rooms, a few pots and pans in the corner and huge mats across the floor and a great deal of flies that persistently tried to steal bits of our lunch. Next, we met with a few of the local villagers that were selling sarongs, necklaces and a few other typical souvenirs that helped bring some income to the village. Then, we crossed the playground and rugby field to the local school where a group of 40 or 50 elementary or middle school aged children gathered all around us as we introduced ourselves and answered questions about our lives and our cultures. They also sang us a few songs - some local ones and some not so local, including the 70s hit "Seasons in the Sun." The guide's grandson also greeted us along the way, and our guide has stashed away some of the sugarcane from atop the mountain to give to him.

Our final portion of the trip took us just down the road to the beach and sand bridge connecting the two islands at low tide. We did a brief bit of snorkeling in spite of a lot of jellyfish, though this particular type doesn't sting. Then, while waiting on the beach, I saw a very fast moving speedboat approaching. As the boat of five local men got closer, I could tell that they had no intention of stopping at the sandbar. Going full-speed, they hit the sandbar, got a little bit of air, then landed hard and came to an abrupt stop right in the middle of the 20 foot wide bridge. After a bit of pointing and laughing, three of us went over and helped the four guys and crying toddler drag the boat across the sand into the other bay. Apparently this method has worked before because the driver obviously showed no hesitation, though I wouldn't recommend it.

A few minutes later, our guide appeared with a small wooden motorboat, full of some of the school children that we'd just met. We squeezed our way into the boat alongside them and their bags and went back around the island to the other village to drop off the children and then to our resort. The long day in the sun (and rain) left us fairly tired, so we spent the rest of the day relaxing, watching rugby and eating another great dinner. Just before dinner, Ronald realized that he lost his watch somewhere along the way at the beach, though he didn't really mind, and it was pretty cheap, so it wasn't worth going back for it. While we ate dinner, our guide had disappeared, and then he showed back up with a huge grin of his face, apparently very proud of something. He asked Ronald again about his watch, and then he told us how he had just returned from taking the boat back around the 30 minute trip to where we had snorkeled and then eventually found the watch on the beach right in front of our resort, where we returned the snorkeling gear, and then the guide pulled his hand from behind his back and revealed the watch. Despite Ronald assuring him that it wasn't a big deal, our guide felt compelled to help him and was so pleased that he was able to find the watch. As with many of the Fijian people that I met, he is extremely nice and willing to go out of his way to help others, a very impressive characteristic of the people, though, of course there are a few people that are trying to make money and take advantage of the tourists, like the constant barrage of sellers in the main town that shake your hand and ask you where you're from, how much longer you have in Fiji, etc, before imploring you to come check out their shop, but such is life. In Bora Bora, I also met a few of the generous locals, including a bus driver that stopped at each construction/road work site and gave much appreciated cold drinks to each and every one of the workers, toiling away in the tropical sun. Sadly, after the recent military coup in Fiji, the tourism industry has suffered greatly, affecting many of these peoples' lives. Talking to some of the owners, they told me that they are only at about 10 or 20% of their normal capacity because of the perceived instability of the government, so they are obviously not proponents of the coup. Though it's very nice for us to have the incredible islands almost to ourselves, it is a shame for the workers and villagers whose livelihoods depend on the money brought in by tourism.

I had one more night on the island, and then I had a transfer back to the main island in the morning, but I didn't realize what an adventure that would be. Apparently in order to save a few dollars, I got booked on a private transfer back to the mainland instead of the main tourist boat that brought us over. The words 'private transfer' made it sound like it might be a nice ride, but as I walked down to the beach in the morning, I found out that my private transfer certainly wasn't going to be luxurious. In fact, it was the exact same small powerboat with a piece of plywood across the bottom that we'd taken with the school children the day before, so it was me along with four locals strewn about the floor of the boat, intertwined with some supplies, bags and water jugs to bring back to the mainland. The sun was already fierce, so I managed to put on some sunscreen and sunglasses to prepare for the long ride. The water was extremely choppy, but that didn't seem to faze our captain, as he went full speed at the waves. Each large wave sent us airborne and then back down hard as we returned to the water, sending a resounding jolt through the entire boat. As my seating position up against the small wall of the boat with my legs outstretched wasn't so secure, I was treated to the equivalent of a few solid, well-placed kidney punches every time we landed from a big wave, so I knew this was going to be quite a long, rough ride. After a few smiles and the local guys laughing at me as they tried to sleep, I settled in and accepted the fact that I'd leave the boat battered and bruised.

We passed through a few islands on the way - the Castaway one again and one that has helicopter transfers from the mainland and charges a few thousand dollars per night. The, we began slowing down, and soon the engine shut off, right in the middle of the deep blue ocean. I looked back at the captain, and he was literally syphoning gasoline from one tank to another before putting the gas hose into the new tank and starting up again. Thankfully, we only had one of these 'refueling' stops. Also, after only 30 or 40 minutes of badly losing my boxing match against the formidable boat, the ocean calmed down, so the rest of the trip wasn't quite as painful.

An hour and 45 minutes in total, the trip arrived at a local port in Lautoka, a large town North of Nadi (which by the way is pronounced Nandi, just so you know). I helped tie down the boat to the concrete pier and jumped off, observing the mass of humanity piling onto the adjacent boats and continuing to add cargo until it looked as if the boats wouldn't be able to move. My new friends told me that a driver would be coming soon, so I waited in the hot sun on the pier for about 20 minutes before a guy I recognized from the resort pulled up with his wife. Since I wasn't in a huge hurry to get back to town, I told him it was ok to run a few errands before taking me back. So, I walked around the local fruit and vegetable market with his wife, then we waited in the car for about 45 minutes while he went to the bank, and I read each of the local newspapers from cover to cover. Then, we finally made the 35 minute drive back South to Nadi and my hostel, encountering another roadblock or two on the way, though the driver told me that they never stop anyone.

All in all, my various trips among the Yasawa Islands were amazing. Initially after hearing some stories of heavy rains and ruined vacations upon my first day arriving in the hostel and seeing the main town, Fiji had lost a bit of its allure, but after these islands, it has completely redeemed itself. Relaxing, beautiful, friendly, and even a pretty good deal, especially with the all-inclusive buffet packages - everything you could ask for from an island paradise. One more day and a half here to hang out and plan my next stop, and then I'm off to one of the top travel destinations on my never-ending list: New Zealand.

(Climbing down the mountain towards Waya and the sand bridge - visible on the right side)

(The children after singing the never-ending verses of Seasons in the Sun)

(Our resort in the foreground and Vatavula in the background)

(The local rugby match on the first terrace of the resort grounds)

(Woooaaahh...looking down the steep drop from the top)

(Shim, Jade, Lucy, Ronald and me atop the mountain)

(Another view of the grasslands and neighboring island as we climbed down towards the village)

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