Spray it forward

If there was a theme to our three week trip around New Zealand then it was serendipity - the faculty for making fortunate discoveries by accident. For example, with no planning at all Pete and I managed to drive into the Bay of Islands, the place where the treaty with the Maori people was signed in 1840, on the very day the act was being celebrated - Waitangi Day.

But the most outstanding example of serendipity was our meeting with Sharon, a former work colleague who retired from the police in January.

I knew that Sharon was retiring as the local newspaper had done a big article about her, describing her outstanding career as a detective and how much she has done to promote the rights of female police officers. Sharon was awarded the Queen's Police Medal for her dedication to policing.

The article sparked a memory of talking to Sharon last July at the retirement function of another former colleague. It was a dim memory as I had intended to pop in for a quick pint and say goodbye at about 5 O'clock and was still there at eleven.

At the party Sharon confided to me her plans to retire and that she would be visiting Australia and New Zealand as soon as she did. We made a tentative agreement to meet up in NZ. I made a profound promise of 'See you in New Zealand, Sharon' , which I forgot by the time I reached the bar.

As our trip reached its final week, Pete and I drove across New Zealand from Te Anau to Dunedin. En route we opted to stop off at the small town of Gore for a coffee. Duly refreshed we mooched up and down the main street of the town and then popped into a bakers to buy a sandwich for the journey. The baker was about to close (yes, half day closing - it still happens in NZ) but she kindly pointed us towards a cafe that would oblige. It was the same one we had visited earlier so we crossed the road and went back in.

As we pondered the sandwich options there was a familiar voice behind us.

'What are you two buggers doing here?'

Serendipity had struck once more and we turned to see the smiling face of Sharon.

After meeting Sharon's mum and her cousins we agreed to meet Sharon for a meal in Christchurch on our final evening.

Serendipity also played a hand in determining where Pete and I stayed in Christchurch. The B and B I originally booked was unable to take us due to some building work, but they arranged for us to stay with Ngarie and Garry, a kind and generous couple who have left a lasting impression on me. Unfortunately, I also left a less than welcome impression with them.

We met Sharon and her lovely cousin Jane in a gastro pub near the city centre. I smugly showed off my new Maori tattoo, which had only been done hours earlier.

Shaun had done me proud. The tattoo was much bigger than I had imagined it would be and, as promised, it tells my story. It is truly a work of art that depicts not just my family but also the rings of Te Wheke, the octopus, to denote wisdom and the eye of Kiatiaki, my guardian.

The tattoo is on my upper arm, quite close to a tattoo of two lion footprints which to me denote my freedom and my affinity with Africa. When I showed Shaun the lion prints he said:

'Man, it looks like you've had the mini-paws.' He is such a wit that Shaun.

The evening with Sharon and Jane was a very pleasant and fitting end to our NZ journey. The Black Shag, one of several beers brewed at the pub, was very much to my taste and 'One for the road' soon became 'Two for the road'.

I awoke next morning to two horrors. No, not Sharon and Jane you dirty devil. Horror number one was I had a dreadful hangover due to more Black Shags than I'm used to. Horror number two was seeing the perfect impression of my beloved tattoo on my pillow case and bed sheet. A very expensive pillow case and bed sheet as it turned out and when I confessed my sin to Ngarie her face went as white as her Oprah quality organic cotton linen had once been.

To her great credit, Ngarie was very good about the whole thing and even fixed me up with a variety of hangover cures. I wasn't so good and promptly threw them back up. As you know by now, travel for me is all about voyaging to distant lands so I can puke over them.

Anyway, after my chat to God in one of Ngarie's many loos I collapsed on the ink-stained bed. This was somewhat unfortunate as I was supposed to be driving Pete to the airport as he had a connection to Auckland to make.

Acting above and beyond the call of duty the ever-patient Ngarie whisked Pete away and left me to die in peace.

I must have retained a small amount of the hangover cure as 2 hours later I emerged from my room shamefaced but revived.

Kiatiaki, my guardian, obviously knew what she was doing when she led me to Ngarie and Garry as the former kindly prepared my breakfast for the second time and uttered words of sympathy that I clearly didn't deserve.

We parted as friends. Ngarie posed for a photo with Wainwright and I signed the door that serves as a visitors book. And then I was off, on the first leg of a journey that took over 30 hours, allowed me time to watch 5 films and brought me back to cold, wet England.

And in case you are wondering, Ngarie has written to assure me that the ink stains have come out. In return I have vowed to respond to her many kindnesses by 'paying it forward', and not, as is my custom, by spraying it forward.

So what now?

My journey down under has allowed me to tick off quite a few of the challenges I set myself. A few still remain though, including: see the Northern Lights; catch a big fish; and fire a machine gun.

I hope to have the resources to stay off the treadmill until the end of the summer, which gives me time to tackle some writing projects. The most important of these is my book, which has the working title: The Adventures of a Middle Aged Gapper or possibly: Around the World in 80 Spews.

Between now and May I must complete my creative writing degree by submitting 10,000 words from said book. I have agreed to submit the first 4,000 words to my university tutor by the end of April.

So, over the next few weeks I will be writing about my antipodean adventures for inclusion in the book whilst they are fresh in my mind and trawling through past blogs to write about my early adventures and how it all began. I will publish excerpts from my musings on Australia and NZ on here - bits that I simply did not have time to write about whilst I was away, but which are noted in my journals.

I also have approaching 3,000 photographs to download, edit and touch up. Naturally, I will publish some on here. And for those that know me I will put a few albums on Facebook in the same way I did when I returned from Africa. In the meantime I hope you like the shots of Pete and I plunging down the 21 foot waterfall near Rotorua. That's us at the front of the raft (I'm in the white helmet).

Live long and prosper.

Welcome and greetings from Aortearoa, the land of the long white cloud. This is my last day and I am hoping that it is not one that will end in tears.

Much has happened since I last wrote - an encounter with albatrosses, a spot of cannyoning, a cruise along Milford Sound, where I finally got to see dolphins, star gazing at Mount St. John (which included some tuition on using my camera for astro-photgraphy - I got a shot of the Southern Cross which I am hoping will look good on the big screen) and a fishing trip that both Pete and I got excited about but which failed to happen.

I have a plan for my writing when I get home and intend to elaborate on my adventures over the coming weeks.

For now let's get back to those tears. I was saving my last day, here in sunny, beautiful Christchurch for something special - my very own Maori tattoo. A sort of personal fridge magnet to link me to this land and it's brilliant, friendly people forever.

A Maori tattoo is a bit like harry Potter's wand - you don't choose it, it chooses you. Every mark represents something personal and shows your ancestry and family. Shaun, my Maori tattoo artist is drawing my design as I type this in the internet cafe across town. My tattoo will include my three children, which is fantastic. But somewhat alarmingly it has to include a reference to their mother too, my ex-wife. Naturally I have protested that my ex left enough scars on my heart and wallet without being forever painfully inscribed on my upper arm, but Shaun insists that this is the Maori way and must be done.

I initially suggested that I could have a nice band around my arm.

'No, mate. Those are for girls. You don't want one of those,' insisted Shaun. Maybe he can't draw bands.

I'm not sure what my design will look like but there will be some spirals to represent eternity and new beginnings. Shaun also insists that the ocean is there too. I have complained that being someone who suffers greatly from sea sickness the last thing I want is waves on my arm. Again, Shaun has stood firm. I am a traveller from across the sea and this must be shown.

So, whilst most of my friends and family are tucked up in bed back home I am being marked for life down under.

My new mate Shaun reckons it will take about and hour and half for him to complete his work of art. That sounds like a lot of pain to me. I wonder if it's too late to have "I (heart) NZ" instead?

Tomorrow I do my Doctor Who trick and travel back in time, arriving in London on Friday morning. I somehow doubt I'll be wearing my shorts next week but whatever the weather I'll be wearing short sleeves to show off my tan and Shaun's handy work.

Right, just time for a beer before the pain begins.

Cheers.

Live long and prosper.

3 - 2 - 1 Jump!

When it came to being taught English at Leeds Grammar School it was a case of the good, the bad and the ugly. The good came in the form of Neville Stevens who taught me so much and for who I have undying respect. The bad and the ugly came in the corpulent form of Mark Burke, for whom I have undying contempt. With any luck the fat twat is long dead and if anyone knows where he is buried I'd love to know as a dance is long overdue.

Although Burke didn't teach me much English I do recall one thing he said in his lessons - the worst part of being hanged is the waiting (what's that got to do with English language or literature?). I can confirm that it is just the same when it comes to bungee jumping.

In the hours leading up to the possible jump I was very nervous. I rehearsed the scenario in my mind over and over and always it came down to the same thing - me standing on the platform, ready to jump. I couldn't see beyond that. I couldn't imagine throwing myself into the void below.

Queenstown being Queenstown has several bungee options on offer. The one I chose was the jump from the bridge over the Kawarau River. My reasons were:

It was only 44 metres, less than 150 feet. Not too frightening.
It was into water, which is somehow more reassuring than a drop over solid ground.
The river was the same one we had surfed under - the instructor joking that there was a full refund for anyone who could grab a jumper and bungee back up to the bridge with them.
This is where it all began. This was the world's first site for bungee jumping.

We arrived at the site, about 30 minutes out of Queenstown, in the late afternoon. I had done a mental deal with myself - to watch 3 jumpers and then if I felt I could do it to book a jump.

One by one the jumpers leapt off in a variety of dives. No one died. Everyone looked happy.

I went to desk, paid $195 and hopped on the scales.

I had forgotten my swimmers and towel so I stripped down to my shorts and joined the queue on the bridge. There were 3 young American boys before me.

Standing on that bridge, looking down at the river below, all fear and anxiety left me and was replaced by a feeling of deep peace and happiness. I had done the hard part. I had made the decision to jump. There was only one way I was getting off this bridge now.

Knowing that I had overcome a personal demon to reach this point I felt quite emotional, close to tears.

When I was East Africa I saw a lot of yellow billed kite and somehow these came to embody my attitude to the land. I saw myself as the kite. In NZ we have seen many Australasian Harriers. They are big birds but very common, like kestrels in England. That is how I saw myself on that bridge - a harrier.

Slowly my turn came. I asked for a head and shoulders dunking and watched very carefully as the bungee guy bound my legs together and attached the bungee cord.

Then I was shuffling along the platform, out, over the river. I never looked down and I wilfully forced myself to let go of the support and stand there ready to leap.

'Smile for the camera', said the bungee guy. I smiled.

'Wave to the crowd,' said the bungee guy. To my left, about 40 feet away was a viewing platform. It was full of the sort of people that go to Formula One races. They wanted spectacle but sectretly they wanted blood and gore too. To be able to go home and say - ' I was there when that guy was killed on the bungee. I've never seen so much blood.'

I waved at the blood thirsty buggers.

'On one,' said bungee guy. '3 - 2 - 1...' His hand touched the small of my back very lightly and I dived into space.

I am the harrier. I am free. I am flying.

It was a perfect swan dive. Arms outstretched, fingers together like feathers, legs straight.

Down, down, down.

Then the bungee began to gently arrest my fall and I just had time top bring my arms together as the river filled my vision. I went in - arms, head and shoulders, just as requested.

I popped back out again. Then fell again, not quite to the river. And so on until I dangled inert, upside down above the river.

Two guys in boat came to get me and elation flooded out of me. I did it! I'd always said that I would never do a bungee jump, but I did.

Back at the top I wanted to go again but Pete had a jet boat trip booked and needed to be away. There was just time to grab my photos and T shirt.

As Pete sped back towards Queenstown I had a look at the superb pictures the company had taken. My favourite was one taken from above the platform (I'll publish it when I get home). It shows me with arms thrown wide and flying - well, maybe falling with style.

Live long and prosper.

Having a whale of a time in Queenstown

Kia Ora from exciting Queenstown, NZ.

So where were we? Ah yes, Wellington. Well a lot has happened since then.

We caught ferry across to the south island and then picked up the train to Kaikoura for another trip highlight.

Our B and B was high on the peninsula which meant stunning views of the sea and mountains, but hard walks back from dining in the town.

We had come to Kaikoura for whale watching. Obviously, this meant another boat and a lot of trepidation for me as I envisaged another bout of sea sickness. But the weather was excellent and the sea much calmer. I wasn't sick.

Better still, we got to see a sperm whale. A huge male about 15 miles off shore. He was a long time coming. The captain knew he was down there but he stayed down for 55 minutes. Average dives for sperm whales are 40 minutes. He may have teased us but he was worth waiting for. And yes, I am right in calling the whale 'he', only males frequent these waters at this time of year.

Eventually he returned to the deep for and obliged me with the perfect picture of his fluke waving goodbye.

From Kiakoura we took the TranzAlpine across to the west of the island. Simply the most scenic train journey I have ever been on and enlivened by amusing commentary from our train manager, Charlie.

Picking up the hire car in Greymouth we headed south. The car is a Nissan Bluebird. Surely the ugliest car ever made. And so old it has a tape deck. If I'd known I'd have brought my T'pau and Duran Duran tapes.

Next stop, Franz Joseph for stunning scenary that included snow topped mountains.

The highlight here was a short trip down the road to take an all day guided tour of the Fox Glacier.

Getting to it was the toughest part. We had to climb 800 steps and climb through the rain forest (yes, this is one of the few places in the world where rainforests and glaciers co-exist). It was hot, sweaty work. Luckily, when we reached Fox the air con was working and the temperature dropped as we put on crampons and trekked over the ice.

I know awesome is an overused word and constitutes poor writing, but it is the best word I can think of to convey the wonder of over 3 hours climbing over the ice. Our guides carried axes and steps were cut for us. The ice, sometimes very blue in colour was split by cravasses and moulins - a kind of tunnel carved by water that means a watery death if you fall down one.

At one point we walked in a cravasse and the ice towered a good 30 feet above us.

By the way, did you know there are 3,153 glaciers in NZ? Most of them on South Island. Fox is the 4th largest.

I would like to have lingered longer in Franz Joseph to walk more and see the scenary but our schedule took us south on the longest drive of the tour, to Queenstown, the adventure capital of the world.

Our accomodation here is ok, but there is a lot of noise outside late at night as young backpackers, gappers and thrillseekers party the night away.

This morning we arose and joined the river surfing tour. This involved travelling through white water in wet suits and fins on boogie boards - small surf boards. and I'm proud to say that I did surf the river, but not how I imagined it.

I thought river surfing would be like sea surfing - riding a wave along the river. But no. The white water creates backwash - constant waves that want to pull you into them. In order to surf them the trick is to be facing up river and back into them. Once you catch the wave you can stay there for as long as you are able, held in a constant surf position by the mighty wave.

It sounds easy, but it isn't. I only managed it owing to the tremendous strength of fitness of Thomas, our guide who hauled me into the wave alongside him. Eventually he let me go and I thought I'd shoot away in the current. But I stayed right there and surfed the wave. It was err, awesome!

But also very tiring. Of all the activities I have undertaken since I left work this was by far the most demanding.

The other great side to this trip was the part of Lord Of The Rings was filmed on the river. If you've seen the film it's the part in film 1 where 2 giant statues guard the river as the ring bearing party travel down the river.

So, all has gone well so far, but there is a problem. My hit list of 20 things to do during my gap year includes 'swimming with dolphins' and this I have not really achieved. Ok, I swam near a dolphin in Adelaide, but I think that's cheating. If I'd dived over the side of the boat in Kaikoura then I could equally say I'd swum with a whale.

I've checked our itinerary and I can't see any more opportunities to get the tick and in any case I'm not keen on testing my luck on another boat.

I've decided that what I need is another challenge. Preferably one that is even harder to achieve than swimming with dolphins to make it worthy.

It just so happens that Queenstown is famous for a particular adrenalin filled activity, but it is one I have always said I will never do. Bungee jumping.

So that's my dilemma. I have very good reasons for not wanting to do a bungee jump, including a slightly dodgy back and no insurance. And can I actually bring myself to do it? Will push come to shove?

But another small voice says that if I leave Queenstown without jumping I will always regret it. Just do it! says the voice.

So will I or won't I?

Find out next time.

Live long and prosper.

Sandi sets the pace

Bay of Islands was beautiful but the dolphin trip was even less successful than the one in Adelaide. Not only did we not swim with dolphins, we didn't even see one. This entitled me to a voucher for another cruiseand it is valid for life. So, if you fancy the chance to swim with dolphins at any time in the next 30 years or so just drop me a line and the voucher is yours.

I don't want to go again as it was very rough once we got out into open water. The young man who was very happy to sell me a Kitkat seemed a lot less happy when he was washing the same Kitkat off the side of the lovely boat. The tablets failed and became part of the Kitkat mix.

Thankfully, Rotorua more than made up for the disappointment of the dolphin trip. This was due mainly to Sandi of Sandi's B and B fame.

Sandi was on hand to welcome Pete and I from the airport shuttle and showed us to our house. A whole house to ourselves! Our New Zealand accommodation has all been good but Sandi took us to new heights.

Not only did we have everything we wanted, including separate rooms with large, comfy beds, but Sandi was determined that we should get the most out of our 2 night stay. Within minutes of arriving she had whipped up a challenging itinerary.

The next 40 hours or so were a whirlwind of activity that involved:

A gondola ride followed by numerous goes on the luge - a sort of downhill go-kart ride.

Back to Sandi's for a few minutes before being taken into town by her husband Mark and dropped off at the museum.

Evening meal at the Fat Dog.

Late night soaking and relaxation at the Polynesian spa - a series of open air, geo-thermal pools that range in temperature from a pleasant 36 degress to a very hot 42 degrees.

A good night's sleep.

Sandi's breakfast.

Taken by Sandi's daughter to the geysers and mud pools on the south side of town for a very informative guided walk and a cultural show.

Lunch

A walk into town to the collection point for white water rafting on the Kaituna. By far the most exciting part of the trip so far. Pete and I joined the young backpackers and gappers and showed them that oldies can be adrenalin junkies too. This included a 21 foot waterfall, the highest commercially raftable fall in the world. And yes, we stayed in the raft throughout. High five team!

Dropped off at Sandi's for a very quick shower then out for another maori cultural show, a huge meal, or hangi, and a night nature walk that included glow worms and brought me within touching distance of a kiwi bird.

Back to Sandi's to collapse.

I am writing this from the NZ capital, Wellington where we have had a more relaxing day in preparation for our early morning ferry to the South Island. Needless to say I won't be eating any Kitkats and I'll be praying for the tablets to work this time.

Live long and chunder.

Uluru, a rock in the park

I had the most wonderful blog lined up for day, full of interesting facts and anecdotes. But internet access is very expensive in the red heart of Australia and I've only got 15 minutes left on my pre-paid card. So here are the highlights.

The flight from Alice was quick but as we approached the airport the plane suddenly started to climb again. It was too windy to land and we were going round for another go. It got bumpy and thought of a similar trip in South Africa came flooding back. I broke into a cold sweat and it's testimony to my sickness pills that I didn't hurl everywhere.

The first thing to hit me was the heat - 37 degrees.

The first thing I bought was a net - to stick over my head and save me from the flies.

I was up at 4.30 this morning and joined a very small (just 3 of us) guided tour of Uluru. We walked around the base, had breakfast on the way and it was jolly hot by the time we got back to the Land Rover.

I learned so much. For instance, did you know that Uluru is not actually red? I mean it is, but not naturally. The rock is grey but it is the iron oxide dust that coats it that gives Uluru it's distinctive colour. That's right - Uluru is rusty.

I had been warned to expect a very uplifting and spiritual experience at Uluru. So how did I feel?

Well, nothing really. It's just a rock in the middle of nowhere. I've glad we've met and Uluru and I have promised to keep in touch but I just know that holiday talk and that neither of us will bother.

I can see it's deep significance to the indiginous population though. Every facet is covered in folklore and spiritual meaning.

If you want the anecdotes you'll have to wait for the book. Times up!

Live long and

Alice Springs

Another epic railway journey under my belt. On The Ghan this time , a railway that runs from north to south between Adelaide and Perth.

It wasn't as good as the Indian Pacific, but only because the seats were not as comfortable and didn't fully recline. I spent a fitful night sleeping in shifts and needing to change positions every 30 minutes or so, much as you do on a plane. Still, it's great to wake up with the early morning sun lighting up the barren wasteland of the outback.

I travelled in the Red section, which is the cheap end of the train reserved for backpackers and people on a low budget. Further down the train is the Gold section where luxury and a good night's sleep come at a hefty price.

If you've ever read the excellent 'Down Under' by Bill Bryson you may recall that he travels on the Indian Pacific but in the expensive bit. There comes a point in the train where there is a divide betwween carriages and never the twain shall meet. For Bryson something out of the wild west lies beyond that door. An area of untold mayhem. But I can assure him it's not so. It was quite peaceful, at least with my ear plugs in it was.

I did ask Hayley, one of the very helpful rail staff, if they had much excitement on the trains.

'God, yes, ' she relied. 'Mainly around the mining towns. We get some rough characters getting on board and they do get out of hand. We chuck them off the train, them and the smokers.'

What? I'm not exactly pro-smoking, especially in a confined space like a train, but to be thrown off in the middle of a desert and left to fend for yourself sounds like a harsh punishment for lighting up. Judging by what I saw out of the window even Crocodile Dundee would have trouble making it through the day.

Fortunately Hayley clarifies that they only get thrown off at stations and the police are waiting when they get there.

In a sense that is even more unbelievable. Where I live if you're a victim of crime it takes Plod all their time to send a badly typed letter with the wrong name on to tell you they're doing nothing about it. Imagine a country where a police taskforce is mobilised to deal with 'person smoking in the lavvy'.

I'm only in Australia for another 3 nights but I'm being very careful. I did some jay walking in front of a police car earlier but managed to get off with a nasty glare. Whew!

See you at Uluru.

Live long and prosper.