Having said goodbye to Rockhampton we continued Northwards again through more sugar cane plantations towards Airlie Beach, the main jumping off point for the Whitsunday Islands.

Airlie Beach is a picturesque little town with cheesy nightclubs, beautiful little intimate cafes, too many Brits and a fantastic view of sunset over the boats moored just off the beach. After a spot of sunbathing by the municipal pool/lagoon we booked a 3 day boat trip round the Whitsundays, which sort of mark the beginning of the Great Barrier Reef.

Our boat was called Ambition, a 35 foot yacht. We had a great crew: Duncan, the skipper, who liked to wear a rasta hat and tell corny jokes; and Damian, our fantastic cook and deckhand of indeterminable gender. The boat had only room for 11 guests which was fine by us and the other 9 guests were great company - easy going and fun.

One highlight of the trip was mooring off Whitehaven Beach, one of the most beautiful we've been on, with pure white silica sand like icing sugar (it's so pure, in fact, that you can clean your jewellry by rubbing it in the sand). Also memorable was swimming in the water at midnight and watching the phosphoresence glitter all around you like bright green sparks wherever you stirred up the water.

The sailing was great, helping to unfurl the sail and gliding off to secluded bays for snorkelling with your feet hanging over the edge above the azure blue water. The snorkelling was pretty good as well, and we saw our first turtle and were even able to reach down and touch its shell. We also had the chance to stop at a few islands to walk through the rainforest there. The first night we anchored off Tongue Bay the sky was cloudless and the star gazing was perfect with the odd shooting star here and there. Even though there were no clouds the wind shifted around midnight and the sea got incredibly choppy. It was possibly one of the worst night's sleep of the trip and there were many green faces at breakfast. Sophie's first chunder down under!

When we got back to shore it was Duncan's birthday so there was the obligatory visit to a cheesy bar along with a rendition of Tom Jones' "Delilah" at the karaoke. Oh dear.

The next day we took off for Townsville, another island gateway, this time for Magnetic Island. We drove to Townsville, shrouded in cane refinery smoke, parked the car, got straight on a ferry and were ensconced in a backpackers at Horshoe Bay, Magnetic Island by 2:30pm. As the Aussies say to us all the time, "Too easy!". It's true, things were never this straightforward and user friendly in SE Asia and we will miss that.

Magnetic Island is beautiful and mostly undeveloped, covered in rainforest with rounded, gigantic Flintstone-like boulders poking out of the tree cover here and there. Horseshoe Bay is a bit of a watersports centre but we'd come here to purely soak up the sun and take in the amazing burnt orange sunsets over the harbour.

The only day we actually did anything mildly athletic was to climb a 4km circuit trail through the forest overlooking Radical Bay. The trail winds up to The Forts, the remains of a WWII lookout and cannon base. One reason was to see the view and get some exercise (sadly lacking of late) but the main reason was to look for koalas which were said to be lurking in the eucalypts in the neighbourhood. Magnetic Island is only about 250 square miles with a wild koala population of about 200, so we weren't that confident and were thinking that we'd have to visit the koala sanctuary to see some. And then . . . we saw 2 within about 20 minutes, just snoozing in the trees right by the path, taking it easy in the midday heat. Hence we ran about like lunatics taking photos and saying wide-eyed to everyone on the path, "Hey, there's koalas here, do you want us to tell you where?" (Coupled with our affinity for trees and caravans things seem to be getting worse.)

• After the rigours of Magnetic Island we got back in the ferry and made for smog-bound Townsville once more. We picked up the car and drove North through more sugar cane and bananas to Mission Beach, 150km South of Cairns. Mission Beach is beautiful, a minute clapboard-house community surrounded North and South by numerous deserted beaches. The area has a bit of a hinterlands feel to it with the odd colourful hippy and posters for Buddhist teaching at the general store.

  Our YHA echoed this theme. It was very laid back, up in the hills overlooking the coast and ringed by palms, 10 feet tree ferns and hammocks. We felt like we were back in Thailand again, mingling with dreadlocked undergraduates and Dutch folk singers. Mostly it was peaceful and easy to get to sleep, but one night an errant Belgian guitarist nearly succeeded in tapping Jamie's homocidal tendancies. Why is there always a fool who thinks he can play guitar at midnight and insists you listen to his efforts to create "holistic tone poems"?

  Mission Beach is only 20 miles from Innisfail, a large sugar mill town and where Jamie was able to clock up his first hour flying in Australia. The instructor really put him through his paces but by the grin on his face it seemed to have been worth it (plus at only half the UK cost).

  From here we drove the final leg to Cairns and it was with much sadness that we handed back the hire car, 6000km (3730 miles) later from Adelaide. That makes our total Aussie mileage 9,200 miles in under 3 months! Not bad going. Cairns is quite a small city, about the size of Darwin and nestled between rainforest-clad mountains on the coast. It's mostly hotels and serviced apartments aimed at the tourist industry and biased towards the thousands of Japanese tourists that fill the Esplanade and Duty Free shops (the Brits were outnumbered for once). Even though fairly commercial Cairns is laid back, pretty and very tropical.

  To fill in the time before our flight to Brisbane and then New Zealand we booked a few day trips. The first was to the Great Barrier Reef for some snorkelling. Our boat, the Wavelength, took us out to some of the most superb reefs we've snorkelled so far, with crystal clear water and amazing coral and fish. On one snorkel a guide took us out and explained what we were seeing. It really added to the experience and we also managed to see a turtle and swam alongside it for 10 minutes and then spotted our first ever wild reef shark gliding across the bottom. Simply amazing.

  Our second trip was to take the Kuranda Scenic Railway from Cairns to Kuranda. Built in the 1880s the train is the original rolling stock and took us high up into the rainforest-covered mountains over narrow gorge-spanning bridges, through numerous tunnels and past waterfalls and a couple of lakes. After some hours browsing crystals and homeopathic remedy stalls in Kuranda we took the Skyrail back to Cairns. This is a 15km long gondala ride over the rainforest. The view was breathtaking and most of the way we got the gondala to ourselves to gawp down over the tree canopy and listen to the cockatoos calling to each other.

  For the last trip we took a 4 hour coach ride to Undara, in the middle of outback Queensland to see the world's longest intact lava tube system ("how interesting", we hear you scorn). By the time we got there we only had 2 hours before we had to turn back but it was still worth it.

  Some of the tube sections were simply massive - towering 50ft overhead and going 800 yards deep to the next ceiling collapse. Armed with torches our guide led us into the cavernous basalt depths to explain the geology while up on the moonscape-like surface he explained all the local flora and pointed out some rock wallabies. Even the journey back wasn't too ardous as we got talking to a middle-aged couple about travel and the husband eventually turned out to be the former Lord Mayor of Canberra - it was a very enlightening conversation to say the least.

  We're now at the end of our stay in Cairns, topping off our tans before flying to Brisbane and then cold New Zealand. It's so odd to think this will be our sixth country and that we've been out here for 5 months. Anyway, we'll probably catch up with you in NZ once we've sussed out the internet situation.

  Just another trivia point, but we've recently discovered that not only are there drive-thru bottle shops out here but we've also spotted a couple of drive-thru pie shops! It seems these are a very important way of life out here. Probably a good job that we no longer have the car, otherwise it would be a case of "Who ate all the pies?" . . .

  Speak to you soon, Jamie and Sophie

• We started the week off in Cairns, catching up on our beauty sleep before getting on the move again. This time to Brisbane, where we stayed a few days before flying out to NZ. Brisbane is a great city and has centred a lot of activity around the river. There's cool bars, shops, restaurants and some fine Victorian buildings which have either been turned into hotels or mammoth casinos.

  The Southbank of the city has recently undergone a massive facelift at the same time as building a new university campus near the Queensland Portrait gallery and theatre. There's a fantastic futuristic 2 mile-long arbour as well as the usual plethora of boardwalk cafes and restaurants. They've also made space for a Tibetan hand-carved wooden fertility temple, a rainforest and a sandy beach and lagoon complete with lifeguards. It was a nice way to while away a few days before shipping out of Oz.

  So at the end of our 3 month stay in Australia we waved goodbye and flew to Christchurch on the Southern Island of New Zealand. The clouds cleared as we got over the country and we got our first glimpse of the impressive Southern Alps, their brown craggy peaks dusted with snow. The rest of the landscape on our descent looked remarkably flat, vast and empty. (Bear in mind NZ is the same size as the UK but with only 3 million people.)

  Christchurch is beautiful with wide avenues, picturesque "chocolate box" shops in the centre, a cobbled square and Victorian tram. With the temperature at ten degrees (compared to 22 in Brisbane) it felt like being right at home and we warmed up with our first korma since Vietnam.

  The next morning we were up early to catch the 7am shuttle to Queenstown, 486km West and 8 hours away. The route is one of the most beautiful in the South Island and took us past Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki and Mount Cook. Our introduction to NZ scenary was stunning. The lakes are huge and glassy, boulder rimmed with wisps of cloud hanging still above them. The rivers are crystal clear and lined with great round grey pebbles and the water seems to flow in slow motion. The mountains are huge, towering and craggy, here and there topped with snow.

  The rest of the landscape is billiard table flat pastureland dotted with forgotten tumbledown sheds and cottages, vineyards and beehives. In fact, the whole landscape looks desolate and as if frozen in a time long forgotten. Even the cold just seems to hang in the air, though that may have just been a sensation brought on by lack of appropriate warm clothing (we were still dressed for West Coast Australia). To add to the age-gone-by feel, everywhere we stopped for tea breaks everyone we met were just the most friendly people and everything sold in cafes and restaurants is home made or home baked - no Otis Spunkmeyer muffins sold here.

  We got to Queenstown to find more cold, as you would for a town situated between 2 major ski fields. It felt very alpine in atmosphere, so alpine that there was a quick rush to buy ski jackets and thermal long johns. Most pubs and bars sold mulled wine and even though it was August the cold air and wispy clouds around the mountains kept fooling us it was Christmas. Our room at the backpackers faced right over Lake Wakatipi and opposite was Cecil Peak, 6500 feet of craggy granite that glowed orange at sunset. This travelling lark just gets harder and harder to bear.

  After a day or so sorting out hire gear we set off for the slopes or Coronet Peak. Sophie decided to pick up skiing again from when she last went (12 years ago) and I felt game to learn snowboarding from scratch - I mean, how hard could it be?

  Tales of James Bond skiing action to follow soon.

• So where were we? Oh, yes, skiing. Or rather the Frank Spencer school of skiing. By day 2 the number of falls was: Sophie - 0, Jamie - 50+. I felt like Eddy the Eagle, but like that great hero himself I was determined not to give up amd master snowboarding. We ached so much at the end of each day that we started a nightly regime of smothering each other in Tiger Balm. Not sure if that entirely worked, but we could still walk the next morning.

  By day 4 I could comfortably get down the beginner slopes without displacing disks while Sophie was gliding like a pro down the more advanced slopes.

  A couple of days while we were up there the weather closed in quite dramatically and it was difficult to see 100 yards in front of you but most of the time it was crystal clear and the view of the surrounding mountains was simply stunning. After just getting into the piste lifestyle again it was time to down skis, hop back on the bus and slope off to Christchurch to begin another campervan adventure.

  With the NZ dollar being weaker than its Aussie neighbour we were able to upgrade and get a bigger campervan that we'd had before. We were almost uncontrollable with excitement when we picked up our new home for the next 3 weeks. It came complete with: microwave, grill, fridge, 2-ring cooker, toilet and shower. Most important, though, the Captain's chair, the nerve centre of the operation.

  We thought to get used to the van we'd only go a short distance so we drove 80kms down the Banks Peninsula to the former French Whaling town of Akaroa. This was a beautiful windswept drive and the town itself was very picturesque and quiet.

  The next day, after having tested the van a few slight problems came to light: the shower door kept falling off if you breathed, the heater fan was broken and worst of all the radio didn't work. Back in Christchurch, though, the hire company couldn't have been more helpful and within an hour we had changed our lemon over to a new van and were on our way South to another small town, Geraldine.

  Freshly invigorated by a new van that worked we felt like taking on some New Zealand tramps (not the down and out kind, but the New Zealand version of hikes). Tramping is huge in NZ and most places you go will have tramping tracks serviced and signposted. Most tramps will be at least a couple of days long with overnight Department of Conservation huts marking the way but there are also a fair share of smaller ones. We drove out to the Peel Forest nearby to tramp the one and a half hour track to Ackland Falls.

  Now we know what you're saying: first caravans, then mentioning flora and fauna and now rambling. It seems the dark spiral we are descending plunges ever further. Next pastime could be growing a beard and appreciating real ale - oops, already done that.

  Anyway, the walk was excellent, clearly marked and not too difficult. We made our way up a ridge covered in tree ferns and rainforest and down the other side to the 50ft falls which were spectacular. There were also some great snow-capped mountain views from the top of the ridge. In fact, you'll be hard-pressed to find a spot anywhere on the South Island where you can't see mountains, snow, etc. The sheer natural beauty of the scenary gets a bit silly after a while - it's just endless.

  After the walk we wound our way back to Timaru, further South, looking out for Maori cave paintings. It's rather odd to be driving around rolling hills and pastoral landscapes that remind you of home and then come across these limestone rock galleries of Maori art. They seem very primative but unlike the Aboriginal paintings we saw in Australia they are only up to 800 years or so old.

  More weirdy beardy stuff soon.

  Jamie and Sophie

• Wanting to see some more Maori rock art we set off inalnd, following the banks of the Waitiki River to Duntroon. You don't have to travel very far inalnd to get into deserted roads and the scenary seems very much like frontier country with more wide boulder-strewn crystal-clear rivers and rolling pastoral land dotted with the odd remote farmstead or cottage.

  We eventually found the rock art which was pretty hard to find. We were given directions like: "Past Duntroon, turn right it's on the hill on the left" or "down Rocky Road, somewhere on the right over the fence". Anyway, being the hardened trail-finders we are now it didn't take too long to find the sites - only to find half the art has been literally carved out of the hillside to be taken to a museum.

  Moving on we headed back to the coast to the town of Oamuru which has a lot of historic Georgian and Victorian buildings. Not interesting you may think, but you have to remember that NZ's modern history is very young and only goes back 150 years or so - hence anything older than the first episode of Coronation Street is labelled "historic".

  Oamuru also has a couple of other attractions: yellow-eyed penguin and blue penguin colonies. For the yellow-eyed penguins we just drove to a hide above the beach at 4:30 and waited and waited. Eventually we were rewarded with a penguin surfing onto the sand, jumping upright and waddling contentedly into the bushes after a hard day's fishing. We saw 4 in total and considering there are only 20 in the colony we were doing pretty well for novice penguin spotters.

  We drove on to the next beach round the headland for the blue penguins which come ashore later than their yellow-eyed cousins. There's a big colony there and so much more to look out for. That evening we spotted about 15 making the perilous scramble up the jagged rocks to the beach and some got cornered by a fur seal who only wanted to play. There was also a penguin who ran around the colony who the guide reffered to as "Damian, the evil penguin" but she mysteriously never explained why . . .hmmmm.

  On from Oamuru is the beautiful city of Dunedin. As you'd expect from the name there's a lot of Scottich influence here, but the geography resembles San Francisco more closely, with streets clinging to extremely steep hills away from the city centre. They also have the world's steepest street, as confirmed by the Guiness Book of Records, and the most kilt and Scottish "specialist" shops (sadly not in the Guiness Book).

  Just before we got to Dunedin we stopped at Moeraki, famous for the Moeraki boulders. These are a collection of huge calcite boulders, almost perfectly spherical, just sticking out of the sand like giant's marbles washed ashore from a gigantic shipwreck. We went early in the morning with the mist on the beach hovering above the boulders and it was very atmospheric.

  From Dunedin we drove down the Otago Peninsula for more bird watching - this time Royal Albatrosses. The reserve on the peninsula is the only known nesting site for the Royal Albatross in the world. The rest of the peninsula has fantastic scenary and some precipitous roads, either treacherous gravel tracks or narrow single lanes teetering on the water's edge (a perfect joy in a huge campervan).

  The rest of the day was taken up with getting down to the Catlins National Park, as far South as you can get on the mainland. The drive was again beautiful and without passing another car for hours while moving through the hills and forest we got this feeling of splendid isloation.

  By dusk we arrived at our nominated caravan park at Curio Bay, the only one for 2 hours' driving, to find the power was off for the winter (couldn't quite see the logic in that). We felt up for an adventure though and parked above one of the cliffs for a heater-free night. All 3 duvets and our skiing thermal longjohns were employed . . very romantic.

  We didn't realise until the morning that we were camped about 800m from a Jurassic petrified forest (about 180 million years old). You could walk right down onto the beach and touch the fallen logs which were solid stone. Not something you walk across all the time at Raynes Park. We drove around the Catlins to take in a couple of waterfalls and rugged and windy Nugget Point where we spotted a fur seal from the lighthouse, playing in the kelp on the shoreline.

  That evening we pulled in at Tuatapere for the night at the world's smallest caravan park. Not as verified by Norris Macwhirter but there were only 8 sites and a kitchen. The view, though, was fantastic - looking down a broad glacial valley at some ubiquitous snow-capped mountains as the setting sun turned them pink. Cool way to eat dinner.

  Now, firmly heading into Fiordland we wrove up to Te Anau, past the massive glassy lakes Manapouri and Te Anau. Fiordland is a huge National Park that runs along the South-West coastline protecting the fiords there. It's quite Alpine and remote - you feel as though you're in Alaska or Norway and apart from the small towns here and there there aren't many people about.

  The main reason for coming to Te Anau was to visit the fiords and the next day we set off to Doubtful Sound (misnamed a Sound as it's really a Fiord). Now this wasn't exactly straightforward to get to: you have to cross Lake Te Anau and then get driven over a high pass in 4WD coach. The landscape change is quite dramatic, with pine forest covering the lakeside and mossbank rainforests covering the pass.

  The fiord itself was stunning: sheer-sided stone mountains jut out of the water and down their faces are innumerable waterfalls, trees clinging to the less steep ones. The water is jet black, stained by the tanins from the forest floor and the silence is deafening. It's beautiful and eerie all at the same time. The wildlife is amazing too and on the boat trip out to the Tasman Sea we came across pods of dolphins, a seal colony and a lone yellow-eyed penguin. The dolphins came up to the boat leaping out of the water to chase us at the bow wave and in the wash at the stern - we were, understandably, like kids.

  The next day we drove up to Milford Sound along the infamous, avalanche-prone Milford Pass Road. The road starts out fine, travelling up a huge 2-mile-wide glacial valley next to a river but then enters a no-stopping avalanche zone flanked by impossibly tall mountains dusted with snow. Eventually you travel over the pass down Homer Tunnel, which has no lights and water cascading down the walls, to pop out at the top of the Milford Sound. The road then winds down more sheer immense mountains to the water. The whole trip is of such raw, stunning natural beauty that we must have used up a whole roll of film on the 3-hour trip alone (and an extra pair of pants).

  The boat trip down the fiord itself was fantastic. Less apparent wildlife than Doubtful Sound but no less beautiful. The mountains are steeper and taller but the fiord is shorter, more compact and with less vegetation. There was a stop at an underwater viewing platform and the obligatory cruise under one of the many waterfalls to collect a bucket of pure meltwater - as you do.

  We decided to spend the night along the Milford Road at one of the DOC nominated, power free site by Lake Gunn. We parked right alongside the glassy waters' edge and the view was just fantastic, watching tiny wisps of cloud passing between the mountains and their reflections in the lake. Our only neighbour to share it with was a small minivan of hippies who braved the mosquitoes to cook their dinner over an open fire. It was cold, though, and all 3 duvets and thermals had to be dragged out again. Damart would make a killing here.

  More cold correspondance next week.

  Jamie and Sophie

• After waking up on Lake Gunn and eating breakfast as the sun burned the last wisps of mist from over the water's surface we left our hippy neighbours and drove on to Queenstown.

  The journey was pretty spectacular with the road winding around more sheer mountains and past huge elongated glacial lakes.

  It was good to be back in Queenstown again but this time was for adrenaline rather than ski-ing. We'd booked a jet boating trip and a tandem bungy jump for the same day. We were looking forward to the jet boating but dreading the bungy jump.

  So in the morning, without having eaten anything, we rolled up at the Shotover River jet boating pontoon, donned some Wyatt Erp-style weatherproofs and climbed aboard our designated rocket boat. Eight 360 degree turns and 15 sickening close shaves later we gratefully disembarked. Not green exactly, more like a hint of mint. The ride was amazing travelling at around 50mph in 2 feet of water and every now and then the driver turned into a gorge rockface only to pull away at the last possible second and leave you hurtling only inches from the rock. It was such a good idea of Sophie's to sit on the front row on the side . . . NOT!

  Anyway, swaying side to side we ate breakfast in town and contemplated our next fate. Which was good because when we got to the bungy jump bridge on the Kewarau River, the original first commercial bungy site in the world, they didn't give us a lot of time to think. We walked into the office, signed 2 waivers, got weighed and walked to the bungy station on the bridge. There we were met by some amiable guys in climbing gear and 1000 watts of blistering thrash metal rock. Before we knew it we were lashed up, had a whole slew of instructions shouted at us (which we instantly forgot) and were lined up on the edge clutching each other and looking down at the water with the "jump master" shouting, "Go on 1, ready, 5, 4, 3," - at which point we caught our breath and thought "looks like we're going then" and jumped on "1" about half a second later.

  Obviously they rush you through the whole process so you don't dwell on the jump and back out; we were grateful for that. The jump itself was amazing and anybody else who's done it will understand the absolute rush and freedom you experience as you're free falling 142 feet into a freezing river. At the last moment the rope slowed and yanked us up and down a few times. That's when the blood rushed into your face and you think that your eyes will pop out and your head explode. Excellent!

  The only pain we had was when the guy in the dingy at the bottom hauled us down off the bungy cords and landed Sophie on my head. We then had to sit down for the rest of the afternoon and recover. We would definitely do it again.

  The next day we made north for the West coast through more mountains that stop abruptly before the sea shielding the Westland National Park from the rest of the mainland. It's very remote there and we drove past quite a few deserted beaches, mile upon mile of grey sand and undisturbed driftwood. Quite eerie. The road then turned inland a bit to take us on to the sleepy town of Franz Josef Glacier. So named as it lies at the base of a mountain where you'll find the . . . Franz Josef glacier.

  Our reason for coming was to take a helicopter ride over the Franz Josef and Fox glaciers and Mount Cook, the tallest mountain in New Zealand. We'd never flown in a helicopter before and it was such a strange experience to just float into the air in the crammed cockpit with such an unrestricted view of everything. The glaciers themselves were truly awesome. All my secondary school geography came flooding back as we flew over deep towering royal blue crevasses, gouged hanging valleys, mature corries and terminal moraine scattered everywhere. There were buried climber lodges and the tracks of lone heli-skiers. The landscape almost seemed unreal and we even landed on the glacier for a quick cheesy photograph and obligatory snowball fight with the snow deep up to our knees.

  The rest of the day was taken up with more driving, first up the West coast to see the famed and over-hyped pancake rocks of Punakaiki. As you can guess these were just weathered limestone rocks with distinct layers that resembled stacked pancakes. To add more notoriety it seemed Punakaiki was less of a tourist attraction, more a broad daylight teenage cruising point. Several times we were very tempted to yell "Get a room!".

  Finally we drive through the mist and dark of early evening through the mountain passes to Hanmer Springs. We were here for a spot of thermal relaxation and to stay in a proper hotel for the night, not the van, for our wedding anniversary. The hotel was just what we needed (no baked beans for a change!) and the nearby thermal resort was excellent. For four pounds we got all-day access to the thermal pools, sulphur pools, hot water slides and free-form thermal rock spas. Tough work moving from pool to pool at 10 degrees but the water was 39, sometimes 42 degrees. Bliss.

  Next, ever Northwards to the coast and up to the Abel Tasman National Park. More beautiful rolling scenary with little villages and orchards dotted around. The highlight was Pupu Springs, with over 18 freshwater springs spread out over about 3 square miles. This is the clearest, freshest water you can get in the Southern hemisphere and in some places has the freshwater equivalent of a coral reef that you can view with an upside-down giant periscope. Some of the springs are quite massive, gushing 900 gallons a minute while one, called "Dancing Sands" just pushed the sand of the stream bed around in delicate fans and whirlpool patterns.

  We finished the week off heading West, in the town of Havelock, the "green-lipped mussel capital of the world". Yet again more premium seafood was consumed at sickeningly cheap prices.

  More hard trials and tribulations next week.

  J & S

• From Havelock we drove on East through the beautiful Marlborough Sound to Blenheim. The trip was more rolling pastureland with the odd orchard that flattened out as we approached Blenheim and then we began to see mile after mile of vines.

  Yet again, unashamed, we had come to a town for the sole purpose of wine. After visiting a few on our own the first afternoon we decided to let someone else go sober and booked a wine tour for the next day.

  Our guide, Bob, duely showed up at the caravan site the next morning with no other passengers booked and leisurely took us around 7 wineries in all. The Marlborough region is famed for whites, especially Sauvignon Blanc so not wanting to offend the locals we quaffed free Sauvignons and Chardonnays all day. Sophie was in her element. All the vineyards we were taken to were great, very friendly and mostly staffed by British or former British citizens. Some were huge world exporters, others tiny award-winning boutique vineyards. It seemed, though, that Bob was saving the best or at least the most dramatic for last: Prenzels, a fruit wine and liqueur distillery. No prizes for guessing what went on here, needless to say we've never witnessed such frenetic shot-cocktail pouring ever before. An hour later Bob poured us out of the minibus into our campervan. A good day was had by all.

  After Blenheim we made our way South down the East coast back to Christchurch where we had to return the van. The road was spectacular, hugging the water's edge most of the way at the base of steep hills. We had a few stops along the way. One was a seal colony right by the side of the road where you could just pull over and watch (and smell) the seals about 100 yards away. The next stop was at a roadside caravan selling freshly cooked and split lobster, the New Zealand equivalent of the fish and chip van - super. Finally we passed through Kaikoura and then into Christchurch to empty the chemical toilet for the last time - hurrah!!

  For a bit of a treat to celebrate the end of campervans for the trip we booked dinner aboard the hundred-year-old tram that travels around town. We had a tiny little table in the reconditioned tram with a proper a la carte meal, gliding around the streets waving back at people. Excellent fun.

  It was now time to leave the South Island and head off to Wellington. We took the 7am bus to Picton to catch the ferry. The journey was fairly unremarkable, save for a loud-mouthed girl who kept spouting on behind us to her captive neighbour about how clever and tough she was. Eventually her diatribe was cut short 5 hours later by a sudden bout of projectile vomiting over the back of my seat. It was like Vietnam all over again.

  The rest of the journey was vomit free. It was a shame it was so cloudy as we were told that the ferry journey through the Marlborough Sounds to Wellington can be beautiful. Eventually we made it to Sophie's cousin Gill's house. It was so good to be with family again and she made us very welcome. After such a long time it felt comforting to be in a front room again, and be able to move around the house.

  We managed to see some of the sights as well: we took the sightseeing bus around town; took the cable car to a hill overlooking Wellington; and generally strolled around, even checking out "alternative" Cuba Street (hadn't seen so many freaks and weirdos since the Kao San Road in Bangkok). Wellington in beautiful and great to be a tourist in. There's also the National Museum, Te Papa, which had a great Maori exhibit, a whole floor devoted to Maori origins and culture complete with carved wooden Marae (meeting houses) and war canoes.

  After a great couple of days with Auntie Gill, catching up and telling lies we drove off to meet some more "rellies" in Napier. Sophie's other cousin Jill and her husband Ivon and their boys Cameron and Joshua. On the way, though, we made the necessary diversion to drive through the town of Bulls where most shops have a sign that's a play on the word "bulls". There's "Collect-a-bulls", "Afford-a-bulls" and so on. Even the police station has joined in and is called, you guessed it, "Const-a-bulls". It was simply remark-a-bull. Boom boom.

  Napier is another beautiful town nestled on the East Coast of the North Island. It was flattened by a huge earthquake early in the 20th century so it was rebuilt at first like an Art Deco masterpiece. A lot of the Art Deco buildings are refurbished and are part of a heritage tour you can take (we didn't go on it . . . we're not that sad . . . yet).

  Jill, Ivon and the boys made us very welcome and it was great to be in a house again with family - something we're looking forward to in 3 months' time. Before dinner they took us up a nearby hill called "Te Mata" where we could look down over Napier and Hastings and see for about 50 miles all around. It was stunning and we could see why they'd moved out here to live.

  More soon.

  Jamie and Sophie

• After driving from Napier we headed for Taupo on the shore of Lake Taupo. We managed to get a room overlooking the lake and the view was fantastic, with about four miles of unspoiled lake in front of us, mountains in the distance.

  Now Taupo has a cheesy logo: "There's more than just the lake" and they're not wrong. Close by, up in the hills around Taupo is quite an active geothermal area. They built a geothermal power station which changed the water table levels. This in turn transformed a fairly unremarkable low lying area of gorse and heather into an amazing hot spot of geysers, mud pools and steam known as "Craters of the Moon".

  As you drive up to Craters of the Moon you see nothing at first and then all of a sudden you can make out steam rising from the ground ahead of you. When we got to the car park you could smell it too (rotten eggs). Walking around the park was amazing, everywhere you could see small pockets of steam rising from under bushes, the occasional hissing from yellowed holes where the ground had collapsed and the ground was warm. There were also some huge geysers venting great clouds of steam and great pools of boiling water or gently bubbling mud. We'd never seen anything like it.

  There's also a prawn farm nearby which used the hot thermal water to raise the prawns. Being the Neanderthals we are we turned down the offer of a tour of the facilities and went straight in for a lunch of massive prawns you could have stuck a saddle on. To finish off such a hard day's sightseeing we went to the local thermal pools to unwind for a few hours.

  Further North was Rotorua. You know when you are getting close as you can smell it down the highway. More rotten eggs and a lot stronger than Craters of the Moon. Rotorua is a fairly big town, the kind where you wouldn't normally expect to find thermal activity. But we were wrong. Just down the main high street is a Maori "thermal" village called Whakarewarewa - luckily shortened to "Waka". Waka is sited over a hot underground springs complex and it was fascinating to see how the village had used and still uses the springs and steam. Some pools are diverted into communal bathing areas and wooden boxes are sunk into the ground everywhere for steam cooking food. Out behind the village was a bush walk around more thermal pools, sulphur lakes and steam vents covered in sulphur.

  Next door to Waka is the Maori Arts and Crafts Institute. As you'd expect it's weaving and wood carving-a-gogo but they also have a Kiwi house (saw our first real kiwis) and their own slice of thermal park at the back as well as a reconstruction of a traditional Maori village. The thermal walk was brilliant as there were a couple of huge geysers in constant action and a fair few bubbling mud pools to gawp at.

  Just outside of Rotorua there's another thermal park called "Hell's Gate", with sulphur pools called "Sodom and Gamorrah" and mud pools called "Hell's Cauldron" and the "Devil's Paintbox". You get the idea. In fact, most pools or geysers in Rotorua have some sort of name connected to the underworld.

  Hell's Gate was the most impressive and extreme thermal spot we'd been to. No vegetation, just scorched white clay streaked with yellow sulphur, black mud and seething sulphur pools. They even had a steaming hot waterfall. And what better way to unwind than New Zealand's only mud spa! It was so great to step into the hot muddy water and smear ourselves with hot unctuous mud. Only sore point was the freezing shower afterwards and that our swimwear still reeks of sulphur.

  One evening we also arranged to go to a traditional Maori "Hangi", or feast, at Temaki Maori village. On the way in on the bus our driver explained all the salient protocols and rules and that one of the bus, or tribe, would be picked to be the chief to lead the tribe into the village. The chief had to be smart, handsome and rich. Two out 3 isn't bad and yours truly was press ganged for the task. I was beaming with surprised pride while Sophie pushed her head into the window in shame.

  At the village I met with the other bus "chiefs", or "Chiefs of the Four Winds" and we waited to be challenged by the Maori Chief of the village. We must have waited 5 minutes in the dark when there was an eerie flapping noise and then the tribal queen and warriors came out for a quick sing and then challenged us in Maori. Standing stock still we waited for a peace offering to be made and then with a tap on the shoulder I was chosen to step forward and pick up the offering while keeping constant eye contact with the semi-naked and armed chief who was yelling and poking his tongue out. All the while we knew it wasn't for real, but nevertheless it was slightly unnerving and you could appreciate how ferocious these guys must have been in the old days. Meanwhile Sophie was laughing her socks off.

  As Chief Chief of the Four Winds I now led all the bus tribes into the village and then managed to find Sophie. Before going into a concert we watched all the Maori outside demonstrating their weapons training "games" or singing or weaving; all in traditional costume around fires. The concert was excellent and they explained all the Maori greetings and songs all the way through the programme.

  Finally, before we went through to dinner the Chiefs had to exchange "Hongi", the breath of life, by pressing noses together in front of the other tribes. Again an unusual experience.

  The meal, or Hangi, was prepared by steaming over white-hot stones in a buried pit and had this delicious, earthy taste. The whole evening was fantastic and we thought we'd had a really genuine Maori experience.

  Enough hot thermal shenanigans. Further West we drove to Waitomo, famous for its glow worm caves. We took what we were told was the more sedate tour option, a gentle black water inner tube ride. After getting into wetsuit, white welly boots and miner's helmet we grabbed an inflated inner tube and scrambled through a crack in the hill into the limestone caves. At this point we realised how silly we looked and Sophie, complete with robot arms actions, started singing the Beastie Boys tune "Intergalactic" - you'll understand if you've seen the video. The water was ice cold and it took a good twenty minutes of sloshing around in the dark and climbing up a 10ft waterfall before we saw our first glow worms. We lay back, turned off our lights and bobbed along in the dark staring up at the ceiling "oohing" and "ahhing" like kids on Bonfire Night. The whole ceiling was lit up with hundreds of tiny neon turquoise points of light like something out of Star Wars. Magical.

  After Waitomo we then drive North up to the Coromandel Peninsula, just East of Auckland. Again, just beautiful scenery, fairly undeveloped and a road that followed the water's edge all the way round. Apart from the landscape, Coromandel has a hot water beach where hot springs flow under the sand. You just get a spade from the newsagent and dig your own hot spa in the sand - as you do. This place just doesn't cease to amaze us.

  J & S

• Before leaving Coromandel I sneaked in another quick flying lesson. At a quarter of the UK price it was rude not to. Even Sophie was allowed to ride with us for some sightseeing, so a double bargain.

  We then faced a long day's driving up to the Bay of Islands, North of Auckland. We only made it as far as Whangerei by sunset. No sightseeing here but a unique opportunity to smoke out our motel cabin; by Sophie's attempt to set alight a kettle power lead on the stove and my go at reducing bread to charcoal in the toaster. The smoke alarm didn't go off, but given the fog we endured for 2 hours we weren't sure if that was necessarily a good thing.

  We did make it to the Bay of Islands the next day and took the small ferry over the water to Russell, a beautiful tiny little town on a pit of land that overlooks most of the bay. We got a camp cabin up the hill and wasted the rest of the day just sitting, reading and watching the boats in the bay. Russell is officially the oldest town in New Zealand and was also termed in the early nineteenth century as the "Hellhole of the Pacific" by a visiting official. Needless to say it's been cleaned up now.

  Back over the water the following day in Paihia we took a drive around the coast further North up to Manganoui for their world famous (?) fish and chips which were, actually, excellent. Then we headed back to Paihia via Kerikeri, an artsy-craftsy sort of place. The scenery here was gorgeous with more of the same rolling grassland we'd seen in the South Island.

  Near Paihia is Waitangi, where the Waitangi treaty was signed by the Maori chiefs of New Zealand, granting sovereignty to the UK. There's still a lot of debate about whether the treaty was a trick, not being translated accurately enough and that it may not be valid but it's still the cornerstone of contemporary New Zealand. This tiny plateau overlooking the sea was where it all happened.

  Back in Auckland we got all out last minute preparations done and then let the butterflies set in again as we wondered what our next country, Samoa, was going to be like.

  It didn't seem like too long before we were up in the air and off again playing Phileas Phogg and Passepartout. It was only a short journey but kind of strange as we took off at 6:50pm on Saturday and landed on the island of Upolu, Samoa, at 11:20pm on Friday.

  Our first impression of our first night on Samoa was a lot of humid heat. Hotter than New Zealand but not claustrophobically humid like Vietnam. There was also the tang of smoke in the air and loads of churches, lit up, lining the road. Everyone was very friendly and we quickly caught a cab to Apia, the capital, where we woke up the two girls on reception to get signed in. No sooner had they handed over the room key when they put their heads back on the desk and instantly snoozed off.

  The next day we spent getting used to things and nosed around Apia, getting drenched in a sudden tropical downpour just yards from our hotel. It was so nice to wander around and not be pestered by the locals as we were worried might happen. Everyone was just very friendly, easy going and helpful. The sun came out, dried us off in about 5 minutes, and we just strolled around taking in the heat and the atmosphere.

  We thought we'd do something special that night and booked in to see a show called "Cindy's Cabaret". Cindy turned out to be a 6 foot 5 inch Samoan drag queen and local legend who also worked part-time at the local internet cafe. She/he had a full cast of dancers and 2 other drag queens with innumerable costume changes. The show was excellent and had us in stitches. It seems, that in very Christian Samoa, where most people go to church at least twice a week, the role of the traditional polynesian "fa'afafine" ("man who behaves like a woman") is still accepted.

  We now felt we were in the swing of things and caught a flight the next day to the big island, Savai'i. The flight cost less than a one-day travelcard and check-in was very laid back, the luggage handlers snoozing out on their trolleys on the runway tarmac. Just how I imagined the Pacific to be.

  Our taxi driver was again a laid back guy, needing the fare up front as he had to stop to buy cigarettes. The journey was our first proper glimpse of village life. A lot of pigs wandering around, snuffling amongst banana trees. Coconut groves and fales (traditional thatched houses) cocoa growing nearby and hundreds of people in their Sunday best, beautiful dresses for the ladies and shirt, tie and sarong (?) for the men all on their way to and from church.

  After driving past a few lava flows and our driver hooting his horn at everyone in greeting (he knew literally everybody on the island!) we got to Tanu's Beach Fales. We were shown around. Where to pick the bananas for lunch, where brekkie and lunch was and more importantly where we were sleeping. Our fale was a simple open air thatched hut with a foam mattress, a light, palm blinds for walls and a coconut husk to wipe the sand off your feet. And best of all it was right on the beach nestled between palms...just paradise.

  And so we settled into island life.

• Tanu's Beach Fales was so relaxing and for 3 days the only things we moved for were the gong at 8am for brekkie, the gong at 7pm for dinner and the occasional rain storm that forced us off the beach.

  Our fale was right on the beach and 20 yards or so into the water began the reef, an expanse of darker blue that ended some 800 yards out where the edge of the reef was pounded by the surf.

  The food was delicious. Prepared by the family that owned the fales and grown on their plantation just inland. Lunch was nice and simple, a few bananas picked fresh from the stalks hanging in the main meeting hut and a coconut or two freshly hacked from one of the palms.

  One night the family put on a Fia Fia, traditional dancing and singing. This was quite an affair as Mr Tanu the chief of the village has 15 kids plus assorted sons and daughters in law plus grandchildren. Some of the dances were the ladies demonstrating serene polynesian dance while their brothers whooped and howled around them, throwing themselves on the floor trying to put the girls off or make them laugh. Even had a 7yr old fire dancer.....!!

  After 4 nights we had to head back to Apia and were annoyed as we didn't want to go. We caught the early plane back to the capital and retired to the pool for the rest of the day.

  At 2am we were up again to get to the airport in time for a 5am flight to Tonga! The flying time was only an hour and a half and we were so grateful as it was possibly the worst turbulence we've ever experienced! It was made worse by the fact that we were in the pitch black in cloud and seemed to climb for ever....thought it would never end.

  Back on the ground we kissed the tarmac and turned to the job in hand of figuring out the "Kingdom of Tonga" (as they insist on being called) They say they are the only remaining Kingdom... not too sure about that one!! There was a bit of confusion as our guest house had lost our booking and no-one came to meet us. We duly rang around and waited while taxi drivers circled us predatorily hoping our ride would never show. They didn't bank on us being used to Island Time so due to sleep deprivation we waited patiently for the dilapidated and rusty minivan to draw up.

  The drive was a good opportunity to scope out the area. It seems to be more disadvantaged than Samoa: fewer new cars, uncompleted hotels with overgrown gardens and men hanging around in the roads with nothing to do. Still everyone seemed friendly and relaxed.

  Our guest house "The Good Samaritan" was lovely. It was right by the sea with a long balcony overlooking the reef. Within half and hour of getting there we were fed and watered and asleep. Just what we needed. We got up in the afternoon to look at the large fossilised reef that's partly covered by the beach. There were shells and dead coral everywhere and we felt like little kids exploring the rock pools and pointing at hermit crabs. Could have done with a bucket and spade too. It was great to lay back and be lazy, enjoying the sun and watch a local guy walk over the reef spear fishing.

  Supper was a simple affair of grilled lobster, freshly caught that day. We sat at a lone table as the rest of the place was empty. Even the staff pushed off home before we finished as they were tired and told us to help ourselves to anything and close the door behind us?!

  The next day we got up late and headed off to the beach again all morning. As it was Sunday we were treated to polynesian gospel music at lunch and watched a humpback whale cruising on the outside of the reef just 300 yards away. Just the kind of thing you don't see everyday on Wimbledon Common.

  Having a whale of a time, J&S

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