Lake Taupo - Wellington

After all the exertion, I was desperate to check into the Grand Chateau in Whakapapa (pronounced Phakapapa!) for a hot bath and a big posh bed. I can confirm that this famously fantastic NZ hotel is haunted and last time I stayed there, Bruce and I were tormented all night by ghouls shaking the bed! Either that or it was an earthquake, but nothing quite on the scale of the last big style erruption of Mt. Ruapehu (Mt. Doom) in 1996. It does seem however that we've spent nearly all our pocket money, so we hauled ourselves into the van and set off for Lake Taupo, the biggest lake in the country. At 606 sq km, it was formed 25,000 years ago by one of the greatest volcanic explosions ever known round these parts. It is estimated that the explosion would have produced 800 cubic km of ash and totally destroyed everything in the vacinity. As a result of this tectonic plate movement, the lake is perched 357m above sea level and on a clear day (apparently they do have them) it looks very pretty.

Our aching limbs and frozen toes brought us magically to a caravan park located next to Taupo's natural Hot Springs. We jumped straight into the 40 degree C pool and chilled out Japanese style (except this time partially dressed). You have to remove all silver jewellery because the suphur and minerals turn it black and you can't put your head under the water as you can get amoebic meningitis... a small fact I forgot to mention to Andy and before I knew it he was underwater. With his propensity for ear infections, what was he thinking?! An element of confusion, slow response times and talking nonsense has been a feature of late, but come to think of it no more so than throughout the last 6 years.

Which reminds me, we had our 6 year Anniversary on the 1st November! Except we didn't get much chance to celebrate as we were flying to NZ that day. Perhaps worth a mention is the fact that Andy forgot, so we rescheduled for a date when he would have plenty of time to buy a card. Apparently he hasn't had a chance. Must be all those amoeba occupying his brain. He was given the benefit of the doubt, only to fall at the second hurdle. Still no card or prezzie. When he could bear it no more, I am now in posession of 2 new CDs and a lovely card that I've never been given before. (He finds it hilarious that he gave me the same Valentine's card 2 years running).
Thank-you for the CDs and the lovely card and Kiwi fruit wrapping paper!

Being in a volcanic region is very cool because it smells of rotten eggs and there are areas of the landscape which look out-of-this-world. Such a location is the Craters of the Moon, some 5 km north of Taupo. The forrested area is dotted with steam vents or fumaroles and the occasional bubbling mud pool. It's a bit dangerous to wander off the boardwalk as the ground's all a bit crumbly and boiling - terrible way to go I'd imagine. Still, one kind Dutch bloke risked life and limb to get this great photo of us looking nervously at the camera.

The Huka Falls are another attraction of the region. It's more like a massive rapid of turquoise water and you can take one of those jet boats around them if you dare. A more relaxing watersport, we assumed, would be to hit the lake in a 2-man kayak. There are some really cool Maori Rock Carvings on Lake Taupo which can only be reached by boat. Andy was quite certain that kayaking was going to be his new favourite thing and was about to book us on a 3-day kayaking extravaganza along the Abel Tasman coastal track. Having had one day of disasterous kayaking experience (well, it was an inflatable Funyak) I knew it was a total killer on the arms, so we decided to see how the day went first. At least there wouldn't be any swell on a lake so it would make for a chilled-out adventure.

Or would it? Being a pretty big lake subject to a fair bit of wind, by the time this has whipped up over the surface of the water for a few km, things can get a bit hairy. In reality, this means that a swell of 2 or 3 metres is feasable. At least the weather fairies were looking on us that morning - the lake was mirror-calm and the sun was shining. Fantastic, out luck was on the turn. Donning a gorgeous creation known as a 'kayak skirt' (great for those wanting to disguise a fat lower half) and a life vest, we were all ready to roll. 10 minutes into the exercise, Andy had decided his arms weren't up to the challenge. 15 minutes later, the blue sky totally disappeared and the rain clouds rolled in from nowhere. Soon, we were battling with big waves - paddling very hard but making no headway.

We'd been taught how to stabalise the kayak as much as possible, but we entered a phase when capsizing became a very distinct possibility. Trying our best to hit the waves head-on (Mr. Burns was steering) we battled for a bit until the guide decided it was too dangerous to head out to the carvings. This was much to the disappointment of Mrs Kayak who was weird enough to be in a kayaking club, which had enabled her to do 'lots of kayaking, actually' with her funny brother. She had a Kiwi accent right, but turns out she was from Windsor, and had only been living here 18 months. Very annoying. Worse still, she kept calling her brother 'dude.' So we pansied about for a bit away from the waves before stopping for tea, trying to out do kayak queen.

A passing fling with a bizarre confectionary known as 'lolly cake' (cake with marshmallows in it) and Milo ( a really crap version of hot chocolate) had honorary Kiwi barely able to contain herself, gushing about how this was the best thing about living in New Zealand. What, better than a Cadbury's cocoa and a slice of M&S carrot & orange? Don't make me laugh, you Duke of Edinburgh prom queen. So it was a great shame that we didn't make it to the carvings, but we managed to mask our disappointment better than some. The guide was very sweet and made up for it by telling us about the Maori legend surrounding the lake. The mountains (above left) resemble an ancient beatiful Maori princess who was due to marry some old bloke but she decided to have one last fling before her wedding with a handsome warrior. Anyway, she went and got a baby in there and her Dad went mental, saying she would bring disripute on his tribe and on also on Taupo. So he laid her down by the lake and covered her in stones until she tured into the mountain you see today as a constant reminder to everyone not have an affair before your wedding.

With that in mind, we headed down to Napier - the world's most Art Deco City. The sun decided to shine in time for our photoshoot and the architecture although quite ugly actually looks very cool and you sort of feel like you're on a film set. The town on Hastings in just down the road and is decked out in similar attire. You see, there was a mega, highly-destructive Hawke's bay earthquake in 1931 which resulted in both towns having to be totally rebuilt and regenerated. Given the penchant for pastel and all things cubist at this time, Art Deco was the style of choice. Much of it is fantastically preserved and much of the original glass panelling remains intact.

With our tour of the North Island almost complete (plan is to return to Rotorua, the major geothermal region, for an eggy Christmas), we had one last stop to make - the capital city of NZ, Wellington. Affectionately known to Kiwis as the "Wundy Sooty," I was eager to see what kind of a place my mate Carine would hail from. She said it would be windy - it was. Also that there would be good coffee and a pleasant cafe scene with a great museum. All of these things were indeed correct, so I'm now satisfied that she is a bona fide Wellingtonian and not just some extra from Shortland Street who lost her way and started taking X-rays in Brighton's very own hospital sit-com, Edward Street. The only difference is that staff get better treatment on the telly.

Te Papa or "our place," is the museum of which the country is so proud. And rightly so, it is an enormous place housing a diverse collection of artifacts from whale skeletons, to Maori cloaks and the history of wool. Well, if you skip that section it's very good, especially some of the modern art on the top floor. Not that I don't now know the difference between a Merino and a Drysdale. Here's me trying my hand at shearing a fake sheep - with a barcode scanner. It's a very interactive kind of place where you can stand in a house and experience a simulated earthquake - about or 5 or 6 on the Richter scale, but it was still quite worrying. There is a beautifully carved replica of a Marae or meeting house and a massive photo of the Beatles with a load of greenstone (jade) hanging around their necks some time when they were probably in Wigan town centre. Most fabulous thing of our 7 hour day was discovering a fantastic artist called Charles Goldie. I was very naughty and took a photo of my favourite painting of the week, exhibiting phenomenal detail and a haunting ability to translate emotion into a two dimensional form. He portrays the same model in much of his work for her thought-provoking and enigmatic expression.

Continuing with the cultural theme, we greatly enjoyed watching Borat at the cinema and made the most of Wellingtons ever-changing climate by having a glass of wine in one of the street-side bars. Very nice, some kind of Sav Blanc and it did much to ease the strain of visiting the salon and Christmas shopping. This is going to be contraversial, but I don't think men can cut hair. I've had 3 disasterous haircuts in my life and each time its been a boy weilding the scissors. "Daryl'' just kept slicing into it until there was nothing but wisps left. It's like they have a vendetta against thick hair and want "Hollyoaks Flat" for all. I feel physically sick

when they do that bit at the end, just when you're thinking they're finished and it looks quite nice, and take the scissors extremely randomly and hack into your dry hair. So here I am, with the same haircut I had when I was 5 years old. Literally. The only difference between me now and on my 5th birthday is the hat made of wallpaper with "I am 5" written across the top (except maybe the brown kilt and tights). Not one highlight remains on my Velma affair which strips one of every bit of femininity. At least the wind of Wellington obscures the bowl cut, thus eliminating some of the outward-bounds teacher look. Cheers.


Currently listening to: Sam's Town by the Killers






Currently Reading: Inside Little Britain.