Fiord of the rings

The Fiordland region of South Island New Zealand is deservedly regarded as one of the Earth's natural wonders. It is true wilderness. It is very, very, very wet. And it is spectacular. While even monsoon bound tropical regions might receive 2-3 metres of rain a year, parts of Scotland might get 4m, southern England gets just 75cm - Fiodland gets a whopping 7m of rain a year. It rains pretty much every day, especially in winter and spring - and it is big rain. While this is not good for your tan it is particularly handy if you have stunning glacially eroded Fjord-like cliffs plunging vertically into the ocean - and you like to see them plastered with awesome cascades.

Milford Sound is the most popular Fiord but we were there just before peak. With more spending power we would have considered a kayak trip or a trip to more remote Doubtful Sound but we were chuffed when our 99 capacity boat only had 11 passengers. Plied with free coffee we set out into the mist as Mitre Peak towered over us and waterfall after waterfall avalanched around us. We didn't even see it at its most spectacular - even more rain would have turned on the Cathedral group of falls, but it was jawdropping. We saw more penguins and seals and then we put on big sailors' coats and went to get close to one of the falls as the captain and commentator edged us nearer. Then one of the hands needed help with a tray of glasses. I took the tray and then it was too late. I had unwittingly fallen into a highly dampening game of cat and mouse. As the ship (for it was bigger than a boat) was adjusted with its prow under the falls, I had to side step under the rain of water in order to fill up the twenty glasses in the plastic tray I was holding. And there was a lot of water. And I got very wet as I disorientatedly shuffled back and forth. But they were filled. We laughed and we drank Fiord-rock-permeated-fresh-New-Zealand rainwater.

The road to Milford Sound, cunningly named the Milford Road, is pretty unforgiving. There are no petrol stations for 300km, plenty of passes, high alpine scenery, the long and treacherous Homer Tunnel and Gunns Camp. Just off the main road we stayed at the most wonderful caravan park. Passed down through the Gunn family from one of the area's original pioneers, the place was a marvel, packed with frontier trinkets and history and lavished with the most awful visual gags and puns around the grounds. The washing lines of burnt toast being readied to become clocks were a personal highlight.


Key Summit

Just a hint of Gunns Camp

The monstrous Milford Sound

Faffing under waterfalls

200-1500m waterfalls all around

Sheep country

We had one month in New Zealand, during which we were accompanied by our trusty steed, Fiddy. We flew into Christchurch on South Island via Auckland and went to the camper depot with fear and trepidation filling our hearts. We had signed up for a Wicked Camper you see. They are the cheapest, known for their rough and ready no-frills approach, but also known for the graffiti that adorns their vehicles. Most of it is amateurish, garish and vulgur. Some of it is downright offensive. We had already come across some examples online and we knew that some Australian caravan parks had banned Wicked vans. Its all publicity though I guess. At the depot we saw someone drive off with Cream (with the band emblazoned on the side) and then, after they tried to stiff us with a cheaper model we got Fiddy. He got his moniker as he has "750 Rebels" tagged down both sides. It turns out that 750 Rebels are an little known Australian stoner rap crew. Wicked also don't charge for scratches and dents. And it was very clean inside. The only irk was that on the back in childish spray graffiti was written "can you breathe through your ears?". It was just stupid. But we loved Fiddy from the off. It was automatic. It was a Toyota people carrier, converted to have a wooden bed base in the back, split into three; two compartments for storage and the middle one lifted out to form a table. Foam mattresses, duvets and sheets were included. In the back was a tiny sink unit, for connection to water bottle, a big camping gaz burner, a cool box and basic cooking and eating gear, with enough spare room to store all the goodies we would soon be buying from our favourite place in NZ: Pack'n'Save.

Fiddy had a weakness. Unlike real campers (sorry Fiddy) it only had the normal car battery, which had already been run down a few times. At first we didn't realise how weak it was. By the end of the month we had needed a jump start 4 times (thank heavens they provided jump leads) but we had also jump started 2 other campers. I had a habit of leaving the lights on but also the radio or any night lights were a menace when with the engine off.

Our itineray followed a figure of eight around South Island for 18 days and then an 's' up through North Island. We started with Christchurch town; Akoroa and a boat trip to see tiny blue penguins and tiny Hector's dolphins; stunning Alpine scenery at Mount Cook; more yellow penguin spotting on the coast; vintage Dunedin; stunning waterfalls and beaches of the Catlins area in the south of South Island; Milford and fiordland (next post); lovely, desirable but exclusive Queenstown; the glaciers (Fox and Franz Josef); surf vibe on the west coast; gorgeous tropical beaches of Abel Tasman national park; and the ferry view of the Cook Straight as we crossed over to the North.

From Wellington we headed north-east and saw the neo-deco of touristy Napier; surfside Gisbourne; the geothermal mecca of Rotorua; glorious lakeside Taupo; big metropolis Auckland; the start of famous 90 mile beach; and the quite gorgeous Bay of Islands are north of Auckland.

Every other night we would find a free park camp area or park in a tranquil or idyllic layby. The other nights we would check into a fantastic caravan park with kitchen gear, hot showers and often Internet and movies. On South Island we found Dusty's Caravan park in the quiet surf town of Colac Bay. Dusty had a pub, a campsite and farm animals you could feed. A terrific combination.

We had fish'n'chips once, and, apart from that, we always ate in or around Fiddy. We ate mostly as we do at home. It was great to eat loads of pasta, fried breakfasts, muesli, yogurt and cheese. Cheese, cheese, cheese. We ate over 6 kilos of cheese in a month - and that's not including some that might have been hiding in food already. And we had our fair share of beer, wine and, of course, Kniffel. You see, after my failed gambling debacle (back to Nicaragua) I had become invincible at Backgammon so we set about the Kniffel. Once we had dined, the ambient torch was on, the last of the wine was poured, the biscuits were opened, we would break out the dice and worship the gods of Kniffel. It is Yatzy, the 5 dice game, but played with German names, so you get to speak 'like zis yah' and we have played it religiously ever since NZ. Though we had already started in Columbia experimenting with soft Kniffling, we were now onto the hard stuff. We found Yatzy paper in some no name town in NZ (thuogh of course we crossed out all the Yatzy words and wrote their German names instead - on every page!) and we played 2-3 three line games every night. It kept our mathematical minds alert (we will never be shortchanged again) and helped to pass the time as we listened the sound of the lake, breeze, wildlife or a-road nearby.

Fiddy had good legroom once the table was down and the foam mattresses were in place for bed. And out on the road it performed well. Though fuel economy was dismal in spite of my tinkering with the overdrive control and experiements with freewheeling. We covered over 5000km in a month that was filled with the most awesome scenery. You could never tire of the gorgeous farmland, alpine rising, swathes of beach, tropical forest, waterfalls (spring rain had them pumping everywhere) and the sheep. There are a lot less of them than there used to be - down from 135 million to 40 million or something - and all the best lamb is exported - but they are everywhere - and we loved them. When we get caught in a sheep jam we would happily watch them flitting past us in hazy delight. Often the farmer would race up on his quad bike and remind us to move on and stop oggling his flock. In Kaikora we wook a long walk around the spectacular rocky penninsular and decided to check the sheep show at the end. We expected the coach party to arrive any minute but instead we were sat down on the porch, given tea, and then given a private show featuring wool, shearing, rams, sheep and lambs, which we got to feed, which was nice.

And we took a lot of walks. We walked up dormant ski resorts, mountainous ravines, waterfalls, nature walks, swamp walks, coastal walks - always stunning scenery - most of it jawdropping. I couldn't tire of the driving through endless fields, flanked by huge towering immaculate bushes, with lakeland and snow-crested mountains rising in the distance.

And on North Island we were not disappointed by geothermal Rotorua. We took the plunge in the mud spa (a long held fantasy for me fulfilled), saw geysers, boiling mud pools, mud volcanoes, all kinds of bubbling muddy things all over the place - and we found Kerosene Creek. Off the beaten track and famous as a car crime spot. We wandered up the path and found a hot stream, with mini hot waterfalls, no one around and indescribable magic.

Kaikora private sheep show

Colac Bay farm (and pub)

Fiddy enjoying the Catlins view

Arthur's Pass

Turning heads on Easter Island

Easter Island is also known as Isla de Pascua. That's Spanish. Now your Easter Island was on of the last places to be colonised by humans, along with New Zealand, back in 4-500 AD. It is under Chilean control but the island is definately more Polynesian than Latin American, and there is a typically relaxed independence movement. The island is only 25-35km in diameter. All the natural resources have been raped by years of unsustainable farming of the land and sea, and by thr removal of the forest. And the indiginous wildlife has pretty much been wiped out by humans and/or introduced species. But there is a beach. And there are big stone busts. Big, big stone busts. Yes, those ones you have seen on TV. They are everywhere.

It turns out that the big eared and the little eared tribes started fighting at about the same time that the belief system altered to focus around a strange birdman cult. But it is generally agreed that the statues were erected by families to display wealth and to curry favour. In reality all the statues were knocked down during the fighting (17-18 centuries if I remember rightly) but some enterprising locals and some Japanese sponsorship has seen many re-erected in the last 50 years - in their original locations, on original plynths, and to spectacular effect.

There are statue sights all over the island and we had a scooter for three days and set out to see pretty much all of them. The island had one good road but most it was interconnected dirt tracks. We had ill fitting helmets, plenty of sunblock under the scorching blue sky, and we burned up the island - it was my scooter-piloting coming of age.

The views, statues, burial grounds, cliffs, volcano cones, tumbling Pacific ocean, warm locals, cheap prices and Polynesian-Latin mis made it a very special place. And then we found the crater lakes. Inland there was the volcanic crater lake at the site of the mining of most of the statues. The heads had been carved out of the rock and then transported downhill from here to the resting places (always on the coast facing inland). The 'mine' looked like it had been abandoned mid-shift as there are hundreds of Moai (that's the correct name for the heads) scattered all around in various stages of erection, including a 21m giant.

Ranu Kau, the other crater lake, is one of the most cosmic places I have ever witnessed. It is right by the sea, so there are spectacular paths up to the rim, and on the seaward side there are a series of temples and platforms (called Orongo) precariously perched with high cliffs down to the Pacific on one side and the steep slope into the moonscape of the extinct volcano and its microclimate that has resulted in unusual algal growths across its 1 mile diamater.


Wild horses on the beach

Anna didn't take the wheel but wants a scooter now

The side of the mine. These guys were on their way somewhere

Typical island view

Santiago de Chile

The border crossing high up in the Andes en route from Mendoza to Santiago was spectacular. There was still snow on the ground and lining the high peaks rising up all around to over 6000m. There were winding roads, the jaw dropping route of the old railway, ski lifts perched around the scree slopes of the border crossing. Generally stunning, remote and desolate mountain scenery all around.

On arrival in Santiago we suffered our biggest burn of the entire trip. We had read about dodgy taxis in Santiago but thought little of it as it is such a modern feeling city. Not only did our driver try to palm the 10,000 note I'd given him to replace it with a 1000 - but he also had a meter that ran like a fruit machine on Red Bull. As I was too busy berating him for trying to be so sly with the palm (the Chileans have cunningly made the 10 and 1 thousand notes identical colours) I hadn't twigged that the 6,000 on the meter was outrageous. We realised afterwards that he also dropped us in a garage opposite the hotel, presumably so that we wouldn't have the opportunity to get a second opinion about the metered fare. And I was so nice to him. What an thoroughly unpleasant chappie he turned out to be.

I should opint out that we only stayed one night in Santiago before going to Isla De Pascua but then we came back for a few more so I will slip those in here:

On our return to Santiago we junked Barrio De Brasil for Paris/Londres and found a huge room filled with lovely antique wooden furniture in a very attractive area. And we set to exploring different districts in Santiago. We got lost on the cable car ride, found the arts and design area, did some shops and museums and then hit the zona rosa. And we decided that for our last night we should treat ourselves to a slap-up meal. We chanced upon a seafood restaurant and were able to indulge in ceviche - our favourite dish that we had originally experienced when we had 'arrived' in Latin America in San Blas in Mexico back in May. This time we had a huge plate of salmon, prawns and white fish cooked in lime juice, weashed down with some local white. It was fantastic. We can't wait to try the lime trick with the salmon back home.

Santiago looks a bit like this

The valleys around Maipu

Another night bus brought us to the highly regarded city of Mendoza, in the foothills of the Andes, and famous for being the centre of the Argentinian wine industry. We found cheap digs in the centre and set out to explore the city, including Villanueva, the nightlife area. Mendoza had been hyped to us and we were a bit disappointed in the city itself, Although there were some nice plazas it lacked any of the charm of Barriloche and also Villanueva seemed to be packed with gringo superhostels and fairly uninviting superpubs, also not comparing well with less regarded cities like Salta.

But Mendoza has gorgeous surroundings including the wine valleys around Maipu. It was my birthday and we hired bicycles and set off on a wine tasting tour, closely followed by Staffan and Hans, the Swedish intellectuals. They were soon racing ahead however as we had to return to base following a chain malfunction. Bloodied with oil my bike creaked back into town to be replaced and then, in all the excitement, I muffed the map reading and we missed the first wine tasting. Meanwhile, the Swedes had got lost and also missed the first stop so we went together for the rest of the day on an odyssey of wine, cheese, sun and closed museums. Really, we had hardly tasted any wine as our winery hosts had seemingly failed to grasp the contextual link between sampling and purchase. Thankfully the day was saved when we arrived at the small boutique family winery, Carmelo Patti, as the sun began to set. Our bike rental told us it was a bonus birthday treat – and it was. We had a charming host, awesome wine and witnessed the world's largest guestbook. The wine was a but much for our wallets but Hans saved our faces by stocking up and we invited them to join us for dinner.

We did have an ulterior motive in truth as we had spotted that the free birthday diner in the all-you-can-eat needed to be accompanied by three paying guests. The Swedes and Anna fitted the bill and we gorged in food Disneyland. When we first arrived it transpired that we had a very proactive waiter who immediately plopped a huge sample leg of succulent beef on Anna's empty plate just be way of a taster. I was in heaven.

A wine tasting sans mucho vino

Hold it in

The Lake District

It was about time we had another night bus after two plane rides in Argentina so we went on the long trip across Argentina from Trelew, via the lake district hippy town of El Bolson, to Barriloche, famous as one of the great South American ski centres.

It was a charming town with a village atmosphere, and glorious lake and mountain views. But we did have trouble finding a room until a quick sprint around town landed us a room in a granny's lovely guesthouse. We took a chair life ride on a very windy day for more stunning views and rued our timing. The area had loads in common with Lake Tahoe and would be great to visit at the height of a snowy ski season. We had other priorities this time and again we were lucky to be basking in warming spring sunshine.

It actually happened in Peru but these bus journeys reminded me of the one bus journey where the conductor started a game of bingo on the upper deck. With the Spanish language instructions there was a bit of chat between the gringos as to the rules but one of the gringos didn't catch on. After about 10 numbers Anna let out the enthusiastic and accent-neutral cry of "bingo!" only to be deflated by looks of disbelief and the realisation that the house and not just a line was required. To preserve the equilibrium of the universe I should also mention something else that was forgotten in the Columbia blog; when we were walking the Corcora Valley track we often walked in the fields adjacent to the very muddy paths. This meant negotiating some fencing. There was one particular fence that I did not vault precisely that gave me a rather nasty 60 volts to the inner thigh!

Barriloche and a glimpse of the lakes

Penguin news

We thought all penguins huddled together on icy rocks in the Antarctic but Patagonia had other ideas. We got a flight from Buenos Aires to Comodoro Rivadavia, the closest place to the Valdez Penninsular that we could get a 'free' flight to. It saved us a 24 hour bus ride from BA but we did have to take a 5 hour bus to get to the gateway town of Trelew. Sounds a bit Welsh? It transpires that Northern Patagonia was settled by the Welsh and many towns and landmarks retain their Welsh names and there is a fair bit of Welsh heritage around. Our objective was to see thhe penguins and Punta Tombo and the whales at Valdez and we calculated that we would save money by hiring a car rather than paying for tours to both places. Of course it was siesta but we located the ebullient and diminutive Eduardo, thanks to the local tourist info, and promptly hired a cheap motor - which turned out to be a little more thanks to the milage limit and the 'cleaning fee'. But we were off, heading for the penguins and by tusk we were face to face with 175000 breeding pairs of Magellenic penguins. Or more like shin to face - they are little fellas and it was nesting season. And they burrow. They burrow like what bunnies are supposed to be. This was a big shock. In the scrubland and bush behind the beach the land was pitted and pock-marked with thousands and thousands of penguin nest-holes. And we walked amongst the penguins - some of the tracks had pengy bridges where there was a main thoroughfare for the little minstrels, and often the paths were blocked by their dallying as the wandered in search of the correct nest. IIt was understandable - they all do look pretty much a alike. And there were thousnads and thousands of them stretching off into the distance - but they didn't huddle. They waddled, lazed, lay, preened and squawked. And by sundown we were back in Trelew in some very shifty accomodation.

In the morning we drove up through Puerto Madryn and again visited the tourist info. These Patagonian info stops sealed our wonderfully symbiotic relationships with tourist offices in Argentina and beyond. We are no longer afraid of bum steers and mis-info. In New Zealand most villages on the map are just a tourist office and a farm so we kinda have to visit for any sign of (non-sheep) life. But we are not too proud. In fact we rather like window shopping in info point tourist tat meccas.

Anyway, we found out that we should drive to El Doradillo beach, just past the town but before the pricey (and off-road) entry into the Penninsula proper. The area is a major breeding ground for the Southern Right Whale and we were to have a close encounter. As we drove Anna was already spotting dozens of whales out to sea. Sometimes it is easy to confuse the spray from offshore reefs for the gentle giants but here we could stop on a headland and follow the arched backs, tailfins and blow spray from whales in all directions near the headlands and off to the horizon.

On our previous whale watching trips (in Vancouver; Killer Whales, and Puerto Lopez, Ecuador; Humpback Whales) we have been in boats and usually 150-200m at least away from the animals. We parked up at El Doradillo and started walking on the rocky beach. In the distance we noticed some people gathering at one spot so we picked up the pace. Then we looked out to sea. About 25m away there were three sea lions looking at us and following us along the beach. They were playing but also heading in the same direction up the beach in a hurry. When we got closer we could see a big (12-13m) whale just off-shore, only maybe 40m from where we and the other 10 or so viewers were standing.

Mum was barnacle encrusted and lazily wallowing in the shallows. The sea lions arrived and we noticed that mum was accompanied by a 6-7m calf gently nuzzling in and out of the water. We watched as the sea lions and the calf danced around each other, gyrating and breaching, right in front of us. They never got bored and we watched transfixed. It was a real privilage and very different to our experience in Baja Califorinia, Mexico where we were out of season and missed the whale extravaganza - and also in stark contrast to New Zealand where the Southern Right whales have been hunted to the point where there are only a few hundred left and are very rarely sighted near land. On this same topic we have since seen three more species of penguin in New Zealand but all in tiny numbers (there are only a few thousand left of a couple of the species) and those are only able to be seen because their habitats have recently been reintroduced by special reserves having all been destroyed by farming.

We only saw the tip of Patagonia, with the rest having to wait until next time. In our brief glimpse we saw what true wilderness it is, with its vastness, unspoilt and windblown land, and teeming ocean. The lesson - if you want whale watching go in season. We knew we would be in for a feast at Valdez - some people on the far end of the headland were seeing Killer Whales attacking sea lions in the surf whil we were at El Doradillo - and the places, like Vancouver, with small groups of resident whales pale by comparison, even if they do use 'western' techniques to market nature watching very well.

Behind you!


Some penguins

About the stats

We have has a lot of requests asking what the stats are really about. Well, we haven't but wanted to tell you straight anyway. Countries are big things with land, people, animals and different kinds of fruit sandwiches in every one; the driving includes what we have done in California, Patagonia and New Zealand - at some point it will be accurate as we have a captain's log; strangers befriended are the people we would like to think of as more that just ships passing in the night - those 46-or-whatever are the ones we know the names of, have stayed in touch with and/or aim to see again - we have met a few hundred people whose names and/or Amazing Race names we have logged but they can't really count as all having been befriended; we really have been counting the bus rides - the longest was 23 hours from Tepic to Acapulco a tyre change - and we have been on over 20 night buses all pretty painlessly... many of the bus journeys have been reallly spectacular - Colca Canyon with a 2000m sheer drop by the roadside and the Lake Titicaca dawn ride in Bolivia stand out - the worst journey was probably getting stuck near Medellin in Columbia because of landslides.

That reminds me. In the Bolivia post I hope the pictures give some idea of how amazing the scenery was. It is a fairly unforgiving place, the least developed country, the hardest to get around, but is also the most diverse and most spectacular IMHO when it comes to natural wonders that we have seen (and I am including NZ, where I write this).

FunkiDeli Vs FunkyDelhi beef

I, uberlord of FunkiDelia, would like to make a statement to the effect that we (FunkiDeli Inc.) have nothing to do with the imposters who have taken the www.funkideli.com URL for their Funky Delhi festival. This could cause some confusion to my regular readers, particularly those in the UK, who may have come across the new Funky Delhi festival. I find it quite bizarre and coincidental that someone should use Funky Delhi a year after I put up the FunkiDeli - but then the dot.fi suffix is maybe not the first one you would check. When I tried to get Funkideli.com it had gone so maybe these guys were planning their site at the same time that I made mine.

Beyond the name shenangians I should point out that these guys seem pretty cool. In fact, we rather like it that their mission is after our own hearts, as they say:

"Our purpose is to spread diversified cultural expressions, joining together new talent with old and uniting together into one tribe. Magical lighting creates transdimentional visual experiences both inside and outside our mystical saddlespan. Poetic inspirations fused with acoustics by day….. mythology and full on parties by night!"

I couldn't have put it better myself. I should consult with them really though because I know that the best way to avoid transcendental saddlesore is to ensure that the transmogrification* of the rainbow bridge takes place under water. I would also junk the old talent in favour of greater focus on my own mythocrisy - but that's just me and my insular world!

*Transmogrication is the art of turning musical energy into space flight energy as devised and perfected by Sun Ra.