Short version: rugby, Maori culture, and eggy smells

Full version: We arrived in Wellington the day before the local rugby team, the Hurricanes, were playing against the Stormers in the Super 14 competition, so called because it's Super and there are 14 teams in it. They like to keep things fairly simple like that over here.

Egg-chasing wasn't high on either of our favourite pastimes, but all the locals seemed very excited so off we went to the Westpac Stadium for all-action peanut-hugging fun. The rugby was fairly dull in itself, but the razzmatazz surrounding it was truly amazing, both in a 'wow, that's amazing' kind of way (like when they did a mass haka before kick-off, and a soloist sang the club song in the Maori language), and also in a 'wow, I can't believe they thought that was a good idea' kind of way (such as the cheesy 80s rock tunes blared out at every point when the ball goes out of play for more than a second, random jets of fire shooting into the air, and the local chubby 16 year old cheerleading troupe dancing out of time around the pitch perimeter).

The best part of the entertainment though was the Hurricanes' mascot: a bloke dressed up like d*** Dastardly who drives around the outside of the pitch in a pretend plane high-fiving all the kids who race down to the front and scream at him in Beatlemania fashion (see photos). Jon saluted him and got a salute in return, which he pretended he wasn't bothered about but was secretly quite chuffed. The Hurricanes ran out easy 34-11 winners in a one-sided match, but hardly anyone seemed to notice because there was so much other stuff going on at the same time.

Whilst in Wellington we visited the national museum called Te Papa, which didn't have cheerleaders or jets of fire but still proved a valuable experience. The North island has so much more Maori culture than the South island and Te Papa told the story really well. As usual in these stories, the English didn't come out of the whole thing smelling of roses but the Maoris seem to have a much better relationship with the white folk in NZ than can be said of the Aborigines in Australia. New Zealanders of all races seem genuinely proud of their Maori heritage and it is really celebrated, which is great to see first-hand.

Whilst in Te Papa we also saw an exhibition of how the weather in NZ can basically kill or maim you in a variety of fascinating but quite scary ways. The exhibition was called 'Awesome Forces', which Jon went around singing to the tune of 'Crazy Horses'. Very annoying for all concerned, but quite hard to stop once it's in your head.

On our route north from Wellington we stopped in Napier (Art Deco capital of the southern hemisphere), but it was shut. We pressed on from there to Taupo in an effort to make time. Whenever questioned about anything driving-related, Jon would always shout 'I'm making time' in Withnail fashion, to nobody's amusement but his own. In this case, he was being more of an arse than usual, because there wasn't really enough fuel to get all the way to Taupo.

Normally that wouldn't be a problem because in any other country if you drive half the length of the island you expect to see at least one petrol station. Not here though. The road to Napier was the loneliest, most depressing road we've ever seen, and we've been to Wales. It was like driving across Saddleworth Moor at night, uphill, with the engine screaming and the fuel light flashing all the way, knowing that if we didn't make it we were properly stranded. Kath was not especially amused by any of this, in fact she was somewhat less than amused.

Thankfully the last 10km or so to Lake Taupo are mainly downhill, so the power of gravity and prayer got us there and into the petrol station just in time. A more-relieved-than-he'd-like-to-admit Jon made out like he'd judged it perfectly, then ducked just before he got a right smack in the chops.

Taupo should have been where we did a skydive and walked the famous Tongariro Crossing (across Mt Doom, Lord of the Rings fans), but then the snow came down the mountain and the wind whipped up and we couldn't do either, which was pretty disappointing. We'll have to think of another way to pay lots of money to put our lives at risk.

Instead we went to a place called 'Craters of the Moon', which definitely wins the title for best named tourist attraction. How could you drive past a sign that offered that for $6? It was a large geothermal field that had steam rising from holes in the ground, bubbling mud pools and red and green colured rock. It looked like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie, how I imagine the world would look after a nuclear attack. Amazing, but not exactly beautiful.

As it turned out that was just the prelude to the geothermal fields at Rotorua. The whole city smells of rotten eggs from all the sulphur, and everywhere you look there are craters, mini-volcanoes and steam rising from the ground. Having looked through all the tourist brochures and dismissed all the energetic ones we ended up having a day at the Polynesian Spa. This place is a lot like a trip to the municipal swimming baths, except rather than one big pool it's divided up into several smaller pools, all containing naturally heated mineral water ranging from 36-42c piped from underground, and all outdoors overlooking the lake. We stayed there until all our skin went wrinkly and the heat had seeped right into our bones.

Rotorua is a major centre for Maori culture, so on our last day there we went on a guided tour round a real Maori village called Whakarewarewa. Our guide was 'the only gay in the village', which we hadn't expected when we'd seen this 6 foot tall Maori walking up to us. Somehow we'd expected him to have a very masculine voice, so when he talked like John Inman it was a bit of a surprise, but he was brilliant at his job; really informative and knowledgeable.

He took us to the hangi, which are large underground steam ovens (holes in the ground) where they still cook all their food, the meeting house in the centre of the village, and the graveyard, which had steam rising up from between the gravestones like Michael Jackson's Thriller video.

There was also a demonstration of singing, dancing and fighting skills which was incredible. The villagers were at pains to point out that the haka isn't just a war dance, but it's pretty scary when a bunch of semi-naked big lads with bulging eyeballs and tongues sticking out are screaming into your face. I imagine this is the main reason NZ always beat England at rugby - maybe their cricket team should give it a go.

Some people say you shouldn't bother with the North island of NZ because it's not as pretty as the South island, but there are so many amazing natural phenomena in the North that just have to be seen to believed.

As well as moon craters and natural thermal spas we also went to the underground glow-worm caves at Waitomo, saw the biggest tree in the world ever (16.9m girth around the trunk) and went to Hot Water Beach, which is a beach that has hot water (keeping it simple again there).

I thought it might be lukewarm, but as we rolled our trouser legs up, waded across the beach like grandad on a day trip to Skegness and dug ourselves a little hole in the sand we realised that Kiwis don't go in for understatement in the same way us Brits do. If they'd meant lukewarm water beach they'd have called it that, but they didn't. This fact became apparent to us as the water rose up, our feet became scalding hot and we hopped around like Michael Flatley with ants in his pants.

Some of the best natural wonders in this country are barely even marked on a map there are that many of them. Many's the time we'd find a place to 'freedom camp' in the dark one evening, only to wake up next to the most amazing beach / cave / waterfall / limestone arch. Our walking boots got a lot of use and it was worth every step.

On our way back to Auckland we had the great fortune to stay overnight with a lovely couple called Mavis and John, who we'd never met but who made us feel instantly welcome in their home in a lovely little beach town called Orewa. It was great to be in a proper home again, and to hear English accents (even though they've lived in NZ for 45 years!). If you're reading this, thanks Mavis and John!!

After everything it would have been quite emotional giving our little campervan back after 5 weeks of adventure, but after an hour of driving round the same industrial estate trying to find the drop-off point we were just glad to be out of it frankly. Probably for their own amusement, the hire company in Christchurch gave us an inaccurate map of Auckland. As chief navigator, Kath was less than impressed.

Onwards to Auckland centre, and civilisation. And it was particularly civilised once we'd met up with Neil and Katharine, Kath's friends who used to work at Posterscope in London but now live and work in Auckland. We had a full guided tour of the finest parts of Auckland, then went to the pub and woke up the next day with sore heads. They were in the middle of moving house and starting new jobs, so they really went out of their way to look out for us. Neil and Katharine, we salute you!

So there you go. New Zealand: lovely people, lovely place. Too much to see it all in 5 weeks, but we had a damn good go.

Onwards, to Australia...

Love to all,

Kath & Jon