

Rotorua, New Zealand
I was welcomed onto the bus this morning by a grumpy man who told me I was late. He was correct, but blunt. This is GP, Grumpy Pete, my driver for the next few days. He is so dry he makes the Sahara Desert look positively drenched.
On the way to Rotorua we stopped at a gold mining valley to walk over some rickety bridges and take photos. The place was left for dead once the gold ran out.
Let's start with an obvious fact: Roturoa stinks of rotten eggs. It has a ...