ROTORUA - Christmas in Mordor with Tom Cruise

New Zealand is a great place to be for the budget minded (read: tight fisted) traveller who wants to hang around during the height of the holiday season and not spend too much money. For Christmas Day, Bronwyn decided we should go off to her favourite NZ mountain, Mt. Taranaki for my favourite free activity: walking. And boy, did we walk...


Dawson's Falls, Mount Taranaki. All together now: I don't want to wait, for this life to be over. I want to know right now, will it be...

Taranaki has the dual pleasures of being a beautiful single peaked mountain in the middle of open countryside and bearing more than a passing resemblance to Mount Fiji, Japan. Both of which made it an appealing film set for the not-so-epic Tom Cruise pout-a-thon The Last Samaruai a few years back. Apparently there are still pieces of the samaurai village the production team built for the occassion lying around the countryside somewhere (as there are pieces of Hobbiton stuck in the hillside at Matamata a few hundred kilometres north) but it seemed like a pointless excercise to go look at rotting wood from a rottern film (sorry, Tom) so instead we headed up to a lodge in the lovely area of Dawson's Falls for Christmas Eve night.


Brosnan parked outside Konini Lodge, and our view of Taranaki for Christmas morning. Beats a grey street in Dorset, I think. Although it was still jolly cold.

Christmas morning arrived without any visits from Santa Claus, but plenty of freezing lodge conditions to convince the Aussies that they needed to put on their entire set of thermal gear before heading at the door. Wiser birds, used to British housing, know that it's always warmer *outside* than in. So another ten minutes of stripping off later and we were off. Our plan was to cross the mountain streams and ascend to the snow line of the mountain, cross over some of the ski fields and walk a ridge called the Razorback to descend to the next visitor's centre around the mountain before heading home. It was a good plan and well made. Unfortunatley, it was made without due consideration of those little contour lines you usually find on maps.


Mountain stream at Taranaki. Seeing as this is the film themed posting I think I'll conduct the rest of these captions with quotes from The Last Samaurai and The Lord of the Rings. Okay, so here come those great, famous, Last Samurai quotes... Ummm...

The track home from North Egmont turned out to be a little rougher than we were expecting. A thirteen kilometere hike up and down the mighty mountain ridges. In itself, not a issue. However, the lower round the mountain path at Taranki isn't quite so well travelled as the upper ones. And as such, it's pretty much a stepless set of vertical climbs up and down with occassional ladders thrown in just to make everyone feel better. And after a twelve kilometere hike already... Well, it was going to be a long way home...


"I feel the need. The need, for samurai!" No, wait, that wasn't one. Anyho, here's a nice picture of the Aussies on one of the Taranki ridges. Which also presented marvellous views like...


... This one, out towards Tongariro National Park and, jutting through the clouds in the distance, Mt. Ruapehu. More on that later.

Thankfully I was being accompnied by Aussies who, among their many talents, are completley indestructable. Pelt them with sun, rain and even sleet and snow (Taranaki is the place to go for random weather) and they still keep trucking so much so that we covered one four hour section in less than three. Gotta love it. After the first four kilometres home, I was getting pretty tried. After the next four, I thought I was going to probably die. Two later and I pretty much assumed I *was* dead, which was probably how I managed to drag myself over the world's least confidence inspiring bridge just a few short hours from Dawson's Creek:


Seriously, Kiwis, do you ever go back to mantain these things once you stick them up?

But we made it. Aching joints and stubbed toes aplenty. In time for our fabulous Christmas dinner of Burritos and as many chips and sweet potatoes as we could consume. All in all, a fabulous, if compeltley exhausting Christmas Day. We rewarded ourselves with a day's rest on Boxing Day and a quick drive to Turangi, the self proclaimed trout fishing capital of the world. And then, to Mordor.


Ah, now *these* quotes I can do. Let's begin with: "Mooooorrrrdoooorrrr!"

One of the advantages of filming The Lord of the Rings in a country like New Zealand is that, when one reaches the final film and realises a bleak, desolate volcanic landscape is required, there just happens to be a bleak, desolate volcanic landscape in the centre of the North Island. The Tongariro National Park encompases three active volcanoes. The ickle Tongariro itself. The massive, multi peaked Mt. Ruapehu and the impressive single coned Ngauruhoe. The latter two were both utilised in some way to create the iconic Mount Doom in the film trilogy, with Rhapehu's slopes giving way to Ngauruhoe's peak. And very impressive they both are to walk around, too.


"My precious!.... etc. etc.

The premiere walk of choice in the park is the one day Tongariro Crossing. A seventeen kilometre hike encompassing scrublands at the base of Ngauruhoe, followed by a dizzying climb up to its base, desolate hours of walking and climbing its awesome Red Crater, followed by a slow descent through more plains to alpine scrub, hot springs and eventually lush bush. It's one of the world's great one day walks through sheer variety of landscape, and attracts hundreds of nutcases a day who want to climb for two hours for those coverted photos and aching thighs. Note, for example, the Devil's Staircase. Gollum, Sam and Frodo never had it this tough:


"Up, up, up the stairs..."

At this point the Aussies decided they hadn't caused themselves enough physical pain in the past few days and headed off to summit the scree sloped Ngauruhoe. I, not being a fan of 'two steps forward, one step back' climbing and knowing from Lord of the Rings that Mount Doom can be hazardous to one's fingers (Bronwyn scraped all the skin off the top of hers) decided to push on to the next crater climb.


"One does not simply walk into Morder... How about a catapault?"

After the crazy conditions and distances travelled at Taranki, a perfect day's conditions in Tongariro presented few problems. After reuniting with the Aussies at the Emerald Lakes we headed for our last climb and the downhill trek back to ground level.


"Nothing ever dampens your spirit, does it, Sam?"

The Tongariro Crossing is billed as a six hour walk. At Aussie speed, it takes five although wiser birds might want to take a little more time on the ridges. Oh, and let's not forget the two and a half hour side scramble they decided to take... Crazy people... But whatever your level of fitness or madness, it's heartily recommended.

For our final stint in Tongariro, we took a quick janut up to the Whakapapa Ski Fields, where the Last Allience fought their impressive and very brown battle at the start of The Fellowship of the Ring and where Gollum first tangled with Sam and Frodo in The Two Towers. It's a big area covered with rock. And if it's not covered in rock, it's covered in snow. Typical New Zealand mountain, really.


"He's a nasty, fat hobbit!"

And so that was our Christmas season. And we did all eventually get presents from New Zealand. Chris got a badly stubbed toe, Bronwyn's finger and a recurrance of an old gymnastics injury and me an irritatingly aching right knee. Still, it could always have been worse. Nobody lost a finger. Or a ring.


"This is your test..." Okay, I've got them all out of my system, now. And I didn't even have to use that 'beautiful and terrible as the dawn' one.

WAITOMO - Brosnan King of the North Island

First off, an honourale mention for my arch nemeses LAN Airlines in the Phil's Phworld Travel stories archive. You may remember that these were the swines who have thwarted all my efforts to reach New Zealand before December 23rd, despite a year of pestering them to change my flight. Well, the truth was finally revealed on the 21st when I boarded my flight in Santiago and discovered the truth. It was all a part of their masterscheme to make me feel special. You see, not only did they ensure that I got the December 21st flight but then they double booked my seat for me, meaning that I had to take the only spare seat on the plane which happened to be in business class. Yes: for just a few hours I got to be an exciting business class type of a person.

So what's it like, I hear you ask? Pretty darn nice. You can't (and I mean, can't) touch the seat in front of you from the armchair in which you're sitting. Which is equipped with every type of movement enhancer you'd care to mention. I was able (and I swear this is true) to adjust the position of each of my individual buttocks whilst watching the wonderful Milions and drinking my complimentry champagne. And they give you soft drinks in glasses, not plastic. Oh, and you get all sorts of exciting nicely bagged toothpastes which, of course, I swiped. So huzza for LAN. It took them a while, but they finally came through.

So onto New Zealand where I have spent the past twelve hours (one of which was spent getting through customns where a certain small wooden cross I've been carrying since Britain suddenly gave me some import hassles. Thanks a lot, David G ;) ) and, in the style of Westlife at the height of their careers, its zipped straight into my favourite place in the world chart at number one. Half a day of zipping down from Auckland to Waitomo with my Aussie friend Bronwyn, her brother Chris and our deluxe rental car (ho hum...) which I fondly call Brosnan has given me more awesome views, stunning walks and general 'wanting to find a house here right now' feelings than anywhere else ever.


Chris, Bronwyn and Brosnan awaiting his next shiny adventure. They're eating Vegemite by the way. Ugh.

The main cause of this sudden love affair is Marokopa Road. A little visted stretch of New Zealand which typifies what makes this little collection of rocks so special. It's a winding road through lush countryside and past open harbours, alongside of which are the sort of road markers and asides you see on many a British or American highway. But instead of being cynical tourist traps, these are bonafide pieces of glorious natural attractions. From the Mangapohue Natural Bridge (awesome rock spanning a river canyon) to some impromtue cave exploration at the Piripiri Caves (muddy, muddy, muddy) New Zealand has the most incredible diversions and they're all about nature preserved and presented in the most awesome way possible. Without fuss, and without unnecessary buildup.


Waitomo. The prettiest little tourist trap you'll ever lay eyes upon.

Speaking of tourist traps, though, we must mention Waitomo. Famed throughout the world for its beautiful Glowworm Caves which are apparently unmissable, beautiful and all sorts of other ables and fuls. Well, that'd be all well and good if they weren't (A) Expensive and (B) Prohibiting photography. Both things which we don't like here in the Phworld. This being New Zealand, though, more caves, and free ones at that, were just a short three hour round hike away in the Ruakuri Scenic Reserve. The viewpoint high in one of the natural caverns, which the river churning away somewhere below, is truly eerie. On reflection, long hiking after a fairly sleepless thirteen hour flight in which I lost a day of my life may have not been a great move. I blame Bronwyn, she's two years away from becoming a doctor, she should be looking out for stuff like this. (And thanks to the wonders of business class, sleep was had by me on a plane. This is a first.)


Cavern at Ruakuri. That's a lot of erosion, rock fans.

And so the great New Zealand road trip begins. We have plenty of stops planned for the next week, including Christmas Day on Mount Taranaki, NZ's own Mount Fiji lookalike. And then Boxing Day on the slopes of Mount Ngauruhoe, the setting for Mordor in The Lord of the Rings. (Line-o-map to appear in due course when I can find a nice one. The selection on Google is prety poor) It's a strange feeling not being at home with Christmas rapidly approaching, but I wouln't trade in for all the business class buttock massages in the world.


How green is my valley? THIS green. That's how green.

SANTIAGO - Half Way Round

Big milestone this week as I hit the half way point on the journey some are already calling the "gosh, I`m bored hearing about that boy`s trip" trip. Sarah and I left the UK on June 14th and so, on December 14th, we celebrated by going to a Chilean vineyard and drinking a lotta wine. (And then Sarah ate forty tea sweetners. I`m really not quite sure why. Maybe she realised we weren`t going to see each other for the next three months. Or that we would be spending another three months together in Asia after that...) Not that I`m half way through the mileage yet. That`ll come next Wednesday when I head across the southern Pacific to fluffy, spangly New Zealand. But, hey, any excuse for wine, right?


Wine tasting at the Concha y Toro vineyard. Apparently the casks are worth around $1000 even without wine in them. Aren`t tours just fascinating?

Concha y Toro gets bonus extra no points from the Phil`s Phworld Tour Rating System for two glasses of most excellent wine, the wonderfully condescending tone of the tour guide when it was clear nobody on the tour had the first clue how to tell anything about a wine from sight and smell (come on, does it *really* matter?) and the hilariously inept `Devil`s Cellar` segment which would have been scary if our guide hadn`t announced she was leaving us alone for five minutes and we shouldn`t move from the dark corner she`s just left us in. But, all in all, good wine and therefore a good day out.


Jess and Lucy posing at Aconcagua for what I can only describe as a psuedo National Geographic shot. Doesn``t it just reek of refugee?...

Other recent travels included a trek into the Andes and across the Argentinian border to Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in South America. (Which, incidentally, nobody guessed correctly. Boo shucks to you all) Being just a few hours from one of the most spectacular mountain ranges in the world had been a tad dissapointing in Santiago given that on most days you can barely see them through the haze (although you do get the rather eerie sight of snow capped peaks floating in the air) So the chance to get up close and personal with the mountains couldn`t be missed. Firstly that meant another stop on my religous iconography world tour: the three thousand feet high Cristo Redeemer tunnel marking the main border crossing between Chile and Argentina (yes, yet another set of Argentinian stamps for my passport and I`m yet to spend a night there) Then a quick walk around the foot of Aconcagua itself. Which, apparently, is one of the most dangerous ascents in the world and requires several weeks of aclimatisation before climbing can even be attempted.


Impressive glacial canyons just itching to be photographed! Come to the Andes where nature poses for YOU!

The Andes have a special kind of undiscovered quality although that in itself is probably just exceedingly good preservation from the Argentinian and Chilean authorities given that thousands of people come to the foot of Aconcagua alone every summer. And there`s a special place in my heart for my first contact with snow on this trip. Admittedly, given we`re in early summer here, we`re talking about ice not sufficent enough to make a Mr. Frosty. But when you`re living a year of perpetual summer it`s the snowy sort of things you miss the most. And we even had a couple from El Salvador with us who`d never seen snow before. Ever. Prompting a mad dash by them up a near vertical slope to make contact. It`s the bizarre sort of behavior only a mountain can inspire.


Bridge across a river valley. Interesting fact, film fans: this sturdy piece of work was constructed by the production team on the so-so-snore Brad Pitt epic Seven Years in Tibet. The Andes serving as some sort of stunt double for the Himalayas, or something.

All in all, Chile (which was never one of my `most anticipated` stops) has been exciting, beautiful and relaxing except that it has to be viewed and enjoyed through many layers of Spanish and several of smog. Neither of which have done anything for my hayfever. Next stop: Christmas, New Zealand and a 6am reunion with my Aussie friend Bronwyn after a thirteen hour flight. Sometimes this travelling thing makes you tired just thinking about it.


Another entry into the Phil`s Phworld random signage of the world collection. This little gem (ho hum) was found by a roadside in Chile. Any explanation as to why these particular stones contain energy, let alone the positive kind, was sadly missing.

ADDENDUM: The Obligatory Argentinian Fruit Story

So, anyway, fruit. Apparently the Chilean authorities´ greatest fear in these post 9/11, war on terrorism times is that people are bringing fruit into their fair country. And we`re not talking banana plants, or some sort of genetic seeding material to destroy their industry. We`re talking single apples, the odd grape and even (shock horror) occassional pears.

Crossing the border from Argentina, Lucy, Jess and I were lined up along with the other members of our Andes tour along a wall which looked deceptivly like the setting for a firing squad. Our bags were placed in front of us and, one at a time,, we were asked whether they contained any fruits whilst being pointed at with an accusatory finger. After our complete denials, our bags were then placed through what could only have been a Fruit Scanning Device whilst we watched on waiting to see if our well concealed apple pips would be discovered. One bag beeped. It was mine. I was beckoned over to a table where my bag was carefully opened and all my belongings set out before me. Then, when it was abundantly clear to everyone that there were no fruit products anywhere about my person, the customns man took a good look in my empty bag, then at me, then back at the bag. And then he asked me if there were any fruits in the bag.

Next time, I`m going to take a melon or two along with me. Just to see what happens.

SANTIAGO - Fluffy Hats for Hot Days

Naysayers of the world, you dissapoint me. After all the reports that Santiago was a bit boring, and a fourteen hour bus/flight travelathon (note to the wise: exit lane seats may give extra leg room, but they shaft you on the reclining seat thing. When you actually want to lie back, this is a problem) which could have spelt disaster to first, second and, indeed, even third impressions: Santaigo turned out to be pretty darn gorgeous. And, indeed, empty for the first two days. With the usual South American habits of early Saturday closing and then an election to suck closed all local attractions the day after, Sarah and I were beginning to feel we`d walked into a ghost town. Thankfully, normailty returned on Monday and, well trained from Rio experiences, we headed for the nearest hill.


Flower stall on the empty streets of Santiago. Sundays plus a general election make this area a haven for the lesser spotted tourist. Approach with caution.

Somebody decided that it would be a good idea to plonk the place in a valley surrounded by mountains, with the very impressive spine of the Andes marking one of the sides. Not a bad idea until someone else decided to invent smog and, thus, ruin plenty of decent views. So, as if to make up for the inevitable dissapointment, they then built a large statue of Mary on top of the biggest hill to give the place a sort of `Rio Junior` feeling. My quite unitentional tour of religious iconography of the world continues: and in many ways Mary is more impressive than Jesus. She`s more expressive, and has much more parkland to stand in. As such, she`s not the iconic landmark her more illustious son is, but she`s probably the better day out. Also, she has great hat salesmen nearby.


Jess and Sarah demonstrate the local fashion of choice whilst sitting near Mary. In the blazing sun.

Brazil is still thick in the middle of baseball hat culture. Chile is much less trendy and surfy and so the tourist items of choice are cute woolen hats. We assume these will be slightly more use in the south of the country and in the Andes with, you know, cold and snow. But they do make for quality sweat holders... Santiago has a big business culture going on which I haven`t really seen since leaving Sao Paulo. But its urban sprawl has been kept in much greater check, maybe as a result of being stuck between loads of mountains. It`s a more affluant city than many in South America, despite having a wonderfully crazy currency (10000 peso notes are the norm), although I suspect that`s not typical Chile.

It makes for a much more relaxing type of visit than, say, Rio. Except without a big long list of things to go and do and see the ideas are already looking a little thin. "Go up big hill" was pretty much the extent of them. Sarah leaves on Thursday for a week bussing around the Lake District (no, not that one) which sounds awesome but I`ll be in New Zealand before she gets back. So, instead, I`m proposing to myself a week of furious relaxation.


My nemesis returns. Cable cars. This time, tiny ones with not-quite-secure-looking doors. But I got to sit down and actually enjoyed the mountain views so, ha! Take that, cable cars!... Oh, and here`s some typical Santiago. Mountains hidden behind smog.

Not to be outdone on the dissapearing into the wilderness front, Lucy, Jess and I will take to the hills tomorrow for a bit of short trekking and some close up and personal time with the highest peak in South America (which one is that, trivia fans? Bonus extra no points for the correct answer) and maybe some chinese takeaway from the quite marvellous little place we found a few streets away from our hostel. And, I`m sorry, but any town which can provide me with my chicken and mushroom fix doesn`t get criticised.


Seriously, who wouldn`t want to be seen in a hat like this?

RIO DE JANERIO - Dogs in Booties

You can tell a lot about a town by its dogs. Florianopolis tended to gravitate towards the massive, big teeth variety. They´d stand there, behind locked doors ready to shout furiously at anything which wandered past. (Similar story with the cats, horses and even the chickens, actually) Dogs in Rio de Janerio don´t bark so much. And they don´t hide behind big gates ready to attack anything. Your classic Rio dog can be seen wandering down Ipanema beach, wearing his matching purple bonnet and booties. Yes, Rio is the home of the egotists.


African art at the Hippie Market. And without a hippy in sight.

Rio is one funky city with a rather undeserved reputation for danger and immediate death lurking around every corner. It´s the recipient of one of the most stunning situations for a city. Carved out of the Atlantic rainforest (I´m sure they´re sorry for that) and plonked between some impressive sheer rock formations, it´s a beachy, jungly, mountainy kind of a paradise and a welcome final stopoff in the big adventure I call Brazil.

Which means, of course, an excuse for relentless tourism.


Isn´t there a big statue around here somewhere?

The biggest tourist traps in the city are the peaks of Covorcado and Pao de Açucar. Or, if you prefer, the statue of Christ the Redeember and Sugarloaf Mountain. The first is as impressive a bit of grey stone perched on a huge hill as you can imagine. It also has a very exciting approach featuring near vertical cog train. More exciting an approach is Sugarloaf Mountain, which features one of my favourite irrational fears: cable cars.


Nicola pouts at Sugarloaf Mountain. Jess gets to look scared.

If it goes up without an engine and shakes from side to side then I´m not a happy bunny. However, remembering that Roger Moore managed to tackle this particular cable car back in Moonraker and not wanting to be outdone by James Bond I managed to make it up the mountain. And was very glad to be rewarded by the incredible Rio sunset and much twinkling of lights below. Cable cars lead to views so I suppose their existance can be tolerated.


Gekko enjoying the sunset on Sugarloaf Mountain. Probably because he gets to lick up all the chocolate the tourists drop.

Back briefly to those egotists. Rio has its fair share of the rich and fabulous. Mostly the seem to hang around the twin beaches of Copocobana and Ipanema, wandering around the hippie market with their poodles and eyeing up artwork of the favelas they´ve never visited. But, actually, they´re all rather lovely in that you always know exactly where to find them and can ignore them at your leisure. They will do the same, leaving the younger and slightly poorer types to be your friends and share their acquired English skills. "Let´s go!" and "Hey, guy" seem to be the favourite phrases of choice. Ignore the naysayers. Come to Rio and you won´t get killed. Promise.


The mighty Brazil line-o-map. No, I didn´t quite get everywhere, but the south got quite well covered. And the rest of it has loads of forests and swamps to deal with. That´s my excuse, and I´m sticking to it.

So time to leave Brazil. Home of the very rich and the very poor, the most commercialised flag in the world and the greatest hand gestures to accompany a language. Sarah and I head to Santiago, Chile on Sunday. A city which we know little about and which everyone we meet tells us is dull beyond all measure. The jury´s out, though. I mean, come on, I´m the kind of person who finds dogs wearing booties worth writing about...


Sunset from Sugarloaf Mountain. Or, "wait, I´ll have to go on that cable car again in a minute."

FLORIANOPOLIS - Hot Towns and Cute Pets

And yet another brief update. Sarah (the poor sucker stuck with me for most of this year) got forwarded this nifty little article from The Guardian about Florianopolis. For those of a hazy sort of memory disposition, that´s the place we´ve been living and working in for the past three months. Apparently it´s the most happening place in South America and a sun drenched haven for supermodels and sports stars. Sounds great. I must remember to pay it a visit.

And, just so that your time reading wasn´t wasted, here´s a gratuitous picture of a tiny cat.


Awww.