8th December – Easter Island

We were up earlier to go on a walk to do the Northern route of the island. It was a clear and hot sunny day so we were well-armed with sun-cream, water and an enthusiasm to see the more remote sections of the island.

We took to route past our Maoi friends from yesterday, following the coast and stopping occasionally to admire the flawless blue sea and the rocks below from the vantage point of the cliff edge.

Our first real stop was at Anakakenga, where it’s possible to crawl through a small opening like that of the houses of Orongo, and into the caves below. Once inside, the cave opens out into two grottoes, each leading to apertures which enable you to stand suspended part-way down the precipice and over-looking the ocean. Matt went in first so I could get a picture of him perched high in the air above the crashing waves. Had it not been for the smell of the decomposing cow nearby it would have been perfect!

After Matt emerged it was my turn. I went in with a German couple and we had nothing but the torch in Matt’s phone between us. I wasn’t quite so brave as Matt and though I got close enough to the cave opening to see the sea, I was no way brave enough to stand on the edge of what essentially the middle of a cliff, with such a sheer drop into the crashing waves below me.

We followed the path for a while before stopping for a nice picnic at the last point before the path turned inland, and just before Ahu Tepeu, where we explored a platform with a few fallen Maois near a village site with remains of a few houses similar to those found at Orongo.

We followed the dusty path for several kilometres before reaching Ana Tepahu. We entered through a ‘Polynesian horticultural complex of sweet potatoes, bananas and taro’ and reached the two former cave dwellings.  

We had a look around the first one and took photos of the less-accessible second one and were just about to leave and get back on the road when a guy told us that the first one was actually about 400 metres long. We went back to explore its length and were glad that we had. We enjoyed poking around the lava tubes, apparently created when rocks farm around and moving stream of molten lava, were fascinated by a tendril of steam that loitered and rose in an small patch where a single strand of light streamed in through the roof.

We exited in the middle of a field and made our way back to the road and along the way a little to Ahu Akivi where there are 7 standing moai. It is the only inland Moai and only one where statues face out to sea. They are assumed to have astrological significance since, at the equinox, they look directly at the setting sun.

This was the first site of the day that was busy with tourists coming and going by the bus-load.  The Moais were an impressive sight and the whole experience was enhanced by the observation of the cultural collision of clothing choice between the sun-proof long-sleeves, jackets, hats and headscarves simultaneously sported by the Chinese, and the European students in their tiny shorts, tinier bikini tops and with nothing but a pair of sunglasses to cover their modesty.

We planned to climb the tallest peak of the island, the volcano Amunga Terevaka. However, partly because of the heat and partly because I didn’t fancy following a pack of near-naked student-types to the top, we gave it a miss and continued our circuit instead.

We were now quite far inland and without the ocean breeze it was super-hot. I was applying sun-cream constantly and cowering in the shade of my knackered Thai brolly but still struggling. We were determined not to miss out on the last stop of the route and so headed to Puna Pau – the site of the quarry where the top-knots for the statues were made before being transported to the sites around the island.

We hadn’t fully realised that the quarry was not exactly on the route and so would involve retracing our steps if we couldn’t think of an alternative. After dismissing the idea of nicking the bicycles carelessly left unlocked by another pair of tourists, we rested on the quarry-top for a while before deciding to risk taking a farmland trail that looked like it might possibly head in the right direction.

Undeterred by the log that appeared to intentionally block the route and in deep discussion about what Chilean trespass laws and what form local sanctions might take, we tramped our way across private land until we reached a dirt road.

The problem was then how to get to the dirt road. With the help of an old man who came out of his battered caravan to point us in the right direction, we worked out the ‘gate’ – a simple process of temporarily dismantling a barbed-wire fence in order to get out.

After about 7 hours, 20km and 1600 calories later (thanks Endomondo!) we arrived back at the campsite, with just enough time for a shower (with a miraculously appearing door that didn’t exist when we left that morning), a cuppa and a piece of fruit before heading out with the campsite crew to the evening’s entertainment.

The Rapa Nui Kari Kari dance is a ‘folkloric ballet of great strength and endurance’ but we were expecting something totally tourist-oriented and affected. It was no doubt very touristy but there were also no question about the power and the stamina of the performers. The women were graceful, energetic and beautifully dressed, but the men really made the show. They were all muscle, potency and intensity and had the most superb traditional dress.

I couldn’t help thinking of the lads at school and how they would respond at the idea of dancing, singing, wearing ‘skirts’ and yet even they would not have been able to dispute just how macho these guys were.

As well as a combination of vigorous and sedate (mostly female-led and quite honestly a bit dull in comparison) dances, there were also a couple of instances of audience participation. We studiously stared at the floor as they passed. As much as we fully commend the bravery off all who took part it, these exercises are pretty much designed for humiliation and it was impossible not to laugh at other peoples’ efforts - especially the guy who just shook his knees like a petrified chicken throughout the whole routine.

Back to hostel it was time for a long-overdue Pisco and a good chat with Elena and Marcal from Spain. They had done a similar route to us but had also worked in India for some time and so we had lots to talk about. They were too tired to make the most of the Pisco so we rescheduled a date for tomorrow.

I was just about to go to bed when I realised that despite my best efforts, I had managed to get myself a good dose of comedy sunburn. Due to my high, round-necked t-shirt, I now looked remarkably like the Cluedo-piece, Miss Scarlett. Thanks sun.

7th December – Easter Island

After the heat of yesterday, we weren’t too disappointed to wake to a drizzly day. We chatted to Jen, an open and independent German/ New Zealander who spoke 6 languages and would have been annoyingly attractive was she not just so damn nice.

Our mission for the day was to see some more of the famous sights of the island and place the geocache coin that we found 4 years ago somewhere that might serve as recompense for our sloppiness.

The volcano Ranu Kau, with the staggeringly beautiful lake residing in its extinct crater seemed like the perfect location. Even on such a murky grey day we could see the striking contrast of its blue water and green vegetation.

The location of Ranu Kau is deserving of its immense beauty. The volcano sits on the edge of the island with just a small lip of land before the cliffs drop dramatically down into the sea. This section is closed to walkers but it is possible to take a path that circumnavigates part of the crater and leads to the sacred village of Orongo.

The route was crazy windy and I feared I’d seen the last of Matt as he negotiated the geocache area but he assured me that the rocky outcrop meant he was protected by the wind and wasn’t as perilously close to falling into a volcano as he seemed. Good stuff.

At the entrance of Orongo we met Carlos, the ranger for the area and a devoted fan of The Beatles and Tom Jones. He told us that he dreamed of going to Liverpool and Wales and seemed to be constantly on the verge of bursting into song. It was all a bit incongruous to be on the site of a distant and ancient cult and be talking about how Tom Jones still has very sexy hips despite his advancing years.

So, Orongo was a ceremonial village, built when the belief in the Moais was changing, and used for just a few weeks at the beginning of every Spring. From approximately the end of the 16^th Century until about 1867, the Make-Make cut used it for the Tangata- Manu competition, where tribal chiefs, or their representatives, swam out to a nearby islet and waited for the arrival of the spotted tern. The aim was to get back to the village with the first egg to be laid. It was an incredible deed of endurance and physical strength and the winner was endowed as Tangatu-Manu (birdman) and regarded as sacred for the rest of the year.

The site contains 54 mud and slab houses which are partly set into the ground to shelter them from the powerful elements, and overlooks both the volcano and the sea. They were built and used from the end of 16^th century to 1867 and it was interesting to see how solidly built they were (though they have been reconstructed now) and marvel at their tiny doorways. Orongo is also the main rock art area and there were lots of impressive petroglyphs around but they were cordoned off, probably due to their proximity to the edge, so we were unable to see them as closely as we would have liked.

Thankfully, it cleared up a little while we were there so we ate our delicious-looking but stale (I’m sensing a theme) cake and enjoyed the views over the islet as well as the other aspect of the volcano.

6th December – Santiago Hotel to Easter Island

I was reluctantly dragged awake at 5.30, though, all moaning aside, the wake-up call makes all the difference in preventing fitful sleeps when one has less than 5 hours in bed.

Matt realised he’d left his swimming trunks at the pool yesterday and so I called reception to see if they had found them. I had to explain to the guy on reception a few times. He was initially very shocked and thought Matt had left the pool without any shorts on at all. I straddled the line between amused and embarrassed at requesting a skanky pair of shorts be returned from a high-class swimming pool. I soon tipped the balance however as the housekeeper, who delivered them to the door very shortly after, had them hanging on the tip of his finger and looked nothing short of appalled.

Breakfast was better than all other food they’d inflicted on us so far but still very deceptive-looking. I find it so confusing when food looks so good but tastes so horrid. I was beginning to fear for our time on the island - if that was all the Chileans could dish up with such extensive access to resources, I dreaded to think what it would be like on the most remote inhabited island in the world.

Along with our recent companions, we were reassured that we were going to actually get there when the car to the airport arrived on time and check-in was uneventful. I was especially relieved when Matt made it through the flight without any shenanigans and we both even managed a bit of sleep.

A few hours later, we circled Easter Island as the plane aligned with the runway. It was a great photo opportunity but I was also juggling with the camera of a nearby lady who’d asked me to take some pictures and so they were probably not as good as I’d like them to be.

On the ground we found ourselves at the least airport-like airport ever. It was just a small wooden building surrounded by palm-trees and totally lacking in any of the equipment and contraptions of modern airports. We walked down the steps of the plane, across the runway, past the wooden, handmade sign post which signalled where to go for transfers and into what felt like little more than a tourist info centre.

I was delighted when we were greeted with luxuriously heavy flower garlands by Victoriano and left to wait for our bags – the retrieval process for which still involved the same amount of unnecessary elbowing, pushing and shoving as the typical international hub.

I took my beautiful garland off and placed it carefully on a counter so that I could apply my sunscreen, onky to turn round and find that someone had nicked it!! Since so many people were wearing them and there is only so much variety you can get in flower garlands, I couldn’t identify the culprit. I seemed unable to stop myself gomping and grumping as I climbed into the car. Victoriano disappeared for a while and came back with a flimsy synthetic one. I was delighted! It was so sweet of him to get it and because it wasn’t made of real flowers, it meant I could take it as a momento.

The sense that the airport was just a pretend model one was increased as instead of the usual motorway journey, we literally drove around the corner and along for a block before reaching Tipani Moana campsite. There we were give a very thorough introduction by Benjamin, the owner and one of the islands very few full-time navy officers.

Keen to see more of the island, we walked into the main area of Hanga Roa, the only town on the whole island. We saw our first Moai, Ahu Tautira, right in the centre over-looking the sea. It was a little odd to see it right next to a restaurant and with a view of surfers behind it.

Further down the road we came across another piece of unexpected modernity – the park gym. I remember seeing these apparatuses for the first time in China, and being absolutely delighted by them. When I came home I went for a walk with my mum in Poolsbrook country park and was approached by a woman doing research on how the park might be improved. I put it forward as an idea and the woman seemed to be as thrilled as I had been about such a ‘unique’ concept. After a few more weeks in Derbyshire, I realised that China was not so exceptional and that, in fact, the park gym had already gained quite a lot of ground in the UK. We have since seen lots of them. How entertaining that such a notion may have made its way to this secluded patch in the distant reaches of the Pacific Ocean but had still not penetrated the deep, dark recesses of Poolsbrook.

So anyway, we had a lovely time playing on the gym by the sea and observing the enthusiasm of a local man who really went for it and a bunch of local dogs who were equally as keen.

We walked further around the coast in search of more Moais. We found a few clustered together with some carvings. We were quite impressed by one with eyes and carvings on its back, until we clicked that it was on a steel platform, looked quite new and was facing the wrong way.

At lunch time, my fear of a lack of anything decent to eat materialised. The prices of food in the restaurants was severely prohibitive and the supermarkets, though abundant in number, were predictably limited. We were hoping that there might be lots of tasty fresh produce grown on the island but suspected from the brown, wilting nature of what we saw, that it had taken the same journey as us – including the delay of being bumped off the flight!

After a nice afternoon nap in stifling tent heat, we went back out to see more of the Moais. A cluster of different structures were easily accessible from the town, featuring Ahu Ko Te Riku, Ahu Tahai and Ahu Bai Ure: known to us as, ‘the big one with eyes’, ‘the middle one with no eyes’ and the ‘row of five’, respectively. Our inability to pronounce their names did nothing to diminish the grandeur and gravity of watching the sun set behind them. The feat of man combined with the triumph of nature was awe-inspiring.

5th December – Santiago to airport

Despite the bad night’s sleep and not having to fly as early as we feared, we were still up at the crack of dawn to get everything packed and sorted before we travelled. We took the metro and a different bus to yesterday and were safely at the airport by 10.30am.

We had loads of time so we headed to the LAN office to see if my little bag with my water bottle had made it’s way to lost property – it hadn't but they did show the the iphone and tablet that had been found so I could have been quids in on the deal.

Our flight still hadn’t appeared on the board but since the queue was humungous, it made sense to get in it. A couple of hours later we were still in it and only had a short time until the plane was due to board.

When we finally got to the front, we were asked if we would like to volunteer not to fly until tomorrow. The deal was nowhere near as sweet as our volunteering jackpot at the start of the trip and Easter Island was a dream destination so we weren't willing to cut our trip there short.

The check-in lady had other ideas though and spent so long dithering that our time for boarding came perilously close. She offered us a flight back a day later but it flew to Lima before Santiago so we weren’t interested. After leaving us waiting for ages, she finished her shift and took off, telling us that someone else would look after us and the manager knew all about it.

The manager was doing her best not to catch the eye of the group of people who, like us, seemed to be stranded at the check-in desk. When I did manage to collar her and ask if we were getting on the flight, she simply said, ‘no’. Not too long after, she also picked up her bag and scarpered – this time without a word of explanation! I saw her trying to sneak off and chased her down but she was very dismissive.

Eventually we got to speak to someone helpful and things started to come together. We were sent off for a free lunch while they sorted out our flights and puny compensation. Things could have been worse though - there was another couple who were also bumped and had their time on the island reduced from just three days to two. They’d had their flights for about as long as we had and had even successfully checked in the previous night.

What couldn’t have been much worse was the food in the restaurant! Everything in the buffet looked great but tasted awful! I didn’t know it possible to make salad taste gross! We did have a good laugh about it though and crossed our fingers that the food at the hotel we would be sent to was a delicious as last time.

When we got back, the ground staff were panicking before we seemed to have a leg of our journey missing on our itinerary. We probably could have wangled an extra flight but admitted to intending to travelling overland to Lima at a later date. We did still have to go via Peru to get back to Santiago but they did change our Brazil flight to a more direct one and give us vouchers for food and onward travel when we got back to Santiago.

Finally, at gone 4pm, we were off to Hilton Gardens hotel. The one member of ground staff who had been exceptionally helpful, despite not speaking English, gave us both a hug and a kiss and waved us off.

I had a great afternoon in the hotel gym and pool. I can’t say I’ve missed much other than people but I have missed getting into my little head-bubble and pounding it out in the gym. After a good workout, I moved from the gym to the swimming pool, sauna and jacuzzi for a nice relax. I was about to go for dinner when Matt came to join me and we bumped into the couple we had seen at the airport, Mark and Margaret. We had a nice chat in the pool and arranged to meet up over dinner.

The company was great and we enjoyed hearing about their stories of travel in Russia but the food was terrible. I realised just how spoiled we’d been on our first ‘volunteer’ when the waiter brought over the menus, realised we were from the airport, huffed and took them back. He then told us what we were having chicken and mash for dinner. No choices, no vegetarian option, not even a smile. When Mark told him that was the same as we’d had for lunch, he reluctantly offered us pasta.

I couldn’t help but smile when the pasta came. It looked like a crappy kids version you get for a couple of quid when you order an adult meal in a chain-pub. The pasta was a kind of dried ravioli and it just wasn’t cooked enough. We chewed our way through a couple of pieces before Mark spoke to the waiter, very politely, and told him that they didn’t want to be there about as much as the hotel didn’t seem to want us but that we’d at least like something proper to eat.

We were told we could have something from the non-pauper menu but that we all had to order the same thing and from a pre-determined section. We gave the pasta a miss and agreed on the rack of lamb. It took ages to arrive and when it did, it looked so much more appetizing. Unfortunately, it was so tough that I got cramp and callouses trying to cut it. I was in stitches by the time that Mark just gave up and picked the thing up to tear it apart with his fingers and eat with his hands – not only was the whole situation ridiculous but it made him look even more like Ron Swanson that he did previously.

We were up late chatting and packing but it was so good to collapse into a big comfy bed without the noise of the Santiago hostel, knowing that tomorrow we would really be on our way.

15th October – Papatowai to Curio Bay

I’d read about a place called the Lost Gypsy Gallery, a collection of hand-made automata created from found objects and on display in an old bus, and was really looking forward to having a look round and a chat with the guy who made it. It was just around the corner from the campsite and was immediately enticing with a corrugated iron hand-wound whale and a bunch of crazy wind-vanes. The sad part was that it was closed until 20^th October and so we didn't get to go and explore. I especially wanted to go through the arch labeled, ‘Winding Thoughts Theatre of Sorts’ and would have telephoned the guy to beg but we didn’t have a signal on our phone.

We followed the signs for tourist information so we could ask them to call him but it led to a bay with a sign rather than a centre so we just went for a wander down the beach instead. The tide was out past the bay but the waves beyond were ferocious. There was also an almost completely decomposed sheep by the edge of the grassland there too so I’m not feeling too warmly about New Zealand farmers  -  or whoever is responsible for cleaning the beaches for that matter.

It was a really changeable day, with bursts of bright sunshine competing with torrents of rain and so we spent most of the day waiting for the gusty wind to blow the rain away before rushing out to have a quick wander or explore during the reprieve.

We’d noticed Niagara Falls on the map and followed a sign for brief detour to find it. We bobbed over some lovely hummocks and gullies and saw lots more sheep but we couldn’t spot the falls.

The day was somehow flying by and we didn't want to end up in Invercargill during the evening and so we decided to head to a nearby town that had a largish name on the map, Waikawa, for a look around. It turned out that Waikawa was even smaller than Owaka and seemed to just be a few buildings scattered by the side of the road. It did have real tourist info though, staffed by a couple of lovely old ladies in woolly hats who explained the Niagara Falls was named by a surveyor with a sense of humour. There was also a museum but we couldn’t look around it because there was a power cut and it was too dark. We could still see the restored buildings outside though and we couldn't help but chuckle because the town ‘jail’ was just a garden shed with barred windows.

Next stop was Curio Bay, where there was a petrified forest and also possibly our last chance to get a better look at the rare yellow-eyed penguin. We underestimated the length of the day and arrived early and so stood waiting on the viewing platform in the cold, rain and wind for well over an hour, shivering and watching the huge waves crashing against the cliffs. We could see the petrified forest just under the water and a rainbow that seemed to be continuously drawing itself, rubbing itself out and starting again.

It was just getting to the time when we were really expecting the penguins to appear when a group of 6 French people turned up and started to walk down onto the beach, something that we’d been warned against at every other site. I asked them very nicely not to and explained that we had been waiting there for a long time. They carried on regardless and one of them turned to say that they’d been there yesterday and the penguins had still come onto the beach.

I was furious. But other than chase them down the beach shouting about how the penguins were nesting and might come on anyway but it didn't mean that they weren't scared and just trying to find a way to feed their babies. I was even more livid when they then started poking away around the nesting sites right at the other end of the beach. By the time they came back I was so incensed that I would have just exploded if I opened my mouth, especially when the one friend who had not gone had clearly told them about my raving about it and they all gave me smug smiles.

Of course, with them already on the beach, I was totally unable to do anything about the brightly dressed and careless-footed troop of people who then turned up and started to stream down there. I could not stand to watch them tramping all over the area that should be protected and preserved and so went back to the car.

We were just pulling away when a German guy who’d waited on the platform with us came running and told us that the first penguin had eventually braved coming out of the water. We ran back for a look and saw one climb to its nest undisturbed but then everyone flocked to that spot with their cameras. The next poor penguin got halfway home and then had no idea what to do when it couldn’t get any further because here were people squatting in its way,  pointing their long-zoom lenses at the poor thing. I stalked back to the car in a big, sulky disgust.

We stayed nearby at a cool little campsite that was right on the cliffs by the sea and had bays marked by long grasses to buffer some of the fierce winds. It had a little round kitchen and a little round shower block but both were busy so we just sat in the car while I sewed the other curtain and Matt used his pen-knife to individually whittle down a bunch of curtain-sliders to fit the back curtain rail. We felt rather traditional.

14th October- Allanton to Papatowai

We woke up to incredible views of rolling green hills, dotted with sheep and cows, coloured with trees and bright yellow gorse, and sandwiched between pure white icey mountains and the flat blue sea.

We followed the country roads further, trying to get as high as we could. We didn't get as high as we would have liked but we got some fabulous views and used a fair bit of fuel trying.

We got ourselves onto the Southern Scenic Route road and weren't driving very long before we took a short detour to see Cannibal Bay. We didn't find out why it was called that but we did see some remnants of the huge masses of sea kelp that lurk by the shore, stranded on the beach. It's really fascinating-looking stuff and I had to resist a real urge to poke, squidge and play with its thick, juicy looking tubers.

We had barely started on our walk and were just admiring the ferocity of the waves when we noticed a huge sea-lion lolling by the cliff. It's dangerous to pass between them and the sea and inadvisable to go within 10m of one so since passing this chubster would have meant flouting both of these 'rules', we chickened out and went back to the van to make a nice hot coffee.

Next stop was the Catlin's Main town, Owaka, which boasts a hefty population of 395. We stopped at the tourist info to see if they had any information about walks. they weren't particularly helpful on that score but they did have a great museum, especially considering the size of the town. We enjoyed finding out about the local shipwrecks, industries and locality and I really enjoyed reading the projects about local people, done by school children. We nearly got a longer spell in there than we'd planned though because the guy had got halfway through bolting the doors when we got to the exit. He was just telling the other lady working there that we'd left as we turned the corner. This would have been particularly funny because he'd made a dry and possibly sarcastic joke about not getting locked in when I'd enquired about whether we had enough time to look around.

Though thinking about it, he may have done it on purpose. When I spoke to him the first time there was a large, black book on his desk that had 'Death Book' written on it, seemingly in Tippex. When we went back to pay for the museum, he had it open and was reading through the obituaries that had been cut out of the paper and glued in there.

We continued further, following the road around a sea inlet and aiming towards Jack's blowhole. We had to stop on the way to take a picture of a giant rainbow that arched completely over the road. It was the widest and thickest I think I've ever seen but the right side was already fading by the time I got out of the car.

We stopped on the edge of a windswept beach flanked by black and white cliffs and started the steep climb to Jack's Blowhole. The views were astounding as usual but as always, it was hard to capture the multitude of greens and the contrast of the high, green, sheep-dappled clifftops, with the blue sea far below and the slate-gray rocky outcrops. And there were loads of extremely cute, long-tailed, fluffy lambs frolicking about.

Now there are lots of things that I'd kind of forgotten about walking in a cold climate that came rushing back to me as we struggled against the wind, including that:

You never have enough tissues to cope with your continuously streaming and sore nose.

It's totally possible to be sweaty on some parts of your body whilst feeling the effects of near frostbite in others.

Cold-air somehow burns your lungs.

Driving rain can feel like someone is chucking needles in your face.

Despite all the discomfort, it's somehow invigorating.

We weren't quite sure what to expect from Jack's blowhole but it was a lot bigger and a lot less blowey than we'd imagined. Named after a frequently cussing Moari chief, it was 155m deep, 144m long, 68m wide and sat in the middle of a sheep-field just 200m from the sea. We stood on a ledge at the top and watched as the waves rushed under the natural arch and licked up the sheer sides of the hole in the land. It was easy to imagine that on a stormy day, the impact might shoot the spray upwards but today the sea there was fairly calm.

On the walk back, I was pretty distressed to see a dead sheep lying peacefully in the gully next to the path. It looked very recent and we hadn't noticed it on the way there so we stopped for a while and looked carefully to see if it was still breathing. Matt meanly refused to try and stand it back on its feet and insisted that I was satisfied with looking out for a farmer to tell. A few hundred metres further down we noticed a slightly lumpy sheep skin further up the slope that could only really have been a decomposing sheep and so had to conclude that the farmer was not likely to be anywhere close. Matt still refused to go back and make any attempts at resuscitation.

After a cold coffee (it turned out our 'new' flask is missing the seal), we took the gravelly road to Purakaunui Falls and had a quick wander to those before making our way to the Papatowai DoC camp site that the tourist info guy had told us about. We think it must have been recently created because it wasn't on our maps but we thought we'd give it a go because the old guy had told us that it had an 'ablutions area', a term I've only ever heard in French or in reference to mosques. I'm sure his odd choice of words for a wash-block, his lack of a full set of fingers (I don't like to mention them but I can't get the image of him 'pointing' out of my head) and his interest in death, all have a very righteous and worthy back-story that would put me to shame but they do add up to an irresistible character formation.

The ablutions block was gratefully received too. It was a rainy, cold evening and we were grateful for the sheltered area to cook and wash. In fact, the campsite was very nice and we had it all to ourselves again so thank you NZ Department of Conservation.

13th October - Dunedin to Allanton

After the fun of yesterday, it was quite a grim start to the day. I was tired because it had rained a lot during the night and we'd been parked under a tree. There are few things more annoying than the loud and irregular tap-tap-tapping of water falling from leaves onto the metal roof of a van - like sleeping in a room full of amplified dripping taps. It's particularly annoying when sleep is the only thing keeping your mind off needing the loo.

Added to that, it was a cold, grey, windy day of the sort I haven't seen since we left the UK. I've always struggled with the cold and hate feeling bundled up, hunched and tense against it but it's interesting to see how much more it bothers Matt now he's lost his insulating layer.

We made our way down to Dunedin city centre for a day of indoor sight-seeing, starting with the art gallery. There was the usual mix of talent, interest and obscurity but we spent most time at an exhibition called, 'Breaking Down the Fourth Wall' - more for its documentary content than its artistic merit - that focused on alleged 'first contact' with the Tanahashi tribe.

After lunch we went to the Otago Museum where they had a great display of items from Edmund Hillary's Everest expedition, including the second-hand camera he used to take the iconic summit of placing the flag at the summit.

General stars of the show for me were the animals there though. I was gob-smacked at the size of lots of things including: a stuffed sunfish in the foyer, which was only half the maximum size; the skeletons of native moa birds, now unfortunately extinct due to being munched up; and the stuffed albatross, particularly the baby one since it was bigger than most small dogs. We also got to see the dinosaur fossil from Shag Point which was pretty impressive.

We were still happily exploring the museum when the call that it was closing came so we went to Moana swimming baths. There were huge and really well layed-out with lots of lane swimming organised by speed. I stayed in one of the slow lanes of the shallow end doing laps until I got tired, then I skirted the diving pool (with just an envious glance) and joined Matt in the fun pool to play in the 'lazy river', waves and toasty warm spa pool.

Last stop in the city was Baldwin Street - the steepest hill in the world. We drove up it, climbing to a height of 47m over 161m length. With an average gradient of 1 in 3.41 and the steepest gradient of 1 in 2.86, it would be good to see the 'Baldwin Street Gutbuster' foot race that happens there every year. We wouldn't fancy living in one of the houses at the top during snowy weather though. There were even several little shops selling certificates to testify to the achievement of driving up it.

After seeing the albatross in the museum, I was really keen to see some real ones that weren't full of straw with plastic eyes, so we took the scenic drive right along the edge of the sea to Otago peninsula where there's a colony. We didn't realise it was a privately owned colony until we were over halfway there so we trucked on anyway in the hope that that we might get to see some flying around.

It was dark when we got there so we just took a little wander along the path around the tip of the peninsula. We didn't see any albatross I don't think (although I did see something pretty huge flying up ahead before the darkness fell too thick) but we did spook a mass of seagulls that Matt kept insisting might be albatross. I got a closer look at them as they dive-bombed near my head - especially the one he was annoying by shining a torch at at the time - so I'm certain they were just gulls. It was freezing cold, so windy it was hard to walk straight and the gulls were still making a horrid noise and acting odd so we didn't stay for very long.

We took a  steady drive back because the lack of barriers between us and the sea made driving in icy rain just that bit more dangerous.

Instead of staying at Dunedin we decided to make a little bit of progress so got on to the highway out of the city. We soon hit roadblock where the police were stopping to breathe-test them. The policeman was pretty rude to Matt because he thought that had to pull over rather than stop next to the guy and block off all the traffic. Matt was very polite back though and we were soon on our way - Matt was just a bit disappointed because he felt he should get a minus reading for not having a drink for so long.

It was getting late though so we didn't drive very far before we felt it was time to rest. We took a street away from the main road and up the hills and stayed on the first flat patch we could find. It was muddy and the wind was blowing a gale so we crawled straight into bed and wrapped ourselves in blankets.

12th October - Glencoe to Oamaru

We were woken up by an insolent cockerel that was very deliberately targeting us by crowing outside our windows and pecking at the car. He seemed to consider himself part of our little crew and stuck close-by, oozing attitude and taking a close look at everything we did, for the whole time it took to re-organise the car and make breakfast.

After trying out our new curtains last night, we realised that they would be better if we could put them up lengthways. I'd bought some curtin tape yesterday but didn't fancy hand-sewing them and so we headed back to the reclamation centre where we'd seen a hand-held machine. It turned out that the shop was closed on Fridays but I thought I'd try my luck. I explained to the lady at the gate that I knew what I wanted and where it was and, surprisingly, she radioed through to someone else, who then came out to get me and escort me through the shop to get what I wanted. Even better, it still had working batteries in it!

Since it was Friday, I was determined to make the most of some of the things that I wasn't able to do yesterday and first stop in the main town, after a quick op-shop stuff swop of course, was Annie's Victorian Tea Rooms. They were everything I'd hoped for and more: jam-packed with period paraphenalia and very elegant indeed. We sat by the flaming fireplace, watched over by a very stern-looking Queen Victoria and a stuffed deer head, and indulged ourselves with giant silver pots of tea and petite dishes of 'Colonial Goose' (mutton) sandwiches with the crusts cut off and Savoury Gem. The waitresses wore period dress and served with a curtsy and a deferential, 'Ma'am'. The sight of the cake trolley that they kept wheeling to the different tables made us both wide-eyed with wonder and we made no attempt to resist. Deciding between them was tough but we somehow managed. We weren't so successful at finishing them though and had to ask to take them away because there was no way we were leaving without them.

We had a chat with a grumpy-looking but very nice Scotsman who had moved to New Zealand 22 years ago and now worked at the local polytechnic. He said that he missed the UK but had only been home once and that was in 2010. I was a bit too scared to tell him that he clearly wasn't trying very hard.

Next stop was Oamaru Cycle Works where we met the owner, David, and rode replica 1880s Penny Farthings, a replica trike from the same period and a 1930s 3-wheeled delivery bike. We started with  small Penny Farthings, and I was proud to be complimented on my technique by a nearby enthusiast. Graduating on to the full-size version was not so successful and though Matt, with his affinity for all things mechanical, seemed to manage the transition smoothly, I went solo for just a few seconds before I started wobbly wildly. David was very chivalrous and made a grab for me before the bike but I still hit the floor. He was very concerned but I was completely unscathed, much to my disappointment since I would have very much liked a small scar from falling off a Penny Farthing.

Small one first 

Anji's fall

Graduated to the full size

Anji & David

We explored the shop and admired the huge touring Penny Farthing, all trussed up with camping gear. David told us that he had spent 3 months travelling around on it which must have really raised a few eyebrows because. not only did he have a very distinct moustache, the bike was nearly as tall as me. He told us that whenever he encountered a hill, he had to get off and walk with it.

I pumped him further for information and found out that he works with Annie of tea-shop fame and that he runs a consultancy helping towns with historical interests, capitalise on them for tourism purposes. I also found out that he had a few songs written about him (apparently not available on YouTube) and that the huge Penny Farthing swing frame we had seen on the park was actually a sculpture of him.

David armed us with information on the town, and we waved goodbye to him, his 'tache and his young assistant, Bailey.  He did insist that we visit the whisky shop and the art gallery so we took his advice.

The whisky shop was worth a look but the art gallery above it was wonderful. The large loft was a piece of art in itself and we were even more enamored by the space than we were the artwork. The Scottish guy was there chatting to the owner and we overheard that he was also a local artist. We chatted to them briefly and the lady recommended going to Shag Point (insert a few jokes from the Scottish guy here) on our way to Dunedin.

We were about to finally say goodbye to this charismatic town when Matt caught sight of the hand-made hat shop, 'Flocked and Fleeced', and just had to go in. I struck up a conversation with the lady inside and she seemed quite reticent at first but soon got into the swing of it - over half an hour later we were still chatting away. She showed us how she made some of the hats, told us more about her love of felting and shared some of her personal family history. I found her really inspiring and encouraging and I left with a very fuzzy feeling and an enthusiastic recommendation for the artisan cheese factory. I must remember to look her up at Hoda Gallery on Facebook.

We had to go past the bike shop to go to the car and David stopped us to insist I had another go on the Penny Farthing and better my 'most elegant first dismount'. I wish I could say that I managed it with elegance and flair this time but instead I simply had to be satisfied with staying upright - and the (hopefully) tongue-in-cheek offer of marriage.

A quick visit to the cheese shop, a glance around their factory and a cheeky purchase of their signature 'Windsor Blue' and we finally bid a sad goodbye to this memorable town of steam Punk, penguins, op-shops, accordion-players, afternoon tea, Victorian bikes, milliners and whisky.

On the road out of Oamaru, we came across Moeraki Boulders, where large spherical calcite rocks over 4 million years old, rest along the beach. They are 'concretions'and are understood to form much in the same as pearls, but around larger bodies such as a bone fragment or bone. I really liked the ones that had split open and lay with their layers exposed.

Further down the road we hit Matakaea Scenic Reserve, otherwise known as 'Shag Point', where it is possible to see sea-lions, seals and penguins. We were walking towards the viewing point overlooking the rocks when I caught my breath; what we thought was a boulder in the grass turned round and looked at us.  There wasn't a single seal near the water but we had just stumbled straight on one lying right beside us on the grass. I had visions of us being chased round the edge of a cliff by an angry hunk of blubber running on two flippers and so steered well clear.

The other notable thing about Shag Point is that an almost complete skeleton of a 7 metre-long Elasmosaur, the largest marine reptiles of all time and extinct for about 65 million years, was found here in the 1980s, at the centre of a Katiki boulder. Katiki boulders are very similar to the Moeraki boulders further north but tend to erode from the inside out.

50km later and we arrived at the city of endless hills: Dunedin. We checked out a few campsites but none of them were very appealing and so we headed for the country lanes.

We parked up next to some pretty sheep but I was still hyped up after our great day and wasn't ready to sleep yet so we had a stab at using the hand-held sewing machine to turn the lengthways curtains into sideways curtains to cover the cab of the car. We guessed that anyone driving past would be too disturbed by the sight of us sat in a pitch-dark lane making curtains to bother us.

After a bit of a difficult start where I was convinced the machine was broken, we made quick progress until, upon completion, I realised that we’d sewn the curtain tape on the wrong way and had actually made upside-down curtains. After a quick debate about whose fault it was, I unpicked the tape and we measured out a new length and started again. Experience made us faster still. Then we ran out of cotton. We had managed to stitch one side of the tape though so even though the curtain hung a bit floppily, it hung nonetheless and we were quite proud of our handiwork.