Fiord Fiesta

Well it rocked my little world and I should know Lord, I've followed a few. The only way to describe the beauty of the Milford track and Sound would be to employ various hackneyed adjectives an a good few expletives. So I won't try. A mixture of temperate rainforest, glacial alpine slopes and turqoise waters, the walk terminates after three days at the Sound itself. It could be the combination of slog and blood loss to winged irritants (sandflies) but the experience of veiwing the improbably angled walls of the Sound for the first time is enough to have you down the nearest gospel church. "Praise the Laaaahd. Ah believe!!". After drinking in so much beauty you're ready to take the floor at an A.A meeting. The walk is obviously not without it's dangers. Mainly to your lunch from the keen-eyed keas (alpine parrots not black dogs). There is definetely no sight more incongruous than a large green bird trying to have your sarnies away against a backdrop of snowfields. Pining for the fiords no doubt.

Ice Ice Baby.

After that I headed back up north to see the glaciers. One nobly named after some Austrian emporer, the other after a sweet popular among O.A.Ps. The Fox Glacier is an impressivly sized if rather unexpectedly dirty river of ice, peopled by chains of shivering human ants yomping cautiously up and down the face. I suppose your face might look a bit grubby too if two hundred plus people a day wiped their boots on it.

Twitching The Night Away

Spare a thought for NZ's native birdlife. Millenia of peaceful, mamalian preadator-free existence allowing evolution to get really carried away, all suddenly shatttered. They're pretty good these days at conserving what's left here (if only because, like the Aussies, they've fucked it right up in the first place) but for once it's not all the white man's fault. The Maori got the ball rolling with the introduction of rats, dogs and overeating (picture giant moa morphing into a roast dinner before their hungry eyes). Then we took over and showed them how it's really done. It has to be said that the birds aren't doing themselves any favours either though. After laying an egg a third her own weight, endangered ma kiwi turns it over to dad who sits on it for a ridiculous length of time. By the time hatching occurs both parents are understandably naffed off with their offspring and turf straight it out at which point the stoats (chavs of the animal world who will happily impregnate their own young for the chance of a free council house) eat it.
Shooting yourself in the foot wasnt just for the birds either. The Maori were so warlike that all the colonists had to do was introduce them to guns, light fuse and retire to a safe distance as they started on each other. One chief, returning laden with gifts after a visit to the King of England, stopped off en route to exchange bling for bullets, arriving home in the mood to strut and wasted no time in poping some caps in some asses.

Well now it's time to bid farewell to our linguistically challenged cousins. A delightful land where bus drivers sport white knee socks and have failed to realise they're not compering the Saga charity gala dinner. Tomorrow I fly forward into my own past, arriving in Chile two hours before I leave NZ and experiencing Friday afternoon twice. It's enough to make your head expl

One Ring To Rule Them....

The outdoors truly are great in New Zealand. This is a good thing for the towns boast all the sophistication of a row of Bournemouth beach huts circa 1976, notable exceptions so far being the Ben Sherman-shirted hell that is Christchurch and the stately Scottish grandeur of Dunedin. That certain hamlets in the north are famous for their welly boots and carrots should tell you we ain't in Kansas anymore Dorothy.
But stuff that, that's not why any of us came. My quest began with a visit to the aptly named Hell's Gate in the pastures of The Shire. Hell's Arsehole might be a better name for this delightful collection of fouly flatulent flats, home to the world's only mud volcano (I go to all the top spots so you don't have to). After hanging out with some dodgy geysers I saddled up my hobbit and made for Weather Top pausing only to haul my firey ring up the slopes of Mt Doom (aka Tongariro). Anyone for a stroll amongst active volcanoes, emerald coloured lakes and gently farting lunar landscape? Oh yes.

P, P, P, Pick Up A Large Flightless Seabird.

For such a small country NZ is a great place to add to the list of 'cool creatures I have seen'. Several types of dolphin, for instance. No-one ever tells you this, but swimming with them is one of the most terrifying experiences ever. Think floundering in murky water wearing an extra strength (like those ones Mike has to have to stop him... you know)full-body condom and waiting for a huge fish to hurl itself at you out of the indistinct darkness. Sadly Flipper and friends were more interested in showing off at the back of the boat and declined to communicate spiritually with us. I bought a few cans of dolphin unfriendly tuna after. That'll teach the capricious little fuckers. The world's largest carnivore, the Sperm Whale can also be seen daily off the east coast. They are truly awesome (in the biblical not the annoying surfer boy sense of the word). An even better sight, however, is the controlled riot that occurs when one is sighted and sixty passengers attempt to politely elbow each other into the sea in the rush to photograph 15% of the bobbing blubber before it dives down to scoff its own body weight in ancient mariners and oil drums.
Dry land offers penguins and the world's largest bird, the albatross. These humvees of the sky weigh in with a massive three meter wingspan .In the words of David Attenborough; 'Albatross rock!'. Ok he didn't say that but he could have made a much shorter film if he had. I've picked up so much new knowledge that I feel must share it. I'll start with the best for your edification; Sea lions are gay. Not gay as in a bit effeminate but gay as in the big 'bears' like to surround themselves with a possee of young 'rent boys' and get jiggy with it while there are no laydeez around. They also sport tight leather shorts and migrate to Sydney every February.

Right that's enough pink power for one day. The 'world's best walk' awaits tomorrow. The Kiwis call hiking 'tramping' so I'm of to get kitted out with a couple of Scottish punks, A crate of Stella and a park bench. Roads? Where we're going we don't need...roads.