New Zealand
Mette and I have always wanted to go to New Zealand, but the timing just never seemed right. Once we got married, we decided to make New Zealand the scene of our official honeymoon. All we had to do was get the money. So after 1½ years of scrimping and saving, we were off. We booked our tickets September 10th, 2001, and then watched in horror as the towers were hit less than 24 hours later. We discussed cancelling, but it was never really an option. We decided to continue with our plans, and on December 25th, having spent Christmas with Mettes parents, we took off for New Zealand, landing in Auckland December 27th, 2001.

After recovering in Auckland for a couple of days, we decided to head for the Coromandel peninsula, one of the most beautiful spots on Earth.  We were heading for Whitianga, a resort town about two thirds of the way up the peninsula. Let me just say this: Kiwi roads are a shock to the system when you come from one of the flattest countries in Europe. They twist and wind themselves to their destinations up sheer mountain faces, hurtling down the other side. But finally we got there, after a couple of friendly greetings from the locals involving the use of the middle finger extended skywards. Maybe they were telling us we should have taken a helicopter.

The View from the beach at Whitanga

While there, we visited one of the old Maori forts, called Pa's. These forts are incredibly well thought out, and any attacker would have had a hell of a job trying to get near the place. They're normally placed at the top of a steep sided hill, something which is not exactly in short supply in New Zealand.

 

One view from the Pa

Another view. And yes, we got soaked
   
From here we drove to Whakatane, where we were going to spend New Years eve. The drive itself was pretty uneventful, as we got used to the kiwi way of driving.

On arrival in Whakatane, we quickly found the B&B we'd booked from Denmark. It was run by Peter and Jan, two great people who did everything in their power to make our stay as pleasant as possible.

We continued to adapt to New Zealand while staying at the B&B. As you can see from the picture, the view was excellent, although with the town being located at sea level, it made for some good exercise.

 

The view from Peter and Jans'
 

The island in the photograph is called Whale Island, or Motuhora. It's an extinct volcano, acused by a hotspot which New Zealand has passed over, leaving a chain of extinct volcanoes init's wake, of which Motuhora and Mt. Edgecombe are but two. The current hot spot is called White Island, located about 50 km off the coast, and it was there I spent New Years day. Mette doesn't sail well, so she stayed on land. It was something she regretted, as on the way to the island, we were overtaken by a pod of dolphins -about a thousand of them! It was truly amazing. Everywhere you looked, nothing but dolphins springing up all around us, covering a huge area. By the time I came out of my trance, I only had time to snap a couple of shots, only one of which was half-way decent.
As we drew closer the island, it became obvious as to why Cook had called it White Island, having spotted it through a telescope as he sailed around New Zealand (according to local legend, at least). The waters around the volcano are incredibly rich in marine life. At one stage, there were so many fish just a hundred metres or so from the volcano, that it seemed as if an area the size of a football pitch was boiling.

Once we were on the volcano itself, we were given a run-through on what we should do if it became necessary to evacuate, and then we headed in towards the main crater.

 

 

 

On the way in, we passed the shattered remains of a sulphur factory, proof that the safety instructions weren't just for show.
 

The dome in the foreground is the volcanic equivalent of a pimple. I was walking over to it to get a better view of the surrounding area when the guide stopped me, and told us it was some form of build-up of gas, and that the temperature at the top of the dome was about 800 degrees! I'm not sure my trainers would have been able to handle that, regardless of the manufacturers claims.

 

 

 This is one view of the main crater. It's pretty large, and the pool at the bottom is boiling acid. If the fall didn't get you, the acid would.

According to the guide, this crater was once a dome much like the one above, and when the dome collapsed or erupted to form the crater, it didn't even register on the seismographs they have placed on the island. I think they need to replace the seismographs!
 

From Whakatane we drove to Rotorua, capital of the Bay of Plenty region. Anyone familiar with New Zealand will also know that it's called the "Arsehole of the world", not because it's a dump or anything, but because Rotorua and it's surrounding areas are a giant thermal area, and everything reeks of sulphur.

Thermal pools like the one pictured left surround a huge lake, which is itself a giant thermal pool with an average temperature of around 50-60 degrees Celsius. The sign warns people to stay back, as the acidic water eats away at the rock from underneath, so what looks like a solid surface could actually be only a couple of inches thick. Just after we took this photograph, a Japanese group of 8-10 people climbed over the fence that was there and walked out to the edge of the pool to see if it was as hot as it looked.

It was.

 
 

One of the features of Rotorua was the mixture of Colonial architecture with the Maori styles of form and colouring . It produced some outstanding buildings like this local baths, located in a large park down by the lake shore.

   

It also manifested itself in the architecture of this church down on the lakeshore. From the outside, it resembled a traditional English village church, just slightly different colours. Once inside, however, all similarities ceased. The interior of the church had been carved according to Maori traditions, with Christian motifs interpreted accordingly. It was amazing, and if you're in Rotorua, well worth a visit. Another feature of the church was a large window facing the lake. A life-size figure of Jesus was cut into the glass, and placed in such a way that it seemed as if it was walking on the surface of the lake.
   
Our stay in Rotorua would have been incomplete without visiting the local springs. There were two versions:

One was to go for a walk in the local town park, familiar to anybody who's grown up in some of the more idyllic areas of Britain and Ireland, except that the lakes fizzed and bubbled, and steam shot out of the ground at various places. It had long been reckoned to be stable until a new thermal area had erupted -literally- sometime around 1999. During it's arrival, it spewed dirt and steam up to 200 metres into the air, but now it just sits and hubbles and bubbles like the rest of the park.

The other was to visit the local national park. There, you can see the champagne lake, and many other wonderful things. We were really impressed with it, but a Scottish girl we met was disappointed . "Not as good as Yellowstone" was  her verdict.