As the virus impact mutated from epidemic to pandemic, the media machine kicked into action in a whirlwind of hysteria, I was left with the choice of travelling into Hells Gate and face the beast or stay home and lock the doors. In a week of emotional turmoil, absorbing daily reports from the BBC, CNN, CDC, British Consulate and any other ´reputable´source, I contemplated canelling, redirecting or ploughing on regardless with the trip.

2 days before departure, the big 3 UK travel agents alongside counterparts across Europe cancelled all scheduled flights; France called for a global ban on all travel to Mexico; US & UK governments and media fanned the flames of pandemonia; erroneous scientists proclaining wild statements...

this virus has the potential to kill 1.5 billion people worldwide
it's the dealiest virus of the 21st Century
the end of the world is nigh
etc etc

Now, if I was not a thinking man, a package holiday traveller or one who accepts an element of risk in ones life, I would currently be sat at home in England or in extreme in a vacuum sealed room with a years supply of canned baked beans and mineral water (a horrific thought in itself). As it is I write this from Tulum in SE Mexico in good health, a smile on my face and the sun on my back - yes, I ploughed on regardless with the following rationalization:

• there have been a minimal number of infections originating from Cancun (my entry point to Mexico)
  
• I have no inention of staying in Cancun, with or without a virus of any of kind
  
• to exercise caution in crowded areas by wearing a rather fetching face mask
  
• paying extra attention to personal hygiene - washing hands regulary, covering mouth when coughing/sneezing, no spitting etc
  
• not travelling to disease hotspots (e.g. Mexico City)
  
• keep my stay in Mexico to a minimal and exit south to Belize asap
  
• no kissing strangers
  
• absolutely no pig petting
  

If I follow this regime, I believe I will have reduced my chances of contracting the virus equal to the chanches of catching it on the underground in London where no caution is followed, and further, if I did cancel my trip such the crushing defeat by the authorities on my personal liberties would cause such a blow that my immune system would undoubtedly weaken making me further susceptable to the virus.

Further if I did contract the virus, if it is diagnosed and treated quickly, the risk to your life is minimal and most likely you will experience only flu-like symptoms for a week or so before making a full recovery (although the 'man flu' phenomena could potentially escalate this beyond comprehension). It is a well known fact that the common strains of flu kill tens of thousands worldwide each year so why this strain (albeit a new mutation and amalgamation of 4 existing strains, for which there is no known vaccine) gathers such press baffles me somewhat. That is not to say I would step into a bus lane to prove the theory that it's more likely you'll get run over by a bus, but I hope you can appreciate the point. A pang of guilt does hang over me that perhaps I have compromised my global responsibility to restrict the spread of the virus, however precautions in place I will do upmost to avoid this, and hey if I did catch the dreaded bug, there's worse places in the world to be to recover in isolation (picture a desert island in the middle of the caribean...)

And so travel to Mexico I did.

Granted, Tulum (and the entire Riviera del Maya) is something of a ghost town - temples and museums are closed, the vibrant nightclubs are almost empty, hotels and hostels have few travellers present. Cancun must be worse still as the majority of the populous are package tour punters which as mentioned are all cancelled (perhaps all that are left are the Brits who refused to come home on the additional flights laid on by their tour operators). On the flipside prices are cheap, there's more choice shopping around for accomodation and the ever-friendly Mexicans are making a special effort to embrace those who braved the 'lethal' virus.

Is my trip necessary? perhaps not..... or perhaps it is. As a free individual, I have the right to travel where I wish (visa permitting), am able to make educated decisions on how to run my life, for which I accept full responsibility. The alternative? to live and die in fear of an unseen enemy (which holds an obvious parallel to other restrictions imposed that threaten our wider civil liberties). In my mind at this time the worlds biggest threat and true pandemic is fear.

Fear or Foe - facing the swine flu in Mexico remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Shivering violently with enough force to shake the nuts and bolts loose from the ice-clad chair lift and my bones within, I clunk and grind my way into the driving wind that bites into my Queensland tanned façade, feeling like a dog on the back of a speeding ute. The salty surf spray of Western Australia, transported on a westerly wind across the baron red Martian landscape of the Australian Outback, is frozen mid flight and dumped onto The Great Divide, morphing into ice needles that slice into every inch of my exposed skin. “Am I still in Australia?” I begin to question myself, and moreover “why did I choose this place over the tropical paradise of Queensland?” As I reach the crest of the chair lift, the cloud and my doubts clear as the mountain once shrouded within an impregnable white veil is revealed and the exhilaration of the adventures to come brings adrenalin to cause through my veins. The freezing cold is forgotten and replaced with a feeling of elation and euphoria as I slide down the in-ramp to commence another run.

Just 3 hours drive north of Melbourne through lush green farmland lies another one of Australia’s great surprises in a land of contrasting environments and ever changing climates. The ski resort of Mount Buller, nestled on the Western Fringe of the Great Divide, has been serving up the Australian alpine experience since Helmut Koffler first opened the Junior Ski Club here in 1929. If you thought Australia was only about babes, beaches and surfing, think again.

Mush akin to the cultural diversity of Australia, Mount Buller attracts a broad demographic from the jackaroos of the nearby farming communities, city slickers from the metropolis of Melbourne, and visitors from far and wide across the globe including Sri Lanka, India, Japan, Vietnam and China, for many of whom is their first contact with snow.

Gazing up Bourke Street (the main piste at the heart of the resort) from the village square, it’s clear that the lions share of visitors are jean-clad, snow virgin day trippers, ill-equipped in both clothing and competence, who undoubtedly selected the mountain experience from a brochure nestled between the Ned Kelly Last Stand and Melbourne Zoo experience in the Melbourne tourist office.

To expatiate the calamity, an alarming number of guests deem a lesson from the Ski & Snowboard School surplus to requirements (perhaps de-motivated by the escalating cost of their trip) and as a result spend their day sliding around on their derrieres as opposed to the base of their skis. Luckily for their bruised behinds, Mount Buller offers a selection of quaint cafes serving a selection of food including scrumptious soups and ‘glue-vine’ (or Vin Chaud as I prefer), paralleled with stunning views to warm the aching bones and rejuvenate spirits.

That is not to say Mount Buller attracts only first-timers as a large number of highly competent skiers, snowboarders and telemarkers dominate the mountain. Perhaps testament to Mount Buller’s own university which specialized in Outdoor Education (sadly the university closed in 2005 due to lack of funding), the exemplary Mount Buller Ski & Snowboard School or simply a wealth of knowledge learnt and shared amongst the local Victorians - whatever the secret is these Aussies command respect as a force to be reckoned with on the mountain.

With a total of 58 runs spread over a skiable area of 300 hectares, Mount Buller (and Australian ski resorts in general) simply cannot compete with the worlds great ski hills as found in North America and the European Alps but what it lacks in challenging terrain and size it more than makes up for in charm. A plenitude of pisted runs have been carved into the hill, accessible through a well maintained lift system, which whilst rarely exceeding a 25 degree incline on even the black graded runs, provides a wide selection of high-speed, snow gum gladed skiing and some fun bumps and mini cliff drops for the more adventurous rider.

The weather is a little hit and miss with a mixture of glorious blue-bird days quickly followed by icy cold, winds that make it a struggle to free yourself from the comfort of your bed; days of heavy snowfall which can be immediately followed by driving rain which can demolish the shallow base. The 2006 season was a dismal year with at best only 50% of the runs skiable, but with the bumper start to the 2007 and record snow falls received in the first 3 weeks of the season it looks set to be a cracker.

In addition to the pisted runs, Mount Buller hosts a World Cup class half-pipe and a total of 3 terrain parks offering a broad selection of rails, fun boxes and kickers to suit all abilities. This is undoubtedly the focus of the Australian snowboarding, reminiscent of the UK dry slope scene of the early 90s, being heavily influenced by urban skateboarding. I witnessed first hand beginner and expert alike attempting to ride the rails to varying degrees of success, some even before they could successfully initiate a turn which demonstrates the focus for these wannabe gnarly jib kids. Without the deep and steep terrain that makes all-mountain freeriding a possibility, the urban ised focus is hardly surprising.

With all these gnarly young folk about, the après ski scene is vibrant as ever with most descending on the local meat market known as ‘Hoo Hars’, though the sign above the door reads ‘Karura’. For those seeking the quieter life, the nearby villages of Murimbah and Merrijig nestled at the foot of the hill offer more sedate entertainment including hiking through the bush, sampling the local fungi and relishing in the abundance of wildlife including kangaroos, wallabies, wombats, parrots and cockatoos.

The evenings can be spent relaxing in front of a wood fire, or venturing to the Mill Inn and the recently renovated Merrijig pub, which if you believe local legend is said to serve the best steaks in the world by none other than the Cherie Blair. Having sampled their 14oz Porthouse Rump I have my doubts as to the dexterity of the UK premiere’s wife’s palette.

Aside from booze-riddled antics, Mount Buller offers a packed calendar of entertainment on and off the hill for all ages with activities ranging from tobogganing to live music to indoor climbing. An exciting prospect approaches in mid-July for the up-and-coming jib kids with a few wild card places up for grabs in Mount Buller’s own star-studded snowboard rail jam, which is set to attract Australia’s best riders to dazzle the crowds with their well-dialed nose presses, board slides and other mind blowing tricks. An impromptu session in the park this week brought out the best in the local riders – amazing what the presence of an impressive looking SLR camera can do to install the ‘Kodak Courage’.

A worthy note for the more eco-minded visitor, a rather damning report on the ski hill’s environmental footprint has prompted an investment in excess of $5 million AUD in the worlds first class A water-from-waste recycling system. Once the project is completed in 2008, it will deliver up to 90 millions liters of water for a range of uses including an ever expanding snow-making operation and for use in the countless hotels and lodges dotted around the village. The project is already delivering huge benefits with a significant reduction in the use of piped and natural spring water, something which the residents of the local area and further a field will be overjoyed to see having lived through a 7 year drought and ever pressing water restrictions. It makes you think twice before taking a mouthful of snow to quench your thirst but I am assured it is quite safe, in small quantities at least.

The only downside to visiting Mount Buller for the tourist is the cost. For the same as one weeks skiing at the resort including the Park entry fee ($29 plus $6 per night), lift pass ($92 per day), ski rental (approximately $40 per day) and accommodation (available from $50 per night), one could take a trip across the Tasman to the Southern Alps in the South Island of New Zealand which boasts more challenging terrain and a significantly better snow record. Perhaps the multi-millionaire property tycoon owner should consider reducing his profit margin, though the ski industry is a capitalist business like any other so expect no compromise.

Will Mount Buller ever feature on the international ski map? I doubt it. Yes it rains, yes many days will be spent scraping across bullet-proof blue glass ice, and yes you might find yourself at times dodging patches of grass and out of control Sri Lankans but given it’s day (and 2007 has already delivered 2 powder days of 20cm plus) the mountain opens up with some superb quality runs and off-piste action. And if all else fails you can go hit the park! What it lacks in vertical drop and the ‘deep and step’ terrain typical of the North American resorts, it more than makes up for in rustic charm and a friendly down-to-earth attitude that is sadly lacking in an industry tainted by snobbery. If that’s not enough the sheer convenience of being located just 3 hours drive from Australia’s 2nd largest city will ensure Mount Buller will continue to grow into the 21st Century. Bully for you, Buller!

Bully for you remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Anyhow, this is a fleeting visit for only 1 month to see some friends (specifically Heike) and fill in the gaps that I missed on my previous visit, a short stay partly because there's a whole world afresh out there to be explored but mostly down to NZ Immigration who weren't playing ball at all by initially refusing entry into the country as no record of my working visa could be found, further they had not seen or heard of an electronic visa document before and practically accused me of falsifying an official document - not a great start. To rub salt into the wounds they then flatly refused to extend my work visa as apparently once you have the visa beit for 6, 12 or whatever months it cannot be extended. Bah humbug! I took this as an omen that it was time to make this the final goodbye (for the time being atleast) and set about enjoying myself instead.

So I lived in a campervan for the first 3 weeks, back to the familiar ground of sleeping where you choose, but seemingly no matter where you park you awake in the glare of the midday sun, the van super-heated such that you can feel your fat slowly bubbling under the skin, internal combustion just around the corner.

We kick off with a bang with the usual hedonism of Auckland at the Fat Camel; times have changed and there are many new faces but still the same old antics. To my dismay spanking has become a faux pas which used to be the bread and butter of a good session in the bar - bringing the old world to the new it seems has its challenges, times change and the rules of engagement with it. I feel like a relic of the past despite the fact it was only 3 months ago - how fickle the hostel lifestyle is. (I'm sure there's a valuable metaphor in there somewhere.)

What better way to celebrate your arrival with a mash-up of Brazilian junglistic beats courtesy of DJ Marky and some melodic vocal tones of the UK's own Stamina MC. Before you question it, I'm proud to say Auckland is a leader in the southern hemisphere for drum and bass with low frequency rumblings coming from clubs like Fubar, 4:20 and The Studio cranking out the wibbly-wobbly, poo-tish rhythms on a weekly basis, attracting big name DJs like Marky, Andy C, Ed Rush & Optical as well the local talent. The kiwis go mad for it and the party rocks on till the early hours, so much energy generated from Marky like I'd never seen before - this guy truly loves his dnb and was dancing harder than anyone in the club and performing gravity defying scratch antics that bamboozled the glazed onlookers

Perhaps the readily available supply of legal party pills caught him by suprise

I needed some quick cash to fund the next couple of weeks ventures and luck would have it I stumbled across a job prepping a yacht The Irishman for charter - scrubbing the decks, loading boxes, erm eating pizza & drinking beer.

The Irishman, picture courtesy of http://www.centralyachtagent.com

The Irishman like many others docked in Auckland harbour is registered to the Marshall Islands- a little known archipelago about 2,500kms north-east of Papua New Guinea. It has an interesting history that I thought appropriate to share...

Initially occupied by the Micronesians and since governed by Spain, Germany, Britain and Japan, they eventually became a U.S. trust territory after WWII. In their wisdom, the U.S. conducted a total of 23 atomic and hydrogen bomb tests between 1946 and 1958 on the islands of Bikini and Eniwetok (the inhabitants were generously relocated to another island first). Despite cleanup attempts, the islands remain uninhabited today because of nuclear contamination.

In 1986, the United States and the Marshall Islands signed a Compact of Free Association, which meant the islands became self-governing but would receive U.S. military and economic aid, roughly $65 million a year. In return for this support the region hosts a large US military base which allegedly still conducts weapons testing in the area, and the islands have become a tax free haven with an unknown number of US individuals & businesses (including the Irishman's yacht charter holding company) hosting their accounts here. I wonder if the local people with a per capita income of $1,600 see much of this benefit. Keep an eye out for this flag:

The job on the irishman led on to bigger and better things as I embarked on a short-lived career as a maritimer, working for Global Yacht Finishers sanding, painting etc. It was hard work but very rewarding being outside on the harbour and working on some truly magnificant boats including the pride of Team NZs race fleet NZ41, and the America's Cup competitor BMW Oracle. I felt truly part of the City of Sails for the first time.

NZ41 & 42, picture courtesy of http://www.sailnz.co.nz

BMW Oracle, picture courtesy of http://bmworacleracing.com

For any traveller needing some quick cash on arrival in Auckland, I'd recommend trying the docks (no hello sailor euphemism implyed) - simply walk around, ask anyone and everyone for casual work and you'll find something will turn up if you're persistent, plus most of the work is cash in hand, no questions asked, wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean, say no more etc etc.

So on to the travel......

Raglan

Nestled on the Waikato coast west of Hamilton, tiny Raglan has achieved legendary status as a surf mecca. Ever since Manu Bay featured in the 1966 surfing movie classic Endless Summer, surfers have made a beeline for Raglan’s south breaks with their perfect peelers and long joyrides. Just 8km from Raglan, Manu Bay is claimed to be longest left-hand break in the world, where on the right day when the breaks are linking up, you can cruise for up to 2km. Neighbouring Whale Bay, once a peaceful sanctuary for Maori warriors, also boasts a fine left-hand point break with great hollow waves. Head a kilometre offshore and you’ll find The Indicators, another superb left-hand point break that serves up the area’s largest barrels. Besides the excellent surfing Raglan has breathtaking scenery and dramatic coastline with some great fush and chups shops in town making it a top place to visit.

Piha

Just north of Auckland in the Waitakere Ranges is another beautiful surf town called Piha. A 10 minute drive to south of Piha brings you to Karekare Beach, New Zealand, where 'The Piano' directed by Jane Campion and winner of the Prix d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival was filmed. The surf was cranking on the day of my visit with even some barrels up for grabs. There's a nice little trek onto the rocky point towards the Piha end of the beach where you can soak yourself in the waves that erupt through a gully. If you do visit here, beware of sandal thieves as some desperate sole (hee hee) stole mine that I left outside the van whilst taking an afternoon nap - I do pity the thief as they smelt worse than a stagnent pond.

Taranaki

Next up a visit to one of New Zealand's most understated and consequently under visited regions - Taranaki. It's curious as to how it has reached this position as the enigmatic images of the region dominated by a forbading dormant volcano Mount Taranaki (or Mount Egmont if you refer to it by it's given name by the imperialist European invaders) are iconic to New Zealand. Even the dizzy heights of Tom Cruise coming to town in 2003 to film The Last Samurai (in which Mt Taranaki stood in as a stunt double for Mount Fuji) was not enough to put the place on the map. (Incidently, Mr Cruise did a lot of good in his 4 months stay, raising $14,000 for a local school shelter and a donation to an Auckland youth drug charity, such that he was adorned with the loving title Tominaki.)

Warnings cast aside, I headed off to New Plymouth trying my hand at hitch hiking which turned out to be a breeze and a great way to meet local people. En route south from Auckland I passed through Te Kuiti which is the self-proclaimed sheep shearing capital of New Zealand. To prove this point if the constant stream of sheep transporters passing down through wasn't enough, they have constructed the world's largest shearer - a seven metre high monument depicting what I think is a man decapitating a sheep with some kind of medieval torture device.

Just opposite the petrol station on the junction is Te Tokanganui-A-Noho marae which has some stunning carvings on the facade.

Heading further south, I caught a ride with some young surfers from Tauranga to the next main town en route and the base for my stay - New Plymouth. Rumoured to be a troublesome town with problems with alcholics and an active division of the Mongrel Mob, I found New Plymouth to an attractive, laid back and friendly town. All over town can be found work by Len Lye, a local artist who made his name creating kinetic sculptures. The highlights include the infamous Wind Wand - a 45m lamp post that bends and sways in the breeze. Well worth a visit to the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery where you can find more of his creations. warning - do not attend the sound exhibit with a hangover!

January marks the annual Festival of Light and the town becomes alive at night with free concerts in the park and a dazzling array of fairy lights, lazers and displays adorning the local park. (Not that they forgot to take the Christmas decorations down as I first thought.)

and now for the real reason I came.....

Mehema koe ka tuoho, meinga ki te maunga tetei.

If you should bow to greatness, let it be to a lofty mountain

Standing at an impressive 2,518m, the volcano of Mount Taranaki dominates the entire region and is visible on a clear day (which is rare) from as far away as Tongariro National park in the east and Waitotara in the south. The peak is seemingly always shrouded in cloud however this tends to hang on one side meaning if it's hidden from the north, the chaps in the south have a clear view. The last evidence of volcanic activity on the mountain occurred around 1755, more than 250 years ago.

I was always enjoy the Maori version of the shaping of land, Mount Taranaki's is a sad yet romantic tale....

Te Maunga o Taranaki (Mount Taranaki) once lived in the centre of New Zealand's North Island with other mountain gods: Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe. Nearby stood the lovely maid Pihanga with her cloak of deep green bush, and all the mountain gods were in love with her.

What had been a long, peaceful existence for the mountain gods was disturbed when Taranaki could no longer keep his feelings in control and dared to make advances to Pihanga. A mighty conflict between Tongariro and Taranaki ensued, which shook the foundations of the earth. The mountains belched forth their anger and darkness clouded the sky.

When peace finally came to the land, Tongariro, considerably lowered in height, stood close by Pihanga's side. Taranaki, wild with grief and anger, tore himself from his roots with a mighty wrench and left his homeland.

Weeping, he plunged recklessly towards the setting sun, gouging out the Whanganui River as he went and, upon reaching the ocean, turned north. While he slumbered overnight, the Pouakai Range thrust out a spur and trapped Taranaki in the place he now rests.

source: http://www.newplymouthnz.com

Any attempt to climb this beast is an arduous affair as any who have climbed a volcano can testify with a relentless 30 degree wall of scree that covers the upper slopes. In addition, the potentially icy conditions and fast changing weather systems make the climb hazardous with a slip at the wrong moment resulting in a ride down one of the many cliffs and gullies - many ill prepared climbers have met their maker as a result.

Departing the DOC center at the lazy hour of 9am, I'v reached the 'mid point' by 10:30 which commands a stunning view across the Taranaki plateau across to Mount Ruapehu in the distance.

As expected, the climb gets much more difficult on the upper reaches and on clearing the well maintained wooden tramping boards which protect the fauna, it's up onto the pumous scree slopes for some one step forward, two steps back action. With lots of atino rangatiratanga (self determination), I harness the power of Taranaki and power through, scrambling over the razor sharp lava flow that covers the upper cone and to the summit. An exhilerating climb and what a view.

....surfs up

Taranaki’s wild coastline dishes up some of the country’s best surf with epic drops, fast barrels and a host of adrenalin-pumping rides within an hour’s drive of the city centre. Just south of New Plymouth, the beautiful coastal resort of Oakura Beach attracts surfers with good sandbank breaks at high tide, while near the tiny township of Warea, Stent Road is one of New Zealand’s undisputed surfing hot spots. Heavy swells pound this boulder-strewn bay from most directions, creating consistently good surf and a superb right-hander that breaks over a shallow reef.

All these factors attracted the 2007 Hyundai National Surf Championships which as luck would have it started on the day I arrived in New Plymouth. The event was held at one of 3 breaks depending on the swell that day - Graveyards, Stent Road, or Rocky Point - all within 15kms of each other. Twenty eight year old maori Daniel Kereopa of Raglan has today won the Open Men’s Division which kept the east coast crew quiet for a change. A ery enjoyable 2 days were spent masquerading as Surf NZ freelance photographer sneaking free bbq food and a couple of beers.

On the way back to Auckland, I was lucky enough to be taken to a Maori tungi (funeral) by the chap who gave me a lift. Only first stopping off at his friends for a cup of tea and some spots (no explanation forthcoming). It was real honour to be able to attend this ceremony. I was asked not to talk about it so that tale ends here.

Rainbow Warrior

i te kore, ki te po, ki te ao marama

from nothing, into the darkness, into the world of light

One last burning desire to satisfy but this one lies not in the upper atmos but 27 metres beneath the waves. Located in the Bay of Islands close to the town of Pahia, the Greenpeace ex-flag ship The Rainbow Warrior lies upright on the ocean floor close to Motutapere Island. How it got here is an interesting tale and another test of Anglo-French relations....

On the 10th of July 1985 at 23:49, French Secret Service agents bombed and sank the Rainbow Warrior whilst she was docked in Auckland harbour. Greenpeace protestors had been preparing her for departure to Moruroa Atoll in the South Pacific where the French were planning continued nuclear testing. Two limpet mines were attached to the hull and exploded within two minutes of one another resulting in the death of Portuguese photographer Fernando Pereira.

The French initially denied any involvement even though more than a dozen secret service agents were in the country at the time. After increased pressure and a failed attempt to blame Mi6 for the attack, the French Prime Minister Laurent Fabius finally admitted that the French Secret Service had been ordered to sink the Rainbow Warrior. Two agents held in Auckland took the fall, and were charged with arson and murder and sentenced to 10 years imprisonment. The French were ordered to pay New Zealand $13 million NZ dollars and apologise. The two agents found guilty were sent to French Polynesia to Hao Atoll to serve their short sentences in paradise. These sentences were unlikely to have been completed and it's much more likely that these agents were back in France before the year was out.

The Rainbow Warrior was re-floated after the attack and finally transported to Motutapere Island where she has become an artificial reef attracting an abundance of wildlife and divers alike.

The ships hull is still remarkably intact with the bow rails provide a picturesque backdrop for photographers, the Greenpeace emblem of the white dove of peace still visible at stern and the blast hole in the keel is still clearly visible on the starboard side. Despite promises of other websites we found it impossible to fully penetrate the wreck to explore further as a tangle of wires and cables were criss crossed across the entrance to the hull on the upper deck making this a hazardous opportunity.

Now covered in colourful pink and blue anemones, the wreck attracks a great deal of marine life - leatherjackets, demoiselles, snappers and wrasses followed us as we headed from the stern mooring to the bow. The kelp gardens that covered the ship flowed back and forth in the surge and white growths like bonsai trees protruded from the hull and rails. A flash of colour attracted our attention and lights revealed purple and white Jason mirablis & Tambja Tambja verconis nudibranchs in the branches of the hydroids and on the rails.

So, with all the fun and adventure done, before I left NZ for Australia I finally completed and launched what I can only describe as the greatest job search website for backpackers on this earth that has ever been and ever will be - honestly, it will change your life AND make you more attractive to the opposite sex, check it out - http://www.joblink.net.nz. It was probably the poorest paid job I'd ever undertaken having earnt more as a butchers hand at the spritely age of 15 but I was happy to finally have it done.

E noho rā for now, see you in Australia.

Aotearoa Again... remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The flight takes us north over the Tasman Sea, flying directly over Sydney Harbour and the barron red landscape of the Australian outback, across the Java Sea to Singapore. The stop off gives me chance to acclimatize to the heat/humidity which is a massive shock and I sweat buckets, that and explore the city a little. I’m trying to find something good to say but to me it’s just another big gleaming cosmopolitan city - big business rules and the little people are dwarfed like a scene from Blade Runner with a face lift. The highlight for me was being turfed out of Raffles Hotel (birth place of the Singapore Sling) for an inappropriate dress code, free internet at the homestay, cheap camera equipment hyper markets (a new wide angle lense add-on) and the walk along the Singapore River promenade and the impressive Esplanade Theatre. Other than that the airport is very nice, but I hear that the island Pulau Ubin above Changi is more the authentic Singapore so I’ll check that out on my return.

The next day I fly into Denpasar on the sunny island of Bali, back tracking half the distance I traveled the day before, silly the way things work but at least I’m making a healthy contribution to global warming. I do hate the cold ; o) The airport is not actually in Denpasar at all so I don’t know why they say that, the closest city is Kuta which my home for the next couple of days. It’s a manic place so where better to say than the Bali Manic homestay, an ironic name as it’s down a little side street off Poppies II which makes it quite the peaceful retreat. The first night I take a stroll along the beach and discover it’s a good place to pick up a gay lover (run away!), that and be bitten by impossibly small red ants that hurt like hell. I try to head home but am sucked into the Bali hedonism meeting up first with some Indo-long timers discovering the power of Bintang beer, then onto the Reggae Club with live band and downing sickly sweet shakers of Illusion, then onto a club by which time I’m so drunk the name or music doesn’t matter anymore. The rest is a blur.

I awake mid-morning with a stinking hangover and realize the importance of stocking up with water before going out. It’s nothing that a day at the beach can’t cure tho so I team up with my new buddy Tobias from Sweden and we head to the beach picking up a whale of a surf board on the way. The waves are pretty tame which is good news as I’m scared of ripping my arm out of it’s socket but to my surprise it holds up a dream and I can paddle like a champ, not full strength but then again it never was so I’m stoked, dude.

The next morning I explore Kuta and the culture shock hits home – everything is missing a price tag and bartering is the way, constant offers of transport, buy this or that, massage/marriage, ah you wear sunglasses mister maybe you need another pair, t-shirts starting at 150,000 Rupiah and ending up for 2,000 Rupiah. I arrive home with some flip-flops with a shelf life of about 10 minutes, a necklace made of the finest plastic, and manicured nails (hands & feet), all that and an empty pocket. It’s all a bit much but I can laugh at my own vulnerability. Put in context blowing the equivalent of 20 quid is not that bigger deal but I’ll need to sharpen up and get to know the costs of stuff.

After recommendations of just about all that come to Indonesia I arrange a trip to Gilli Trawanga situated off the north-east coast of Lombok (the next island east of Bali), promising myself to return to Bali to fully explore. It’s a tourist trip which works out a 10x the cost than local buses (175,000 Rp) but I feel like treating myself (again). We start with a mini bus to Padangbai then a ferry across to Lembar where I meet my companions for the next week - 3 dutch brothers one of whom (Eddie) was born in Bodor just south of Jakarta (George Bush visited their this month), adopted at 4 years old moving to Amsterdam. It was really a home coming trip and they have many great tales of traveling through in the wilds of Java. Also meet a group of Brits between the ages of 21 and 60 who are doing an overland trip from London to Darwin (Australia) – wow! (See http://www.buckden-village.co.uk for details of their trip.) On the journey I ponder how the next month will work out I begin to hatch a plan to work my way East quick sharp and explore fully on the way back, we’ll see.

After docking I meet the travel agent to arrange the return ferry who insists my name is Phillips (like the light bulb) and we switch to a minibus cruising through stunning plantations, jungle highlands and dodging road-side monkeys to a small port called Bangsal to catch the boat to Gilli Trawangan. I’m hustled into buying some repellant for man eating, malaria carrying mosquitoes that of course don’t exist but at least the impact on the wallet is getting less with experience. Ha ha!

Gilli Trawangan is a beautiful little island – white sand beaches, palm trees, crystal clear water and reminds me of Fiji. It proves a great place to chill out and I discover the meaning of ‘Pilam Pilam’ (take it easy) with 3 days quickly turn into a week – snorkeling with turtles, relaxing on the beach, supping on a Bintang, surfing, boat trips around the islands and some night time antics - a sign on the main strip reading ‘Bloody F*cking Strong Mushrooms For Sale Here’ says it all. With no police on the island (except those here to party) every imaginable drug is available from marijuana to ecstasy to magic mushrooms. It’s all good fun until you realize the impact it’s had on the largely transient locals who it seems this is all they do for work and play, quite sad really. Anyhow the Bintang is great, local whiskey kicks ass and I discover my first Indonesian cuisine Nasi Goreng. Hmmm!

Also great to see money being spent by Project Aware (the PADI affiliate) who invest here in coral reef rejuvenation with the aid of electrified metal grids and a turtle sanctuary. It’s great to see and the local dive shops are happy with the extra trade, plus the extra income they get, very positive indeed! I’m not sure it should extend to collecting giant clams from other dive sites that you can now see off the north of Gilli Air but there you go.

After 7 days chilling to sub zero temperatures it’s time to head back to Lombok, stopping first to abuse the mosquito scam guy is trying to pull the same trick on a new batch of tourists. On the way through the highlands, the door of our overloaded bus decides to open and an English girls falls out onto the road. She’s ok, a little shaken with cuts, bruises and suspected broken wrist but it could have been much worse – yet another thing to check before getting on a bus, and don’t believe the re-assurance of travel agents who talk of responsibility as ours washed his hands clean of this quick sharp.

By the time we arrive in Mataram, I’ve decided to head east to Sumbawa. I’m dissuaded by a motorbike driver not to buy from travel agency for trips on other islands, instead to take the local bus. I already knew it’s much cheaper this way and perhaps a more rewarding experience but a new ingredient for the mix is that the ticket may not even by valid when you arrive. OK, so his advice is to trust nobody which turns out to be sound as he then rips me off for some unauthentic locally grown tobacco. I wonder if I can trust myself, or my instincts, but that might get confusing as I might try to double bluff myself which in turn might become a double negative. I decide damage limitation is the best way forward for now until I can resolve this conundrum.

Now alone once again I take a bus to the port of Labuhan Lombok then a ferry to Poto Tano, Sumbawa followed by another bus to the town of Dompu. The latter leg of the journey is in darkness so I miss the apparently glorious countryside which is a shame but perhaps I’ll see it on the return journey.

I arrive in the village of Legara 6kms east of Dompu at 2am where I’ve arranged to stay with the family of the travel agent from Mataram. I realize my error when the bus speeds away leaving the taste of dust in my mouth that I don’t know the family name let alone where to find their house and panic sets in. After what seems like hours but actually was a matter of minutes, from out of the darkness I hear a voice calling ‘Phillips’ and relief washes over me.

The family welcome me with open arms and after a good nights sleep and a refreshing bath in the river I meet all 22 members of the family and I tell stories of my travels, share fresh fruit and tobacco, teach the children some English and I learn some Bahasa. It’s a very rewarding experience and the frustrations of the deception the day before are gone.

Time flies by and it’s soon time to head off the Hu’u to the world famous surf mecca Lakey Beach. I travel on the back of a motorbike with a full backpack and discover a new level of pain and perhaps an effective treatment for cellulite removal.

Lakey Beach features on the Pro World Surf Tour offering 3 stunning surf breaks within paddling distance of the beach – Lakey Peak, Lakey Pipe and err, Lakey Something Else. I’m a little cocky thinking my snowboarding skills and extensive 5 days surfing experience will carry me through but I soon get my ass kicked and reside to shore. The quality of the surfers is unbelievable with riders representing from all over the world including Brazil, France, US and England (hooray!) but all are outshined by the locals (mainly 9 to 13 year olds). I’m thinking maybe I should have saved this place for when I can actually surf, too much too soon perhaps.

I try my hand at surf photography; my camera is on the way out so only a few pictures work out but some good results nonetheless. I now have absolute respect for those guys in the water as the optimum place to be is also the place for maximum wave power destruction and at times I think I’m going to drown under the relentless >2m swell.

I befriend a local guy (Brum) who invites me to eat with him that evening, providing I pay for the food, not a problem. When the shopping list begins with 2 whole tuna fish (a snip at 25,000 Rp) I realize that it’s not just the two of us dining tonight but I go along with the plan. I spend a total of 100,000 Rp (6 UKP) which includes some Bintang and local wine to wash down the meal. As I expected we’re feeding all his friends and it turns into a real party and Brum begins to act strange as it becomes obvious of his scheme. I explain to Brum earlier I knew what was happening from the start and their was no need to try to con me into it, it’s only 6 quid to me after all and was well worth it to make the party – I would have done the same if he’d been honest. He gets quite upset and tells me it’s just the way it is here - if you don’t do it you go hungry which is really sad that he’s forced into lying to survive. But then again, maybe if I/all tourists didn’t he would have to make a trade and become independent, it’s very difficult to know what is best to do.

With my surf bug fulfilled or more like quashed under the awesome power of the Lakey Breaks its the to head off to Flores to seek a life long dream of meeting a Komodo Dragon face to face in its natural setting. I take the easy option of a car with the owner of the hotel to Sape, again a pricey affair at 200,000 Rp where I can catch a ferry to Lambuan Bajo, the main port on Flores. We pass through more spectacular scenery; barren sun burnt red landscapes turn into lush, green irrigated farmland with paddy fields and populated by Raedon-esque characters and water buffalo, salt farms and some villages with traditional rice drying huts on stilts.

We arrive in Sape to discover I’ve missed the boat (story of my life) by only 1 hour, bad information from the locals. With time to kill I catch up on some rest and take some time to learn and practice Bahasa. Very proud of myself, I take a shopping trip to buy a mosquito net (kelambu) and using Pictionary skills and some broken Bahasa I manage to find one for only 20,000 Rp, that and trade some unwanted underwear for some mangos. I meet up with some French travelers who fell to the same fate as myself of bad information and have to turn back as no time to see Komodo before their flight home. I’m introduced by the owner of the hotel as an Indonesian travel expert; I try not to laugh but perhaps my new hard nosed approach I role played when I arrived is working.

So I take the ferry for a bargain price of 39,0000 Rp for an 8 hour journey across the Flores see, alone once again except for the 1000 or so people packed on the boat that is. And so a new adventure begins...

First Steps in South-East Asia remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Firstly the shoulder saga. After much internal turmoil and a worldwide internet referendum, I agreed to be treated in New Zealand. The travel insurance company came up with the goods and coughed up a metaphorical blank cheque (apparently it was cheaper than flying me home – ha ha wait till they see the final bill). With some cunning bargaining and emotional blackmail by an ex-pat doctor named Andrew Tyson, I was referred to one of the best orthopedic surgeons currently operating in New Zealand - Dr Clayton Brown .

With a little pressure applied I was fast-tracked through and on the 3rd August after only 8 weeks after first visiting the doc, surgery was to be done at MercyAscot Hospital escorted on the day by my old friend Andrew Sammut who’d popped into town to amuse himself at my approaching disability.

The hospital was more like a hotel, thankfully missing the rank disinfectant smell that fills the corridors of NHS hell that somehow makes me faint (Haggis – remember Brixton BMX track incident). After de-robing I met my pilot and landing crew (Anesthetist) for today’s flight was Psycho Steve who delivered a brachial plexus block (the stranger) followed by a General anaesthetic and I was out for the count.

I've no idea what happened next but here's what the doc said:

There was some capsular redundancy, and therefore due to the fact that I wanted to tighten the anterior capsule it was decided to perform an open approach through a short deltopectoral incision taking the conjoined tendon medially and exposing the subscapularis which was taken down as a rectangular exposing the labral defect. This was fashioned using an elevator and repaired using twin fix anchors and an excellent labral repair was achieved from superior to inferior.

I guess that means it went well.

(full report available here if you can make any sense of it let me know

I awoke with a drain coming from my shoulder with blood dripping down into the attached bottle. Another tube running into my neck attached to a bag labeled PainBuster© with a plunger attached – self-administered medication, I like it. In my left-arm is a drip with other substances being fed intravenously, I’m beginning to feel like a lab rat but before I can climb out of bed and bolt for freedom the nurses are upon me and with a squeeze of the plunger I drift of to Never-Never land.

Over the next 12 hours I followed pretty much the same pattern, only in the glimpses between slumber I endured some frighteningly realistic hallucinations with all manner of people entering my private room and surrounding my bed, some dead, some alive, but all highly talkative and some abusive. Not enjoying the morphine at all now. Sleep, please.

I was discharged the next morning, after an assisted shower with an attractive Kiwi nurse (arm pits are very hard to wash one-handed you know – try it!!) The days that followed were pretty crazy with mad hallucinations from the Morphine & Tremadol. Irrational, short tempered, mood swings – I was worried I was going to grow breasts next. The PainBuster© ran out after 3 days I went into Morphine withdrawal, not surprising after a continual supply of the stuff for the last 72 hours. Removing the Painbuster was quite amusing discovering that under the plaster on my neck was a 6 inch tube that ran straight down the main vein to my arm (thanks for removing that Andrew!). Anyhow, that night I took what proved to be my last Morphine night cap - the trip was that bad I couldn’t face a repeat and flushed the rest away. It was time for recovery not soma holidays and I figured the pain was all part and parcel of the process.

So 3 months and $24,000 (₤8,000) later, I’m pretty much fixed up with all but a 3 inch scar on the front of my right shoulder. The official physiotherapy has fallen by the way side a little but good news the self-diagnosed alternative remedies seem to be working great. Now I’m ready to get back on that horse and start breaking things again - another 3 months time and I’ll be ready to strap on my trusty snowboard once more, yay!

What else? Free from the hassles of normal daily life, I needed something to occupy my mind. The first week at The Fat Camel (my home in Auckland) I spent being a good tourist visiting the tourist attractions, taking walks, chatting and eating with my room mates. I bought myself a new camera, stepping up the game with a digital SLR Nikon D50 plus a 70-300mm telephoto lense and set about cataloguing the city in 2D. Anything but step into the Hostel bar as I knew what would happen if I succumbed.

I held out for 1 week until the first Friday in June when the Fat Camel held it’s AJ Hackett Harbour Bridge Bungy challenge. Up steps camera geek here and volunteers to take pictures of the day. The pictures are amazing despite my amateurish skills and I burn a CD for all.

So how else to celebrate but with a pint, bought from each person, 12 people makes 12 pints. Oh dear, what a messy affair. Lets just say the truth serum worked it’s magic and before I knew it all knew my story and I was welcomed into the bosom of the Fat Camel and it’s alcoholic residents and became part of the furniture. (Andy – you did warn me, it happened, so wise, so wise.)

The marketing manager of the hostel, the infamous alcoholic Kate Cooper (she came to Auckland 2 years ago for a holiday and never left), loved the Bungy pictures so much she insisted that as her in-house professional (ha ha) photographer I’d be the perfect person to take the photos for the new Hostel Brochure and website. No problem, so with payment of a few nights free accommodation and a $50 bar tab (the first, definitely not the last) and did the job. Top banana, the pics are awesome and they get published in the brochure.

And there is born the game I played for the next 4 months – Live for Free! It’s simple really – a resident (non-traveling) traveler has 3 basic needs: accommodation, food, and entertainment (alcohol/substances). The object is of the game is easy – pay for nothing. You have to work of course but this can be kept to an absolute bare minimum (to nil) with some cunning ingenuity, general blagging and minor deception. One rule, any criminal activity (theft through deception from financially stable companies is ok) or actions that cause harm, upset or personal loss to a person are strictly prohibited! i.e. no bad karma.

So, here’s how I did:

>> Make friends with chef at the Hostel (Graham) - Free breakfast & evening meal

>> Taking photos for Hostel marketing - $50 bar tab per job plus 3 free nights accommodation

>> Working at reception – by far my worst ‘scam’ at only $11 per hour (before tax!), take home $320 per week. Fringe and soft benefits endless tho like being bought beers by ‘discounted’ guests, giving myself free nights or a double room on demand, printing free bar tabs, choosing who stays in my dorm (profile = Swedish, female, 21 etc etc)

>> Winning competitions in the bar – I only played killer or regular pool and became known as ‘Master of the Double’ or the ‘One Armed Wonder’. Winning earnt yourself a $30 bar tab, sky jump or bungy jump - I gave away both activities because of my arm but drank the bar tabs.

>> The Bottomless Bar Tab – win yourself a bar tab legitimately then use all but the last drink on it so it is never registered in the till. Then print a new one, fake the signature and use it again with a different bar tender. Free beer & bourbon, happy days!

>> Corrupt a bar tender – it didn’t require any influence from me as the bar tender in The Camel (Jace) was on self-destruct anyhow but nonetheless I made the most of it. He got the sack after 5 weeks of a 100% free bar.

>> Website Consultancy – The Fat Camel has two websites: one for the hostel; one for the bar – none of which anyone had a clue how to update. $30 bar tab for 1 hours work.

>> Network & PC maintenance – upgrading computers, installing programs, security patches etc, re-cabling, manage gateway, consolidation, selling old stuff on http://www.trademe.co.nz. 1 night accommodation for 1 hours work.

>> Re-write Travel Center’s website Joblink (http://www.joblink.net.nz) – essentially create a new ‘skin’, optimize the code, add some new features and launch the site. 1 night accommodation for 1 hours work, totaling 50 hours or so.

>> Promotions for Stray & Spaceships (http://www.straytravel.com) – officially I worked 40 hours promoting the Stray Free City Tour which earnt me a free South Island bus pass. Actually I did only 1.5 hours and instead promoted it when working the reception and recommending Stray to every hapless traveler.

>> Selling Stray and Magic bus passes – not officially part of my reception job but nice to help out. Each pass sold is rewarded with a $25 voucher, plus free beers, use of a Spaceship for trip to Piha etc.

>> Hang around on on Fort Street- I lived in the middle of the red light district with all kinds of social misfits, deviants and the legitimate side of the criminal world - talk to the right people. It’s amazing who I associated with ranging from bar tenders to pimps and prostitutes, all of whom can save your ass or make your night depending. Just re-pay the favours and all is sweet as.

But it’s not all work, work, work and there’s always plenty of time for fun. Oh boy there was a lot of that. From what I can remember, here’s the highlights:

>> World Cup – bloody germans! Reversed my body clock because of the time difference for 3 weeks – wake each night at 7pm, go to bed at 8am

>> Ireland Vs All Blacks – it seems an age ago now but in July I went to watch the mighty All Blacks at Eden Park. Not so mighty that night as Ireland almost sneaked a victory but great to watch. Shame about the torrential downpour but I had my first ‘meat stick’ so all good.

>> Porn Weekend – crazy sex, debauchery, hedonism and general indulgence like I’ve never seen before. Starting on the Wednesday with a midday topless porn star parade down the main street to promote the launch of Erotica Expo 2006.

Myself, Tony and Rob were snapped by a New Zealand Herald reporter and made it to page 2 of the national paper the next day!

Every night that week crazy parties went off with more sex, sleaze, mass indulgence of party pills (BZP) and alcohol, not just by us hostelites but seemingly by the entire population of Auckland. The highlight had to be Barry @ Base Bar’s Porn Night sporting a tiny ‘Sex Police’ uniform tanked on enough party pills to supply a Helter Skelter rave, hee hee.

>> Photos published in international press – my special friend Andrea De La Barra, ex-super sleuth reporter for the Metro in Chile wrote a news paper article about living in Auckland which was published. 4 of my pictures from taken around Auckland were used for the article – alas no money exchanged hands for the pictures but another one for the portfolio nonetheless.

>> Travel & Tourism Industry night – free booze and shenanigans at the expense of The Man. Always a crazy time especially after the punch hits the floor. Hosted by Little Jimmy (resident midget at The Globe Bar).

>> Soccer - unfortunate that we had to call it soccer but the roots began on Independence Day, hence US name 'soccer, but it just stuck from that. It started as a one off World Cup special but ran for a further 12 weeks such was the success. The brain child of myself, Chile (chris) and Tony...

>> Eastland - Bay of Plenty Road Trip

July 10th. I spent a few days with Gemma and her 2 friends Maggi and Shaheen travelling around the East Cape of New Zealand. Starting in Hawkes Bay, following Highway 35 around the coast road through Gisborne, Whangara, Tologa Bay (where Captain Cook landed in 1769), Hicks Bay, Whangaparaoa, Waihau Bay, Whakatane (out at sea smoke rises from the highly volcanic White Island) and back to Auckland via Mount Manganui and Tauranga.

By far the most beautiful places I’ve been to in New Zealand. It’s slight isolation and crumbling, wash outs (where the road crumbles away in a landlside) roads deter people on a tight schedule. The area is dominantly Maori, the only place in the country like it which makes it feel all the more real New Zealand.

Highlights of the trip were:

- The Beach north of Gisborne. Amazing surf and wind swept beaches. Even a cheeky dip in the sea.

- The longest pier in New Zealand. It was very long.

- Sunrise at the East Cape

A solo mission out to the most easterly point of New Zealand – The East Cape, according to the books I’d be the first person in the world to see the new day but I expect some of the islanders would dispute that. Anyway, I was still driving when the sun rose at just after 6am, just missed it.

A little despondent, I took a walk on the beach practically tripping over a seal trying to escape into the sea. I had stumbled into the middle of a seal colony. Amazing!

- Macadamia Nut Cafe

A cute place with a Macadamia nut orchard, a café making it’s own Macadamia & white chocolate chip cookies. The weather was glorious, a great setting, great view, great company, a great end to the trip.

>> Waikato & Rotorua Road Trip

A quick 3 day trip with Sinead (my friend from the Fat Camel). Starting in Waitomo for some some Black Water Rafting (clambering around underground caves in a wet suit and floating along underground streams on a rubber ring) and seeing the amazing Glow Worms.

Afterwards what better than a trip to the Angora Wool shop to see how they get the wool. Truly barbaric – the place the rabbit on what can only be described as a rack, then rotated like a pig on a spit roast and shaved of its valuable fur. We were shocked.

Across to Rotorua staying again at Hot Rocks Hostel, but first enjoying a dip in a secret outdoor Hot Spring 20kms out of town.

Visited Te Whakarewarewa thermal area with its amazing geysers and took in a traditional Maori performance in a Marau (meeting house).

Lastly, persuaded by Sinead we stopped at Wai Ora Spa for a mud bath and dip in the natural sulphur hot springs. It made my skin feel dry and my eyes red and sore for hours – I can’t see how this is a good thing but an experience nonetheless.

http://www.travellerspoint.com/photos/originals/47221/Sinead+Phi..p%20(113).jpg

Finally across to Whakatane. Next to the harbour stands a statue of Wairaka, the maori heroine who saved a bunch of kumara from floating away in a waka (canoe). Tried again to book a dive to White Island where you can see underwater steam vents, crazy big tube worms that thrive on the sulphur enriched water, a little pricy at $360 for 2-tank dive with hire of gear but apparently a once in a lifetime opportunity so why not. The answer, no trips running due to bad weather, pah.

On the drive back to Auckland we were treated to an awesome sunset. An explosive relationship with Sinead and we actually end up as worse enemies but sometimes things go this way.

>> Piha

A beautiful surf town only 2 hours drive West of Auckland yet so unspoilt (the local council has enforced a development freeze that looks set to last). Took a ride out there in a freebie Spaceship (people-carrier meets campervan, highly recommended!) courtesy of Craig from Stray. Took a nice stroll on the main beach, up and over to secret White Beach for a quick dip in the waters (brrr) before heading to the local pub for a slap-up ‘fush and chups’ dinner all in the company of great friends (Robin, Heike, Benno, oh and Shaneen. Perfect!

>> More photography

The kind people at http://www.travellerspoint.com selected 2 of my pictures (out of a total of approx 50,000) for their Photograph of the Year 2006 competition, the photos selected were not those I would have chosen but there you go. Unfortunately, I didn’t make the final 12 after an online vote but a great complement to be selected nonetheless.

I think I’ve found my new love and maybe a new career, I just need to figure out how to convert the pictures to cash and I’ll be a happy man. Answers on a postcard please…

Some other pics from around Auckland:

- city skyscapes

- getting to grips with shapes ;o)

- sports photography

- graffiti

>> Last but not least the endless crazyness in the Fat Camel hostel, endless drinks – jager bombs, tui’s exports, bourbons, illusions, tequila, black sambuca & drambui, happy hours, free drinks, party pills, breakbeat parties at Club Met, brothels, lap dancing and naked pool at The White House and Mermaids, pool games galore (one-handed killer champion no less). Such a great time here and the people so welcoming I’m sure some of us will meet again for sure. I’d list all the names but there’s just too many and they’re of no interest to the casual reader so why bother. Maybe I’ll get round to listing them one day, but a picture paints a thousand words….

So, it’s time to leave Auckland now that the arm is well on the mend and only 2 months ish left on my round the world ticket. (Hmm, I don’t thin k that’s long enough.) The south island remains virgin territory and I’ve hooked with some lovely Germans (yeah, they do exist) – Heike, Sandra and Benno Scheip from Stuttgart in one very special van. Another tale in the making to bring my stay in New Zealand to an end. Watch this space and thanks for reading.

Love & Peace

Phil x

Alive & Kicking in New Zealand remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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General anaesthetic and brachial plexus block and routine athroscopy performed. Findings at arthroscopy were of a normal rotator cuff and a detached labrum from just inferior to the biceps anchor to the 5 o'clock position on the glenoid labrum.

There was some capsular redundancy, and therefore due to the fact that I wanted to tighten the anterior capsule it was decided to perform an open approach through a short deltopectoral incision taking the conjoined tendon medially and exposing the subscapularis which was taken down as a rectangular exposing the labral defect. This was fashioned using an elevator and repaired using twin fix anchors and an excellent labral repair was achieved from superior to inferior.

The capsule was tightened inferiorly in a superior to lateral direction using No 2 Orthocord and the rotator interval was also lax and this was plicated.

The subscapularis was repaired with No 2 Orthocord and irrigation was followed by closure with a 2-0 Vicryl and 3-0 Monocryl over a Redivac drain.

Surgeons Report remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The Situation:

So I injured my right shoulder snowboarding in Canada and just received the results of the MRI scan and arthogram yesterday. It's not good news. The diagnosis...

a torn anterior and superioir labrum with a slight deformity of the anterior inferior margin of the glenoid consistent with a bony Bankart lesion.

In plain english I've torn the tendon that holds my arm in it's socket from the front round to the underside. (The back is intact and the mobility tendons are all good which is good news.)

To fix it requires anthroscopic surgery so the debate is where/when to have it done.

The Options:

1) Stay in New Zealand for the operation.

This involves around a 6 week wait for the operation, then 1 night in hospital, 10 days with no arm mobility afterwards then 3 months physio till it's fully recovered.

2) Fly home and get treated in the UK, then resume travels when I'm fixed up (all courtesy of the insurance company)

3) Ignore it and cary on travels (Indonesia in only 7 days time) and get it fixed later when I get back. That means an NHS waiting list, and no snowboarding this coming winter :o(

4) others??

The Timescales

48 hours to decide. Nothing like a bit of pressure eh!?

So what's it to be???? I look forward to hearing from youwith the rediculousor serious, all appreciated.

./l&p from a lost and troubled phileas

What would you do? remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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In the morning of the first day we headed down to Whakarewarewa Thermal Village - The Living Maori Thermal Village. Whilst a bit touristy, this was an enlightening experience into how the Māori use the thermal energy each day from bathing in the hot pools, to cooking in a pressure steam oven to disposing of their mother-in-laws in the mud pools. Chatting to a shop keeper, I discovered the first sign of the New Zealand government exploiting the local Māori people, boo hiss. Apparently the whole area was owned by the village including the famous Prince of Wales Feathers geyser, but this was grabbed from the village chief through exploiting his generosity and some underhand tactics. Now, access to this part of the site is owned by the government funded Māori Arts & Crafts Institute, vistors and residents of Whakarewarewa are banned from the site (unless you pay the $20 entry fee). Further I hear there are plans to oust the Māori people from the village to create a Disneyland type setup. Bad form New Zealand!

it wasn't me guvnor!

Prince of Wales feathers Geyser

Bubbling Mud Pools

With our new friend Yoshi in tow, we headed out to the Government Gardens to enjoy a spot of lunch on the banks of Lake Rotorua. Our lunch was hurried by the resident mosquitos enjoying their lunch feasting on our blood whilst the swallows enjoyed their lunch on said mosquitos. How nice to be at the bottom of the ecosystem for once.

With lunch barely settled in our stomachs, what better way to stir things up than to go Zorbing. Just about the only activity not covered by my travel insurance, this had to be worth the extortionate $50 price tag. Alas, it was all a bit tame - I was expecting a huge grassy hill to roll down out of control with maybe some jumps and bumps to send you flying, but there was only a choice of a short 40m straight run or a windy track with banked edges. Reservations placed aside, I handed over the credit card and gave it a go. It was fun, kind of like being in a padded cell with some water in the bottom and getting sloshed around a bit. You couldn't even see through the ball apart from the little porthole window so there was no clue you were actually moving. Ho hum, I guess I was hoping for more. A tick (or more like a X) in the box I guess.

Finally to fnish off a grandeuse day out, we headed down to one of the few attractions in the area, Kerosene Creek which was a natural hot spring out in the wilderness which you could bath in. Delightful!

A new day dawns and more crazy adventures await, this time it's White Water Rafting on Kaituna River. The wallet is beginning to hurt as much as my ageing body! What a blast tho! The rapids were tame to begin with but allowed us to get to grips with working as a team and paddling in time. The rapids increased in size and speed until we reached the grand finale - a class 5 rapid with a 7 metre drop down the Tutea Falls. I was to head to the back of the boat for better balance, which apparently is known as the catapult seat. With some brilliant and harmoniously coordinated paddling by the crew, we managed to sail off the top of the falls perfectly aligned, submerged the entire raft then boosted out of the water at 45 degrees. What a rush! It's pretty big and looks even bigger once you're down it, not sure I could do that in a kayak though apparently people do.

After a much needed dip in the hostels hot pool, a slap-up curry dinner the night before and a good nights kip, we were ready to step up the game for more adventures in Taupo (full name is Taupo-nui-a-Tia). With a population of 20,000 Taupo is a small city (hee hee) located at the north-east corner of Lake Taupo, and functions as a tourist centre, offering panoramic views over the Lake and Mountains to the south. The main purpose of the visit here was to exploit the cheapest skydiving to be had anywhere in the world - a snip at $139 for a single tandem jump. After some deliberation and a little pressure applied to Dushka, I couldn't get her to agree to jump so we instead we planned to settle in to things with a full day hike across the Tongariro Crossing.

The Tongariro Crossing in Tongariro National Park is one of New Zealand's most spectacular tramping tracks, designated one of the "great walks" by the Department of Conservation and might very well be the best one-day walk in New Zealand. The crossing passes over volcanic terrain along the slopes of the active volcanoes Mt Ngauruhoe, Mt Ruapehu and Mt Tongariro, some of which can be climbed weather permitting but alas the first snowfall of the year had hit only 2 weeks earlier meaning that ice picks and crampons were a must - far too serious for these part timers.

It was an early start to the day, picked up at 6.15am from our hostel with a good hour drive out to the start of the trail at the Mangatepopo Hut. In the background you can see Mount Ruapehu , spectacular!

Continuing at a gentle gradient the main track climbs alongside a stream and around the edges of old lava flows which leads to a short side track leads to Soda Springs - an oasis for the moisture loving yellow buttercups and white foxgloves. The track then climbs steeply up from the valley to Mangatepopo Saddle up The Devils Steps, finally ending up between Mount's Ngauruhoe(pictured) and Tongariro.

The track continues along a poled route across South Crater with the ever growing coned peak of Mount Ngauruhoe looming over us.

Across the crater is a ridge leading up Red Crater with an amazing view over Central Crater & Blue Lake (aka Te Wai-whakaata-o-te-Rangihiroa - Rangihiro's Mirror)

.

You can smell the sulphur, evidence that Red Crater is still active.
From the summit of Red Crater (1886m), the highest point on the Tongariro Crossing, the track descends down to three water filled explosion craters called the Emerald Lakes. Their brilliant greenish colour is caused by minerals which have leached from the adjoining thermal area.

The track continues over Central Crater to Blue Lake then sidles around the flanks of North Crater, descending to Ketetahi Hut where you are bowled over by a stunning view over Lake Taupo. I thought I was looking at the coast line the lake is that big.

Finally, below Ketetahi Hut the track continues down through tussock slopes to the forest bushline into cool podocarp-hardwood forest provides a final contrast on the long descent to the roadend to a much needed rest.

And finally, if that wasn't spectacular enough, we were treated to a fine Sunset over Lake Taupo which was almost enough to make me cry. All that followed by a few beers in the evening watching the Hurricanes (Wellington's Super 14 Rugby Union team) beat some happless Aussies in the super cup Semi's. What a day, what a day!

The next morning, a renewed effort was made to do the omninous skydive but alas the weather was not on our side so all jumps were off. Ho hum. After a quick dip in another natural hot spring, (this one fed into the mouth of a river allowing you to vary the temperature of your bathe from scolding hot to freezing cold with a simple stroke) it was time to jump ship and head south to Wellington, passing by the spectacular Mount Ruapehu (which hoasts the Whakapapa ski area).

Arriving in Wellington on a Sunday afternoon, it was time to meet up with an old friend. I can't write about it here,it was quite emotional and the tears might short circuit the keyboard. Anyhow, here we are catching up over a nice pint of Speights (no cider in sight!!):

Only a couple of days in Wellington, taking in the sights at Te Papa museum and generally moching about town. I think I was at last discovering with the guiding hand of Dushka how to take things easy without feeling the need to rush off and do stuff. I was trying atleast.

Only a brief visit this time (but I will return) as the girls decided they were running out of money so needed to head up to Hastings to pack some apples and collect some pocket money. On the way out of the city, I discovered the extent of international identity theft, my lawyers will be in touch...

After dropping the girls off in Hastings, I was set free on the open road with only my iPod and the great outdoors for company. Luck would have it that my friend Owen lived just up the road
in Napier so I headed up there to catch up with him. Another out doorsey type like myself, we took the opportunity to head up to Lake Waikaremoana and hike around it. A little wet and windy but nothing a good set of waterproofs can't cure. The finale view from Panekiri Bluff was spectacular!

Time to head south again back to Wellignton to catch up with Gemma on her weekend off. I managed to take every wrong turn possible on the way down, taking 6 hours for what should have been a 2 hour drive, oops. That said, the scenery was spectacular with yet more green pastures and stunning beaches. Also, another hidden gem, I passed by the town with the Longest Place Name in the World -
Taumata whakatangi hangakoauau o tamatea turi pukakapiki maunga horo nuku pokai whenua kitanatahu. In truth I didn't see a town at all, the sign was erected on the roadside so not sure if it's true or not, I reckon I might do the same back home to fool some other hoodooed traveller.

So, not much to report on the visit to Wellington. Met up with Gemma and her lovely friends I'd heard so much about, and yes they were lovely. A lazy weekend all in all - hanging out around town, climbing Mount Vic and took in the views over the city, followed by a creme caramel/caramel ice creamon the beach. Super!

The next day I headed up north again as the Arthogram and MRI scan was only 2 days away. Made the ever important stop off in Taupo for another attempt at the sydive and yay, hallelujah, the weather was on my side so the jump was on. Before I'd even had time to rub the sleep from my eyes, I was on my way up to 12,000 feet to jump out of a plane. The ride up was probably the scariest bit - you take it for granted when you're in a commercial air liner how quiet and protected the whole experience is - this thing was flimsy, bouncing all over the shop and all that protected me from falling out of the plane was a thin rollcage door that kept trying to open itself. As we approachedthe drop zone I swung my legs out of the plane and waited for what seemed like an age as we waited for the right air speed before plunging head first from the plane. Jumping was the most surreal experience I've ever had - you don't get scared of the height as I don't think the brain can comprehend such a ludicrous concept; the ground actually looked soft, spongy and almost inviting; and the freefall you don't feel like you're falling at all, more like floating. As the parachute opened there was no neck-breaking jerk which I thought would happen, and I even got to take the controls to make us spiral down at warp speed. So much fun, the first thing I said when I landed was 'can I go again?'

the plane

Shaking like a leaf, no time to waste as I headed north once again back to Auckland. After a good nights kip back at BASE Backpackers, it was time to go to the Auckland Radiology Group for Arthogram and MRI scan and what a fun experience it was. To my relief, a fax awaited at reception with the 'all clear' from my insurance company that they would pay for the treatment. Phew, $1400 saved there! The fun began signing my life away and completing the final checklist with tricky questions such as 'do you have a metal plate in your head', not to my knowledge was an acceptable answer it seems. Then off to the X-Ray buffs to have some regular x-rays done for the umpteenth time to triple-check there are no fractures, or more like it to claim another $150 off the insurance peeps. Then follows an injection of contrast medium with a 2" needle directly into my shoulder joint, suprisingly not that painful, followed by more x-rays for the artogram. I'm not sure of the maximum dose of x-rays but I must be reaching that now. The icing on the cake was a trip to the MRI scanner, a large tube into which you are inserted and blasted with a massive electro-magnet which then revolves around your body making weird clunking & clicking noises as it went, spinning the atomic nuclei in my cells and taking pretty pictures as it goes. The whole process took about 1/2 hour and was not painful yet incredibly claustrophobic. Anyhow, the job was done and now have to wait till Tues 6th June to get the results and next steps, oo er.

With time to kill in Auckland till the next appointment, I decided I would treat myself with a diving trip up to the Poor Knights Islands, just off the East coast of the North Island near Whangerei. Named by Jacques Cousteau as one of the top 10 dive sites in the world, the Poor Knights Islands are influenced by a warm current that originates in the Coral Sea, north of Australia. The water temperature is slightly higher (16 degrees on the day of the dive), and visibility significantly greater than in nearby coastal waters allowing tropical and subtropical life forms to establish themselves among the diverse and multiple environments formed by the island's volcanic origins. Underground caves, tunnels and archways are home to an extraordinary variety seaweeds and dense populations of friendly, colourful fish, so friendly infact that their first response is to check you out rather than take flight like many reefs I've dived.

Dive Tutukaka were my hosts for the outing, very professional setup and some deluxe catamarans to whisk us out to the islands. I hooked up with a nice chap called Simon from Telford, UK who'd be my dive buddy for the day. Taking the plunge for the first time without a dive master was quite a daunting prospect but I'm glad I did it - the challenge brought back the training on navigation and managing your own air & decompression time.

The day allowed for 2 dives. Scary Cave was the first dive of the day, so called because of the underwater cave with blinding white light halfway through the entrance tunnel followed by pitch black in the cave itself literally leaving you blind. Unfortunately I guzzled through my air in 46 minutes at a depth of 32m so had no time to explore the cave, but the wall that lead to the outside of the cove was spectacular with a wide variety of anemonones and some huge shoals of snapper. Numerous Nudibranches (a small sea slug) were dotted everywhere which once you exposed them to light revealed their glorious colours, amazing!!!

cave entrance

wrasse

little fish

Nudibranch

Tambja Nudibranch

The second dive of the day was to Middle Arch. Starting off with another underwater cave with an air pocket allowing you to take a breath in the rank stale air, then following the walls of the arch down and around the cliff wall. I've never seen so many moray eels in all my life, totally more than 5 on the whole dive including yellow, grey and mottled varieties. Also, to cap it all off I saw my first ever sting ray, and what a beauty she was, so graceful in the water as I clumsily chased after her filming and snapping pictures all the way, I was a happy man!

yellow moray eel

mottled moray eel

long tailed sting ray

Back in Auckland now and awaiting the results of my scans and generally wasting time. Not constructive I know but just want to get on to my next destination - Indonesia - land of eartquakes, volcanoes and dragons, sounds like a fairy tale but alas it's all true. I might yet have time to get down to the south island, we'll see how things go. Until the next time, and thanks for reading.....

New Zealand - The South of the North Island remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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(Not to be mistaken with the NZ flag which is nothing like this - thanks Jase007 for pointing out my previous error)

Kia Ora and Welcome to New Zealand and another overly verbose travel blog for Phileas Fogg. I'm long overdue an update with over 4 weeks and about $4K of expenditure to account for, so no doubt this is going to be another record breaker for the longest winded account of my latest movements (bowels excluded) so I apologise, I'll do my best to keep it pictorial and less textual. Sugar, I'm off again, get on with it please.

Before I dive in, not good news on the health front - after daily shoulder dislocations snowboarding in Canada, and a whopping 8 or so on the day I surfed in Santa Cruz, my shoulder has finally decided that it wants to liberate my right arm and will attempt to eject said limb at any opportunity - something tells me that it's time to get it fixed. So, I've enlisted with a doctor here (Dr Tyson) who's been an all round legend and has referred me to the best shoulder specialist in the land - Dr Clayton Brown. Over the past 4 weeks I've been poked and prodded by numerous people, injected with a weird mix of contrast medium and air into my shoulder then blasted with x-rays (Arthogram) and finally passed through a huge electro-magnet for the MRI scan - (magnetic resonance imaging). Whilst this has been going on I've battled day and night with the insurance company to pay for the treatment, eventually succumbing with some rather underhand tactics on my part and a beligerent bureaucratic failure on their part, the problem being lack of proof of it isn't a pre-existing condition which is debatable is itself but whatever. I'm currently awaiting the results of the tests, likely it's going to be a tear of the labrum cartilage. Depending on the cost of treatment in NZ vs UK, I may get fixed up here or flown back home, will have to wait and see.

All very exciting I know, but it's been a pain in the backside (and the wallet) to travel and manage getting fixed up as I keep having to return to Auckland every other week. Hence my tale here is hickledy-pickeldy to say the least with trips up, down, here, there and everywhere with apparently no method to choosing a route. I'm not sure how to tell this tale so I'll make it up as I go along in a mix of chronological, north to south, preference and how many pretty pictures I have. Enjoy the tale!

I arrived in New Zealand on 6th May into the delightful city of Auckland. A curious time of year to visit some may say being as the onset of winter is here, truth be told it was a mix of poor planning and keeping the flight cost/time down that led me here at this time yet despite fears of rain drenchings and frost-bitten toes, I'm pleasantly suprised that Kiwiland has a temperate climate with sunshine days a plenty, quite a bit of rain granted, but the shorts are still seeing the light of day so it's all good. Further joys, the hoards of tourists and backpackers that flock to this green and pleasant land in the summer are no where to be seen which makes the wilderness experience all the more real. So whether by accident or a stroke of luck, it's a winner all round!

Some amazing statistics I found:

• The total population of New Zealand is 3.9 million. 1 million of these live in Auckland.
  
• Māori make up about 15% of the population, and are the indigenous people of New Zealand
  
• New Zealand has 13 times as many sheep as people (approximately 47.2 million sheep)
  
• The number of sheep/human relationships has not been estimated
  
• New Zealand is Aotearoa in Māori, which translates as the Land of the Long White Cloud, reputedly referring to the cloud the explorers saw on the horizon as they approached. It rains a lot here needless to say, between 600 and 1600 mm a year
  
• Polynesian settlers arrived in their waka some time between the 13th century and the 15th century to establish the indigenous Māori culture
  
• New Zealanders enjoy a national holiday in celebration of the Queens birthday, the lucky sods. Why does Blighty not have the same?!?!
  

Anyhow, I'm in Auckland. I couldn't manage to get myself motivated here for some time given my stricken health and uncertaintly of what/when is going to happen (even a simple question like 'how long are you here for?' was fraught with difficulty). Anyhow, Auckland caters well for such uncertainty providing many drinking holes to polker-dot your liver and fill your daytimes with fine hangovers. I have a strange re-collection of being in The Fiddlers bar twice in a row as the sun came up tho I cannot be sure.

Once I was arisen from the doldrums by the enigmatic Dr Tyson, I began to explore and found that in truth there's not a lot to do here anyhow. The shopping center district is based around Queens Street which has, well, some shops. There's a new development close by called Sky City which offers modern glitzy conveniences like a casino, cinema and the showcase masterpiece - the Sky Tower. For a mere $20 (ha ha), it offers a great view over the city to get your bearings. There's a also some crazy gravity jump thing where you can clamber outside the tower and descend to the ground on a piece of string. I didn't do it as it seemed rediculous, but set the scene for the home of adventure sports.

Anyhow, from the top of the tower, I spotted the Auckland Museum (it was good, that's as much as I can muster) and the many extinct volcanoes that surround the city. Climbing Mount Eden at sunset is also worth the jaunt, just make sure you don't get flattened by the hundreds of Japanese Tourists who flock there en mass in a mass exodus of tour buses. I met a lovely girl here called Dushka who I'll be spending the next few weeks with as travel companions.

There's a nice harbour front which has been there since the city was first established back in the 1800's, which served first as a commercial port for trade and the like, then evolving into a base for cruise liners and the like which has kind of died away and you guessed it, it's now home to lots of bars, restaurants and swanky bistro's. One place on the harbour called The Ice Bar which funnily enough is made entirely of ice, charges $25 for entry and you can only stay for half an hour. Nice!

Down the road, there is a more industrial harbour with tonnes of freight ships heading in and out each day and some pretty coloured containers.

Just off the coast of Auckland lies a few pretty islands, one of them is Great Barrier Island which are is no way related to the Great Barrier Reef which is thousands of miles away in northern australia, but nonetheless shares a similar name. You can catch a ferry out the isles from Auckland harbour, handy that as there's some convenient water for the ships to float on that comes all the way up to the harbour. I took a day trip out to one of the other islands called Waiheke Island, hired a moped and booted around at warp speed (30kmph) which was a smashing day out - lots of nice beaches, vineyards, posh restaurants and the like.

So, back to Auckland and in search of a way outta the city to explore. Dushka, Alli (her friends from Hertford) and I decide to hire a car to tour the North Island, I think actually the plan was to do both North and South initially, ha ha, only if the car was jet propelled would that be possible. Alas, we got an automatic Toyota with a top speed equal to my gran's shopping trolley.

First stop north was to collect Dushka from her Aunt's gaff in Whangerei where we stayed for a night. Very nice indeed. There's a lovely walk along the river to see the Whangerei Falls which were huge. I tried to climb around the back of the falls only to soil my pants sliding on some slippy rocks.

Next day, a silly mission to drive up to the most northerly point of New Zealand and back in one day, a mere 500kms, little did we know about NZ's gravel roads. En route we stopped off at the Kawiti Glow Worm Caves where the most insane man who had clearly spent too much time on his own underground told tales of how limestone formations (under a midst of wild mushroom induced hallucinations no doubt) had taken on human, animal and cartoon forms. This is a character from Casper the Friendly Ghost, apparently.

Further up the coast lay the Bay of Islands which is a beautful collection of beaches & coves ideal for sunbathing, swimming, and kayakking and enjoying the diverse wildlife including dolphins and whales. Our experience on the first pass was to take a photo, oops.

At last, the destination of the day, the most northerly point of New Zealand Cape Reinga. The final 30kms of the road were gnarly to say the least, hammering it along at 60kmph on gravel roads with reverse-camber a plenty and powersliding all the way. I loved it but the girls did not agree. Cape Reinga itself was stunning, you really felt exposed gale force windows almost lifting you off your feet with awesome swell and washing machine mishmash of surf pouring in on the beach. Some huge dunes lay around the point testimony to the effects of the exposure to this extreme environment.

A centipede on the footpath down to the lighthouse seemed to like the place tho.

Heading back south another 200kms following the coast line of 90 Mile Beach, we arrived in a rather weird town called Kaitaia. It was Friday night and the police were out in force to catch the local drink-drivers and I seemingly fit the bill accummulating a total of 5 stops in the space of 2 hours - an all time record for me. Each stop required me to say my name and where I'm from each response getting more and more blaazee ending up with 'Phil from England'. Of course, the coppers are transfixed on the booze-meter readings so no doubt you could say anything like 'no cunts on me drugstable' or something equally amusing. Anyhow, shoved a steak in my belly and a beer (oo er) and drove down to the surf town of Ahipara to stop for the night.

The next day, we battled through torential rain along the windiest of windy roads through the greenest of green farmland, catching the smallest of the small car ferries (Kahukaha to Hakianga) as we hammered it down the West Coast. We arrived mid-afternoon amidst the heaviest storm of the day to the Waipoua Forest to see Tane Mahuta - Lord of the Forest. It's a giant Kauri Tree which according to Māori legend gave birth to all life on earth. It is said that you can feel a spiritual presence in this sacred place, but all I could feel was cold rain dripping down my neck, I need to focus more it seems.

Less than an hour passed and the incessant rain storm had decided to stand aside and let the sun have a go. We stumbled across a lookout point which commanded impressive views over the forest. It felt quite magical to watch the clouds sink into the valley as the forest came to life after the big storm. We could have been intrepid explorers in Africa , gazing from our hideout over the vast jungle, but we weren't, we were in New Zealand, I have to keep reminding myself.

Heading further south, we chance upon a collection of lakes called the Kai Iwi Lakes, relishing in the freedom of having the hire car and being able to go where you want to went you want, not trapped on one of the nasty Stray/Kiwi Experience shag fest buses like the majoprity of the other hapless travellers. Down a dusty track we stop at Lake Waikare which is the most pristine lake I've seen, completely sheltered by the sounding hills and just crying out to be wakeboarded on. (Hmmm, the environmental impact might be a bit devastating tho, fun vs destruction of habit, who will win?). So lacking on the X-Star and wakeboard kit, we settle for a paddle, it was a tad cold.

From here, we headed across to the west coast to Pakiri where we bunked down for the night in holiday camp in the middle of nowhere. No-one was around being out of season so we had the 16 bed dormitory to ourselves with luxuries like a tv to enjoy and a plate each to eat our dinner from, wow! In the morning we awoke to find the most pristine beaches on our doorstep, and the weather was on our side delving out some delicious warming rays, warm enough even to brave a dip in the pounding surf, whilst the girls enjoyed a morning stroll.

A short drive further down the coast led us to Goat Island Marine Reserve near the town of Leith, established in 1975 and world renowned for its abundant marine life. From the shore line you can clamber across a rocky outcrop and gaze into the water to find the water teeming with bright turquoisey blue Snapper. Despite the signs warning of biting snapper (yeah right) I headed into the water to get some underwater shots, none of which turned out alas but atleast I amused the tourists somewhat with my lips turning an acute pneumonic blue to match the snapper.

Right on cue, the heavens darkened and sudden rainstorm swept in chasing us back to the safety of the Toyota so we headed off south wards. Stumbling across Ascension Vineyards, the girls sampled their specialities in a wine tasting extravaganza, alas the short straw of being driver for the day meant none passed my lips but a bottle was secured to enjoy that evening and the girls accompanied this with some Tawny Port.

With further desire to swim, we headed down to the hot springs at Waiwera where we bathed in 40 degree waters in a variety of pools, one of which featured a huge projector screen showing classic Disney movies, a nice concept indeed. Our final destination of the day was Hamilton where we stopped in a dodgy road-side motel.

Oh, Mr Frodo, you is in Baggins Land my precious, yup we were on the hunt for the famous Lord of the Rings film location for the village of Hobbiton. We headed down MataMata which is down in the guidebooks as the launch pad such trips.

Holy Sauron! $50 for a 2 hour tour of a stripped down film set, stuff that for a game of hobbits, out of our budgets I'm afraid so we attempted a stealth mission to seek out Hobbitton ourselves. With some good guessing, directions from farmers and more than a little luck we found the entrance to the site. Unfortunately the set was well hidden from the road and the entrance guarded by some rather butch female tour guides with a predominant upper lid shadow - we decided not to risk an entanglement. Still, the landscape ringed true of The Shire and we felt the journey worthwhile. No doubt it also inspired the home of the Telly Tubbies too.

With time a pressing and a doctors appointment looming the next day, we headed north again back towards Auckland stopping off at Mount Manganui. A stroll along yet another stunning beach, followed by a climb up a mountain commanding amazing views of the Coromandel Peninsula. Topped off the day with a slap up meal of fish & chips - splendid!

Thankfully driving duties were handed over to Ali which left me in the backseat to get nicely sozzled on the finest Acension red wine "The Steep Bit" - a delicious Matakana Malbec from 2004 with hints of plum and raspberries. Quite the experience supping from a wine glass in amoving car,not sure the vineyard proprietors would approve. Arriving back in Auckland and already well on the way to a stupor, we followed this great start with yet more beers finishing in (shock, horror) Fiddlers Irish Bar for yet another dawn session then back home to polish off the Tawny Port, tasty but what a waste! I have no idea how I made it up for the doctors the next day at 8am, and as my first meeting no doubt Clayton was not amused with me smelling like a brewery. Perhaps it helped though as he quickly sent me packing with an appointment at the Auckland Radiology Group the next week. Ooh what fun to come!

New Zealand - The North of the North Island remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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On clearing arrivals, more Fijians were ready in wait to greet me this time with Fijian Dollar sign burning deep within their eyes (you know the look) as I met head to head the Fijian tourist officials. A cunning question posed to all passengers ‘which resort are staying at?’ - a yes results in an easy taxi sale, else a no opens a whole world of opportunities. In the latter category and quite willing to be sold a ’resort deal’ (all island retreats whether backpacker cheap or luxury 5* are classed as resorts) and given it was 4am having had little-to-no sleep in the past 24 hours I succumbed to their salesmanship skills and purchased a 4 day trip to Ratu Kini resort on Mana Island in the Mamanuca group west of Vitu Levu.

Whilst awaiting the transfer, I met a nice New Zealand chap Owen who too had booked the same trip, on his way back home after a season ski instructing in Colorado, all round top bloke and we became good mates for the next few days. Good entertainment too watching the same bewildered looking travellers falling for the same ‘trap’ as us - it’s all too easy to take the first opportunity and must learn to step back from a situation before diving in as you can‘t always rely on good fortune although it seems to follow me around.

A 10 minute taxi ride with an unrequested shop stop at the drivers preferred supermarket, we arrived at our departure point Travellers Beach near Denarau. After a quick chin wag with other travellers we trudged across the muddy, black sand beach (not quite the Fiji I expected) to our awaiting boat and were on our way to Mana Island. As we bounced our merry away in a rickety speed boat by our slightly erratic Indo-Fijian driver across crystal blue waters, any fears of the white sand beaches being a fictional tale were quickly dispelled as we passed by countless idyllic desert islands.

Arriving at Mana Island we were greeted by the Ratu Kini staff with the traditional Fiji welcome song which I was beginning to feel a little bit plastic. A throng of travellers awaited on the beach front bar decking, I felt almost like cattle being herded into market with the buyers eyeing me up and down, but none the less in subsequent days I too found myself adopting the same regime. “Fresh meat has arrived” was one quote I heard, how classy.

Mana Island was a superb introduction to paradise island life with it’s grassy hills, gorgeous white sand beaches and a perimeter 30m wide coral reef - it was a struggle to do anything but relax. The setup was a collection of Burres, bungalows, tents and a 20 bed dormitory (where I stayed) nestled amongst a thriving Fijian village where the majority of the staff for the resorts lived, plus an eatery with beach front bar close by. The inclusive food ranged from basic with salad sandwiches for lunch being a favourite, to delicious particularly the traditional Fijian food night with a meze of sausage, barracuda, Tora and Drauniuto leaves with coconut baked in the ground over super hot stones. The rain water used for drinking began to taste like hairspray so I’d splash out on their chosen mineral water ‘Bom 911’. Please someone send this to FHM or other trashy magazine to claim their funny photo prize.

The main beach close to the resorts (4 others in total) was excellent with mass shoals of small fish congregating near the shoreline and leaping out of the water en mass in a frenzy of activity (I never figured exactly why they did this perhaps to escape a predator of some sort). The beach was a little crowded at times so not the place for solitude but with an array of hammocks to laze in, a nice swim-to platform plus a seemingly endless supply of Scandinavian beauties basking in the sun it was an easy choice for the day. If you could brave the midday heat of 35 degrees plus, a short trek is rewarded with the pick of the beaches ‘Sunset Beach’ offering peace and quiet, the finest white sand and easy access to a stunning section of the reef.

Activity for most involved lazing on the beach, splashing around in the water then lazing around some more which is fun for a while but my metabolism or something just doesn’t agree so I made the most of the water sports on offer. Owen and I checked out the reef break that lay 200m offshore in a rather leaky sea kayak, managing to catch some nice waves riding back in and coming terrifyingly close to capsizing which could have been disastrous with only 1m of water to cushion the blow before you‘d plough head first into razor sharp coral - I have no idea how surfers do this, balls of steel they must have.

Scuba diving in the area was according to the guide books excellent with favourites like Supermarket famed for it’s abundance of Reef Sharks, though the word on the street was the visibility was pretty poor being so close to the end of the turbulent wet season and shark sightings were few and far between, so parked that idea. Snorkelling on the surrounding reef however was excellent particularly off Sunset Beach with an abundance of pristine hard corals and a mass of sea life including groupers, wrasse, clown fish, mermaids and even a leatherback turtle sighted on one memorable trip, sorry no picture of the turtle.

The underwater photography skills were getting better actually managing to get the target somewhere in frame, and snorkelling skills greatly improved now able to dive down to 10 metres or so with time to compose which I was well chuffed with - really it negated the need to scuba at all. The reef terrain was excellent fun with a consistent 10 metre wall leading to a sandy bottom, with an array of crevices, tunnels and canyons to explore and swim throughs which held great silhouette photo potential.

The resort arranged a variety of excursions, if they could cope with the stress of organising such a feat and squeeze cram it in before sundown - their laid back approach termed ‘Fiji Time’ makes it hard to get anything done here. One day was spent island hopping to the now famous Castaway Island and a number of luxury resorts, climaxing with an hours snorkelling off a superb reef in the centre of the bay. Much the same sea life as Sunset Beach until I had my first ever shark encounter with a White Tip Reef Shark - terrifying at first but in fact he paid no attention to me at all as he passed by only 2 feet away, clearly not enough meat on me to bother with. Not at all, I’d heard sharks have a bad reputation thanks to Spielberg’s Jaws and bad media press but this really confirmed it for me that they’re not all cold blooded killers at all, granted if it was a Tiger or Bull shark the experience could have been a whole lot different but Reef sharks are clearly no danger at all. I felt privileged and look forward to my next encounter.

Where would you be in the world without beer?!? The chosen vintage of this blessed land is an interesting brew imaginatively named called Fiji Bitter. Many of these litre bottles would be supped down as the sun set and on a good night, the sun rise.

A weird flavour it had but after a few it goes down real easy. Many a night was spent drinking with the locals Fiji style called ‘Taki’ where a single glass is used for all people at the table, continually passed around and downed until all the beer in the bar had been drunk, the goal being all people get drunk at the same time to the same degree. A nice idea and only a problem when you’ve had enough as ’no’ isn’t an acceptable response. The nights were heavy going as the stack of empties shows.

The people on the island were great fun and met some real characters, particularly the locals or to be pedantic Samoans, but nonetheless were very welcoming and friendly. The guests were a mixture of all nationalities predominantly English but also from Sweden, Norway, Germany, Israel (I actually met a nice Israeli!!), Brazil and Italy. One English girl I met had a fantastic story in that she arrived on the island for a 4 day stay, ended up falling in love with a villager and has stayed for a whole month with plans for a long term relationship and possible move for them both back to Blighty, how romantic! I have to say I was a little disappointed with some of ‘travellers’ I met here (particularly the English ones) and I fear they will become the norm in this leg of the trip - for some it seems travelling consists of organised tour after tour, getting leathered & laid every night, staying in commercial hostels and generally following their Lonely Planet bible. It’s easy to do granted and I’m no experienced traveller myself so in no position to preach really, but I can’t see the challenge or appeal and they might as well save some cash and go to Magaluf instead and get their trophies elsewhere. Bah humbug, I’m such a cynic I know and perhaps it highlights that I’m looking for other things so there in the conflict lies, I’ll stop there and write something positive instead.

After 4 days resting and getting restless, I headed back to the mainland to explore the mainland Vitu Levu. With only a single nights stopover, I explored the town to find that the spectacular Hindi temple was hidden behind bamboo scaffold and palm leaves being renovated for the annual festival. Elsewhere a vibrant produce market was in full swing selling all manner of Fijian grown fruits, vegetables, kava (grog) and sea food, not so sure about the sea grapes.

Here I met a rather unscrupulous guy who ripped me off some for negotiating some local produce but am glad to say that this was the only bad incident in my entire 2 weeks here and was none too heavy. All things happen for a reason as I’m quickly finding out - I headed back to the hotel a little dismayed and settled in at the hotel bar with some peeps I met on Mana. A rough looking chap attempted to steal a handbag and bolt for the door and as I blocked his escape route an outstretched leg tripped the guy who lost his footing and stacked it arse over tit, the bag’s contents scattered across the floor and he bolted out the door. The very grateful owner of the bag was overwhelmed with my heroics and insisted that in return I stay with her family in Lalati Village on Beqa Island. The lady wrote me a letter in Fijian (which I had no real idea what it said) and I was instructed to find a chap called Wame who would treat me as his own, and so the next episode of my trip began.

Arising early next morning, I headed off to the local bus station (no more tourist transfers for me, all too easy) to catch my bus to Navua, the ‘ferry’ port to Beqa Island. Buses are notoriously unreliable and the timetables are not worth the paper they aren’t written on so I had a bit of a wait on my hands, also some confusion with the meaning of ‘when is the next bus?’ as in Fiji this apparently means the one after the next so I watched the first come and go without blinking an eye, why I’d be asking for this I don’t know especially as I stood talking to the guy, ho hum. After a brief stop en route at Natadola Beach as apparently amazing but I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, I arrived in Navua which as it turned out wasn’t a glitzy ferry port at all - the ferry terminal was a rickety wooden jetty, the only boats in sight were flat-bottomed 40hp river boats and there was no sign of another white person let alone another tourist. As the bus pulled away in a cloud of dust, for the first time in my life I felt truly away from the western world as people stared with intrigue, children passed by waving and giggling as this lost traveller attempted to make sense of this madness before the sunset in less than ½ hour. At the jetty I attempted to charter a boat for the 15km journey out to Beqa Island but it seemed I’d missed the last village boat of the day and the locals were looking forward to the evening grog session so no chance of making the journey today. Everyone was so helpful even sharing a smoke with the boat driver in commiseration, passers by would ask me where I’m from and all told tales of their love of the Mother Land (England), topped off with some grog shared with Joe who worked in the market besides the jetty whilst I waited for the bus back to Pacific Harbour. Joe promised to see me again in 2 days for the next boat sailing and his son insisted on carrying my bags to the waiting bus, absolutely overwhelming, I love these people.

The only budget place to stay in Pacific Harbour was Safari Lodge so this would have to do, owned by a slightly eccentric Kiwi who actually turned out to be a raving pervert as the next morning my South African room mate awoke to find him inspecting his nether regions from under his sheet, worrying stuff. The lodge was conveniently located next to a 5 star luxury resort called Pearl who seemingly didn’t mind an impoverished traveller to use all of it’s facilities including swimming pool and private beach.

The diving in Beqa Lagoon was reputed to be one of the best in Fiji (again), famed for it’s soft corals and abundance of Reef, Bull and Tiger Sharks that patrol the reef lagoon so who was I to refuse the opportunity. With my almost mute Japanese room mate, I headed out with Beqa Divers to explore on the lagoon. 2 dive sites were hit, the first a steep wall and overhang outside of the lagoon behind Storm Island, which also made a stunning spot to rest for lunch.

The second was a drift dive between Seven Sisters and Blow Hole. The second was my favourite as probably the strongest current I’ve ever been in covering well over 100m in a 42 minute dive, and some superb Gorgonian Fans more than 2 metres across. Heaven!

On the way back across the lagoon we stopped at the gnarliest surf break I’d ever seen called Frigates Passage which was an almost 45 degree peeled reef break with ridiculously large waves, the biggest I’d ever seen close up. How these guys surf these breaks I have no idea as you’re fish food if you stack it.

On returning to Safari Lodge, I found a new arrival awaiting who became a good friend, Cris and 19 year old girl from Winnipeg. Together we planned to head out to Beqa Island the next day to pursue the village island dream, so the next morning we set off early back to Navua.

Arriving at Navua, we discovered that the boat to Lalati Village had already left but with some negotiation and haggling with a driver destined for another village we commandeered a boat. Crossing the lagoon was spectacular with dolphins racing alongside the boat as we chatted to the other villagers en route home from market, yet nervous with anticipation unknown as to what lay ahead.

Arriving on the shores of Lalati Village we were greeted by a lady (Grace) fishing off the makeshift dock, I thrust the magic letter into her hand and summoned for Wame. After what seemed like an age Wame appeared at first coldly instructing us to not move from the boat, but after reading the letter he smiled from ear to ear as he welcomed us with open arms to his village.

My stay in this very real and traditional Fijian village was by far the greatest experience of my trip to Fiji. I did not see much of Cris for the whole time as we each adopted the role we would follow if we lived in the village - myself working (cakacaka) on the hillside Jungle farm collecting Taro/Dalo (a white/bluey potato), Casava (a white potato with a large brown stem), Vudi (a banana which tastes like potato), Snake Bean (like runner beans) and Kava (the good stuff) battling the extreme heat, mosquitoes and wood ants, then after lunch resting and talking with the other men. The women on the other hand cooked, cleaned, made mats, looked after the children etc. Needless to say, male superiority seems deeply embedded in all aspects of life for example the male bathe in the stream (wow) is upstream from the women’s, only men sit around the kava bowl at night with the women on the periphery, little emotion is shown between husband and wife so very hard to identify relationships, and it would be unthinkable for women to join in with nightly touch rugby game. Totally misogynous I know but all at least at the surface seemed happy with the setup and this was the chosen life for all given the opportunity was open to leave and many women had chosen to do so, although childbirth and the resulting financial dependency seemed a common trap. Hmm.

The people on the island survived on subsistence farming and an endless supply of fresh fish caught daily from the reef making them entirely self sufficient. For income for electricity, boat fuel etc villagers would sell their wares at market, with Wame our host taking care of Kava business for the village which made him The Man to know. (Kava is the root of a plant which grows in the wilds of Fiji, which when uprooted, chopped, dried in the sun and ground into a powder in a giant pestle and mortar and mixed with water makes an intoxicating drink quite different from alcohol. A vial flavour and has the appearance of dirty washing up water, after 4 or so bowls you begin to feel relaxed and more talkative, another 4 and the grogginess sets in, anymore and you start to lose the ability to sit up and limbs become heavy. Good stuff!)

My friend and companion for my stay was 28 year old Eroni, father of Marika and soon to be husband of Rigi. We became good friends exchanging stories of growing up, life in our respective countries and tales of entanglements with women, a common language. I’ll truly miss him and have promised that if I ever return to Fiji to visit him and his family. Kavura on that smoke son :o)

It was with sadness that I said goodbye to Eroni, Nau (mother), Tata (father), Pau, Wame, Rigi, Ebenese, John (uncle) and the children Wame junior, Marika, and Lemeki. The most honest and welcoming people I’ve ever met, and I promise to return their hospitality whenever I can. But my time in Fiji is coming to an end so it was time to head off back to the mainland with practically all of the village in tow (our treat in return for their kindness) and off on the local bus to Suva the nations capital. As Cris was also bound by terms of the Fiji Experience bus, it was time to say goodbye to her too, see you next year maybe for your snowboard lesson and keep up the juggling practice.

With only a single night and day here, it was back to the Lonely Planet’s trusty guide to explore Suva. I shared the journey with Grace and met her friends and family at the market. Around town, the main sights included the government buildings whose halls of corruption keep this beautiful nation in an impoverished state, and the Fiji museum was depicts in graphic detail the history of the island for Fijians and Indo-Fijians alike, and it’s cannibalistic past.

So with only 2 days left in Fiji, I retreated to the island of Nanuna-I-Ra to Nanuna Lodge to relax before heading to New Zealand, involving a sketchy 3 hour bus journey along the Kings Road (one section of which is not yet complete and is really only a dusty track - a bus load of locals recently plummeted to it’s peril from the same road). Before Raki Raki, I jumped off early to save the taxi fare only to be picked up by another kind local who whisked me to my awaiting ferry - such kind people!

Only 15 minutes from the mainland, Nanuna-I-Ra is a stunning island retreat, the lodge owns 50% of the island which unfortunately has just been sold to a Kiwi developer to build 4 luxury resorts in it’s place. For the now, $20 a night gives you the most idyllic setting in comfortable burre-style dwellings. Yet again, the dive shop promised the best diving in Fiji, this time backed up by Jack Cousteu himself as this was listed in his top 10. A dive in the morning to Golden Dreams showed why with stunning soft corals some of which changed colour as the polyps retracted, the largest Lunar Coral I’ve ever seen at over 8 metres high and amazing swim throughs.

In the evening and after digesting an interesting home-made fish curry (I’ve no idea how to disect a fish), a climb to the peak of the hill behind the lodge was rewarded with the most amazing sunset and even a blind man with a pinhole camera couldn’t fail to capture an award winning photo.

The following afternoon further delights, a 45 minutes to the back of the island lies the most pristine white sand beach I saw in Fiji - amazing. I hiked down here on my last afternoon to share the beach with only 3 young Swedish girls, had I landed in heaven I couldn’t be sure but if it’s like this I must start to go to church.

Forcing myself to leave my hammock, I was jetted back to the mainland to return to Nadi for the next mornings flight to New Zealand. Another helpful chap gave me a ride to Raki Raki to catch the bus but I’d miscalculated the timings so had 3 hours to wait. Attempting to negotiate a taxi ride back to Nadi, I was offered by the taxi driver a much more favourable opportunity to stay with his family and make the journey in the morning. Since when does this happen?? So, with my new friend Mahendra I headed into the depths of Raki Raki to stay with his family. They again made me feel so welcome with the eldest son Ravindra taking the lead, giving up his own bed for the night and keen to learn about England we chatted till the early hours. Kanchan cooked the most delightful meal in my honour polished off with the last grog session of the tour. So welcoming and super nice people. Thank you Mahendra, Ravindra, Varunda, Gayendra, Shalen, Ajay and little Vishada for your kindness.

At 6am the next morning, I arose to find a freshly cooked fish curry awaiting as my breakfast treat courtesy of Kanchan, then headed off on the 3 hour drive back to Nadi airport. It was the first day of the week long elections which the whole country was eagerly awaiting, another opportunity to oust the somewhat corrupt SDL and it looked likely that Labour would gain their first term this century. Worryingly, the only times they’ve had the majority vote (1988, 1967) were followed in the next year by a coup so I was quite glad to be leaving as perhaps instability is again on the horizon for this beautiful nation. I hope not as the people deserve to live like kings.

It was a painful journey as I discovered Mahendra’s taxi could not exceed 50km/ph so we crawled along at a snail’s pace. Still, I arrived in time at the airport for my flight, Fiji time it seems does actually work if you just go with the flow. So with gratitude I tipped handsomely and said good bye to this magical land. Next stop, New Zealand.

Reflections:

A debate raged in my mind throughout the trip what is the best thing to do as a visitor for the people of Fiji - to stay at a resort or stay with the locals. Really the only off-the-shelf option for a tourist is to stay in a resort - budget, flash packer, luxury or otherwise. The Fijian tourist board push the resort packages so heavily it almost sends a message that they don’t want you to meet the real people of Fiji on their terms which I found confusing as my encounters with the local people were easily my fondest memories. (Incidentally the tactic is working as most of the ‘travellers’ I met and 99% of the package deal tourists only stay in the isolated resorts and are safely chaperoned from airport to resort without having to meet a local at all.)

Next, I discovered that over 80% of the resorts in Fiji are owned by foreign investors and the extortionate amounts (average luxury resort price USD $200 per night) being charged for stays at such places never even reach the shores of Fiji as are paid for in advance in the country of origin. So how does Fiji make the money - surely they can’t be giving it away for free?!

The biggest windfall for the country is the initial money laid down to buy the land from the Fijian government. The Fijians are smart enough to only lease the land, albeit for 99 years which based on a lease price of $20 million (Fijian) for a good size luxury resort would take about 5 years to pay for itself and 94 years to collect obscene profits. Surely it would be much smarter for the Fiji government to develop the resort themselves rather than make some quick cash from the initial lease, but as a developing country it apparently does not have the resource (or the foresight) to take this approach, some attempt is made but they are often run down and are poorly promoted. Surely $1 million of the revenue from the sale of one lot could be skimmed to pay for development of another resort with adequate marketing so at least the country would move forward a little, but from talking to local businessmen where the money goes post-sale is a mystery - I suspect some highly corrupt government officials are getting very rich as they sell off their own country and watch the poor get poorer.

On a brighter note, a standard agreement is in place for all resorts that they must employ local Fijians to run the resort (cooks, cleaners, bar tenders etc) so the locals benefit in this sense. However, wages are determined by the local economy not the investors home country which in practice sadly means a subsistence income for those with a family to support. Outside of this, local businesses benefit providing leisure activities at resorts such as diving, fishing, island excursions etc, but again bigger operations are monopolising not surprisingly owned by overseas companies.

I’m sure this is a common problem that any country faces where tourism is it’s main income, particulary in the developing world. In order for Fiji to over forwards, it needs to help itself and get financial control over the resorts itself and ensure that profits are actually invested in infrastructure, education, health etc . In addition, the International Community has a responsibility to enable developing countries to help themselves - so rather than providing aid relief when disasters like Tsunamis strike, how about providing $20 million dollars now to build their own resorts etc and gain self-sufficiency. In an ideal world, perhaps it will be so, in this world it’s hard to see.

The Final Word

The greatest memory I’ll take away is of the people, a cliché it sounds but they are totally amazing, give unconditionally and to my delight adore the English which they call the Mother Land. (It seems our colonials did a good job here bringing education, public transport, sewerage, religion, social order and an end to cannibalism.) It takes a lot to drop the guard that has been built up over the years living in a country where open generosity is rarely extended beyond family and friends, but once you do and embrace it with all your heart you discover what makes Fiji such a magical place. I almost cried with surprise and joy at the friendliness of all the people here and their willingness to share. These people deserve the greatest in life yet have so little. Sob sob, I’ll miss this place so much. Moce Fiji, until the next time…..

Bula Fiji!! remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I left San Francisco on a bright sunny day that seems to have marked the end of the nightmare rainy period that has drowned the populous, heading down the coast the to the legendary surf/skate mecca of Santa Cruz.

The place was suprisingly small with a tiny downtown area and limited number of bars. But once you get away from the idea of this being a vibrant city and more a sleepy side surfing town things start to make sense.

By day, the beach and surf breaks are all you need for entertainment. I hired a surf board and took a surf lesson with a local dude who took me through the motions. 3rd time lucky it seems prevails as previous surfing attempts failed miserably but this time it all fell into place. Only snag that my shoulder popped out of socket each time I paddled too hard and have done further damage to my ligaments as a result. Nethertheless and fool hardy I am I carried on and had some successfull waves, even manage to get the board to turn. The instructor did point out that this is probably the easiest place in the world to surf so lets see what happens when I get to Indonesia (if my shoulder recovers sufficiently).

By night, the boardwalk with it's rollercoaster rides and sea front promenade entice you with the flashing lights and arcade machines (many retro games inside like Out Run, Mis PacMan and Asteroids) and Quarter slot machines. A venture to the local bars is an intimate affair and expect to end up chatting to ageing surfer dudes who have drunk far too much. The best way I found to enjoy the night was a stroll along the sea front past Lighthouse Point and the world famous surf break Steamer Lane at sunset is spectacular.

My accomodation for the stay was the HI Santa Cruz which is a really cute beach hut setup. Only snag is a daytime lockout and 11pm curfew. I met a top guy here called Joey who is travelling across America in his trusty rusty Toyota Supra, who I'll travel with here on in till LA.

Santa Barbara

A vibrant sea-side town with a strong Spanish influence, impressive architecture of gleaming white houses and brightly coloured ornate mosaics.

A different vibe to Santa Cruz on the whole as it does not have the surf breaks and skate parks in the same way. More over, a home for the rich and beautiful. The beach was spectacular and well worth a stroll down.

Met tonnes of nice people here including Lauren from Masachusets.

Santa Monica (LA)

A gnarly drive through winding mountain roads brings me to LA. Erring on the side of caution, I decide to take it easy and stay in Santa Monica which is a safer neighbourhood on the edge of LA.

Not feeling too great here, hence why the tale is lacking the usual luck lustre pazzazz. I managed a heated discussion with some creationists in the shopping precinct who staked a $250,000 bet that there is no evidence to disprove their insance beliefs, ha ha. Also, took a stroll down to the beach to experience the great white sandy beaches LA is famed for, and captured the obligatory Baywatch life guard tower picture.

Would like to have done more here but the stomach not up to it so a good time to catch up on the diary. Currently contemplating posting the laptop home for safe keeping with sister but not sure I can let go of my little baby, still undecided and my plane leaves in 3 hours. Will he do it? I guess we'll find out next time I write when I arrive in Fiji in 12 hours time, yay!!!!!

California Dreaming remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Arrived in San Francisco on 8th April, with short 4 hour flight from Calgary with (sc)Air Canada. A to San Francisco. Thankfully no bags are lost in transit for a change - I'll have to remember to set straight the hundreds of people who thought this part of the standard service package, I guess it's only for the lucky few.

Lucky I am that I have again a host for my stay here, Julian my old flat mate/buddy from back in London, 2004. He moved out here last year with a rather cushy deal from work and set up himself up nicely with a sweet studio, and social network of like minded peeps so once again I am thrust into the social elite of another great city, ish.

Luck would have it too that Bridget (who I met in Golden, Canada) was in town on the closing leg of her trip. We met for drinks and the like one night with her man Steve which was great, it was as tho no time had passed since our last meeting. A good friend made there. see you soon Briggi!!

My first (and lasting) impressions is that San Francisco and it's residents are European at heart, so much so that you could easily be forgiven for forgetting where you are in the world. There are such a diverse range of neighbourhoods and districts, each with their own unique piece of the pie to offer - Castro with it's strong Hispanic influence and flamboyant proud gay population, North Beach as the Italian quarter offering the finest coffee house experience to rival any European city, Marina as the young professional heaven and glitzy yuppy bars to suit, Mission as the down/up beat student quarter where you find grungy bars and clubs and alternative arts, the Haight with it's heavy hippy influence which is where the movement started back in the 60's, and finally Berkeley with it's far left radical freespeech Bush-hating student (UCLA) and professional residents. I've no doubt missed some out but hey 8 days in just not enough time.

Without doubt San Francisco is a big party town and you're spolit for places to frequent. Within 2 hours of arriving in the city, I found myself in a house party, invited by Jules of course, but this set the tone. That night was a 5am finish with a free bar and 2 kegs to wet the appetite, and had much fun with Jules' friends Nathan and Greg. A new phenomena too, when the kitchen is off limits (due to the paid pro-bartender taking this area) simply head to the roof as the alternative hang out - what a view of the city.

Mission seemed to be our main hangout, with nights at a friends battle of the bands gig, restaurants and films. The highlight was the final how-down - a cowboy themed warehouse party with free bar and neat Jack Daniels cocktails, and mechanical bullriding which this time I stormed after my training in Calgary - being blind drunk really helps, and karaoake which me and Jules did a foul rendition of Me, Myself and I (thanks Gail). To finish the night I did a running backflip up the mirrored wall which I've never done before but seemed like a good idea at the time - I really was quite gone.

The city has arguably the finest cuisine in the world with the quality and value for money surpassing my experiences in other large cities like London or Paris. One particular highlight was a visit to
a Bolivian restarant called Pena Pachamama, where the food served was incredible notably these cornish pastie type things filled with speciy vegetables and we treated to an intimate flamenco dancing display but the most incredibly beautiful South American ladies - amazing!

The city too is a cultural and art mecca, I'd guess, not really my cup of tea but fun none the less. I visited the SF Museum of Modern Art (SF MOMA) which had a special exhibition of 1906 earthquake photography - crazy to see a building split in 2 and each piece shifted 16 feet in opposite directions! On a rainy day in The Haight I went to see the documentary fim Sir No Sir @ Old Red Vic.

It was amazing, especially to find that the people in the audience with me lived and breathed these times, one woman even saw her husband in a protest, and fists were raised in defiance at the sight of their frequented coffee shop protest bases - it was amazing to watch a film with such local and historical importance, especially with the paralells to the current oppression, oops conflict in Iraq.

Other items to note include the Spike and Mike's Animation Film Festival - very very funny internet cartoons - check them out peeps!

The artistic flair flows over into the streets with the sides of buildings are decorated in the most spectacular murals, in particular in the Castro district, which for me shows the artistic influence of the local people, and the governments will to let people express themselves. Spend some time to wander the streets and take in the free gallery that many guide books seem to miss. This mural was painted on the side of Amoeba records in Berkeley depicting the Free Speech battles with police in the 1960s (learn more about the movement here.)

Julian's house was located in the North Beach district famed for it's strong Italian influence. Coit Tower is easily sighted at the to of the hill and provides commanding views over the city and bay for a measily $4. Also, close to Fisherman's Wharf which is the launch pad for all Bay Area ferries, and the tourist trap area close to the docks, overlooking the Bay to Alcatraz. On the Wharf at Pier 39 I was suprised to see a host of Elephant Seals basking on the jetties - pah, for all the excitement of Gabriola and their elusiveness, here it's given on a plate, ho hum, there is much more fun in the chase.

The wharf continues around the bay which is great for a long stroll, continuing all the way down to Bay Bridge and the home of the San Francisco giants baseball team. I stopped by the docks, to watch the ships roll in and watch them roll away again, and met a couple of guys fishing for bass but catching an endless supply of leopard sharks. I had a go and pulled up this beauty from the depths. I'd rather see them in the water and find the whole fishing thing a but weird but an experience none the less.

As far as touristy stuff goes, I took a ferry out to Alacatraz to do the mandatory tour of the famous prison. Was quite interesting to hear about the place but it was so packed with tourists it was hard to relax and enjoy. The audio guide is pretty comprehensive but the most interesting parts were talking to the ex-guards and ex-inmates about their experiences - some funny tales shared about Al Capone and his jailhouse conformist ways and physicillis induced insanity.

Besides the in-city entertainments, the San Francisco bay area has much to offer. A fun way to enjoy the sun was to take a cycle ride out to Sausolito and Tiburon, picturesque little seaside towns, and catch the ferry back to Fisherman's Wharf. Most spectacular, the ride takes you across the Golden Gate Bridge -watch out for rabid lycra clad cyclists who are likely to toss you over the edge in a rage if you block their path.

A 2 hour drive north of SF will bring you to Point Reyes National Park, where myself, Jules and Nathan ventured one sunny day. Taking Highway (Pacific Coast Road) northwards was a gnarly affair with winding roads traversing the intimidating cliff edges. Worse still, the 26 days of rain in March had made the cliffs incredbily unstable and severe subsidence was in effect, at times resulting in huge sectins of the road slipping away.

Heading out to Lighthouse Point, we tried to catch a glimpse of the migrating Grey Whales that follow the coast line, unfortunately we were a little late as migration ends in April but spectacular none the less. The afternoon was spent sea kayaking in Tomales Bay, which was created by the San Andreas Fault shifting north-westwards. Much fun and splashing around, dodging diving Ospreys and the like with a well deserved beer at our beach destination.

In reflection, I couldn't help but think of San Francisco as a living breathing Brave New World where the focus is definately on indulgence and good times. To what extent that this reflects on San Francisco, or whether it was hearing the word Soma each day I can't be sure. For sure, the wealthy enjoy a luxurious lifestyle eating in the best restaurants for super cheap prices, dating is a relaxed affair and not unusual to have many interests running in concurrency so that fits with Aldous Huxleys vision of the future. How this applies to the poorer populous I don't know but I expect that these pleasures are reserved for the fortunate few.

Certainly from talking to other travellers, their experience of SF was quite different to mine, struggling to find the right places to go, eating out was costly, and difficult to find areas to wander where you didn't feel threatened. I'm lucky to have the guide I did so thank you Jules and friends - you is legends innit!

San Francisco remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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A short 20 minute ferry ride from Nanaimo and British Columbia's Queen of the Gulf Islands Gabriola Island can be yours to enjoy. Situated in the Sound between Vancouver Island and mainland British Coumbia, the island is a pleasant rural setting of forested parks and serene beaches and coves littered with driftwood.

The island's name is derived from Punta de Gaviota (Cape Seagull), the name given by the Spanish to the southeastern part of the island in 1791. Prior the Spanish 'discovering' the island, Native American peoples lived on the island for an unknown number of years, as testified by the wealth of ancient native stone carvings called petroglyphs. Also referred to by some as Granola Island (as inscribed on the wall of the washroom wall on the BC Ferry), it is now haven for approximately 4,000 residents consisting of workers commuting to Nanaimo, hippies, retirees and draft dodgers, it is truly an island paradise BC style.

My visit confirmed for me British Columbia as a true unspoilt wilderness. I know Alaska claims this title more so for the extreme mountainous terrain and total isolation - Gabriola Island is infinitely more accessible and much easier to explore given the temperate climate, and that you can circumnavigate the entire island on bike in under 4 hours.

My hosts for my stay were my Aunty Joy and Uncle Peter who recently moved to the island after a 27 year stint in the city of Calgary, seeking the dream of the peace and serinity (or is that senility) that island life brings. Like many people on the island, they have embarked on a project to build their own house, starting from picking a plot in the middle of the forest, clearing the trees and scrubland and building the property from the ground up (silly phrase that is, how else would you do it?). By the time I had arrived, development was in full swing with the ground cleared, foundations layed and timberframe and housing in place. Patrick, an eccentric big-bearded French man with a gorgeous wife had been doing an sterling job of leading the project, and a top guy and good friend he became.

Unbeknowst to me and highlighting my lehman knowledge in such matters, tonnes more work has gone into it as this house as many other on the island has no running water and no connected swerage so must be entirely self-sufficient. An incredibly complex septic system which drains into the front lawn, and a rain water capture/filter system to provide clean flowing water all year round is hidden behind the scenes - very impressive! I was to assist with work here utilising what skills I have, namely clearing up the site and building huge mansize fires hot enough to liquify metal - what fun that was.

For the now, they live in a rented property, pretty basic in their eyes but ideal to me after my ex-prison dwellings in Golden. In the garden lies one of Gabriola's secret attractions, a 20 metre plus tree that has somehow grown out of a huge rock, or straddled at some point in it's life, no roots can be seen tunneling through the rock and this is no work of a handy gardener. After much deliberation, I couldn't figure out a plausible explanation. Go figure.

The real draw for me on the island was the sheer abudance of wildlife. Each night, we would head out to enjoy the sunset at one of many spots, the favourite being The Lighthouse which looks out across the Sound to Vancouver Island, focusing on a small rock outcrop with, would you believe it, a lighthouse on top. Scores of elephant & harbour seals and sea lions were setting up shop for their annual mating ritual. Sitting on the shore you could listen to the males barking out their superioty and females cooing with glee at machoistic displays, which echoed across the Sound. Occasionally you would be lucky enough to catch a few seals en route to the island that passed close by the shore. Most passed by unpreturbed but occasionally you would be caught in a face to face encounter with a displeased seal - what they were saying I could not be sure but I think it was roughly along the lines of 'get orf my laaand'.

The bay was arife with crustacean life, and when the tide was out you could brave a treacherous walk to the water's edge along the rock outcrops. Colourful amemonies litter the rock pools, including this rather alien-like Aggregate Anemone (the green markings a result of the algae it feeds upon). My cousin also tells me it's highly enjoyable to poke a stick into their mouth and watch them close, a little cruel perhaps.

Brightly coloured Ochre Star Fish that can span over - 1 foot across are seen all over the island, attaching themselves to marina jettys and basking in rock pools. The beauty of this specimen is somewhat spoilt in this picture, a beauty and the beast compositon I'd guess.

This which brings enmass a proliferal of bird waders. The favourite with their almost luminescent orange bills and gangly legs were the Black Oyster Catchers.

Timing of the visit was impeccable as luck would have it, the Herrings were running en mass in enormous shoals. I'm not sure if this was simply a coincidence that the seals mating season is at the same time or another beautiful medley of nature, certainly they enjoyed the easy pickings. Whilst at The Lighthouse one night you could see a dark shadow of the herrings gathering under the surface of the water, a huge flock of Harlequin Ducks were fishing gathering on the surface in one group and diving simultaneously, remaining under the water for 30 seconds or so then returning to the surface as one, forming a neat line and leading to the next dive spot. I have never seen anything like this and was totally bizarre/awe inspiring.

Probably the best way to see the island is to hire a sea kayak and paddle out to the smaller islands off the coast. Setting off from Silva Bay on the south side of the island, within 20 minutes we were away from the hustle bustle (ha ha). Keep your eyes peeled for wildlife on the shore and the rewards will be yours - a small speck of movement on a beach in a small cove turned out to be two racoons washing their food in the gently lapping waves, a real treat given that they are primarily nocturnal creatures and quite timid, this little fella seemed fascinated with my kayak.

Around the headland, we stumbled across a rocky island that hundreds of harbour seals had set up home upon. The startled seals took to the water and I was surrounded by over 50 seals bobbing in the turbulent water, all staring intently at the strange visitors that disturbed their afternoon rest. Using the currents to repeatedly float past the island backwards (seals find this less threatening), we got closer and closer to the seals as they became accustomed to our presence. Some great shots of one seal who perhaps was just too fat to move.

My favourite place on the island was an area on the far southern tip called Drumbeg Provincial Park, a memorable place where I saw my first elephant seal (only 2 metres from the shore), with stunning views across the bay from serene beaches with twisted driftwood littered about. Truly magical. It was here that was probably the best spot to observe Bald Eagles going about their business, hanging around in trees waiting for the opportune moment to go check out the fish menu, or when the thermals were right for a little scout around the bay.

If you waited long enough, the eagle would put on a display for you and swoop and soar with effortless grace, and maybe catch a fish and return to it's perch but to show off it's style and grace in the air.

An another visit to Drumbeg, I met with an ex-Vancouver resident who too found this spot to be his favourite. It was a sunny day and whilst chatting about the island and his experiences, a River Otter climbed from what I found out to be his nesting site and sat on a rock no more than 20 feet from us to sun bathe. We watched the little chap enjoy the sun and it was only as it strutted away to the waters edge did I think to to snap the moment on camera. Sometimes the moment is more important than the picture.

If that's not enough, I decided to explore yet another aspect of the island by venturing into the 2 degree waters and checking out the sub-aquatic world to see if it lives up to it's promise of being 'Rated as one of the "Best" cold water destinations in the world'. Over the past 10 years, the Artificial Reef Society of British Columbia, along with the Provincial and Federal government's, Dive Shop Owners and many volunteers have joined forces to create arguably one of the best regions in the world for the establishment of artificial reefs through strategically sinking WW2 war ships, fishing vessels or other such craft they can get their hands, probably the most famous of which is the HMCS Saskatchewan.

Through Sundown Divers in Nanaimo, I joined a group of experienced divers visiting for the weekend from Vancouver. Unfortunately weather did not permit a dive to the exposed and current ridden HMCS Saskatchewan so this was off the cards. The first dive of the day was the wall of Snake Island which starts in 20 metres of water and you can descend to over 200 metres.

Wearing a 7mm wetsuit complete with feet, gloves, hood that left no skin exposed, I plunged into the freezing water for my first dive experience after the Red Sea in November 2004. What a shock - not only was it freezing cold causing my chest cavity to shrink to the size of a pea, on looking under the water visibility was down to less than 2 metres - I began to regret my decision and figured that my chips were up. With gentle encouragement I took the plunge and followed the guide line down into the murky waters.

To my suprise, the waters cleared at a depth of meters with greater than 20 metres visibility, and now that I could breath comfortably-ish I began to relax. Descending down the wall I was amazed at the amount of life down here - crustaceans, anemomies and urchins dominated life down here in stark contrast to the countless varities of fish that swarm around coral reefs. Huge white Plumose Anemomies dominated the rocky overhangs, with bright Dahlia Anemomies (pictured) adding splashes of colour.

Not to give the impression that this was a still life, far from it - huge armies of urchins migrating to shallower waters, orange coloured sponges that make great ping-pong balls, and a suprisingly broad variety of fish (though quite alusive) including Lingcod (pictured) and Rockfish.

To complete the dive we surfaced close to the island to watch the Harbour Seals at play, back in the < 1 meter visibility water, none were around until I realised that a layful fella was tugging at my flipper, and another 10 surrounded me in amusement.

The afternoon dive was to the wreck of HMS Prudent which whilst not as spectacular as the first was enjoyable none the less as my first real wreck dive. I tried my hand at underwater filming too and whilst the images were total rubbish, by sheer accident I captured the song of a group of whales that was only spotted on playback at home that night. I hope you can hear it on this video too.

What I intended to be only 3 day stay turned into a week long orgy of wildlife spotting beyond my wildest dreams, some quality time getting to know my Aunt and Uncle and becoming one (again) with another part of the amazing British Columbia. I hope to visit again next year, hmm that list keeps growing.

To close the Gabriola account, I leave you with a stunning sunset view from close to The Lighthouse.

Victoria

Now on my last legs in the country, I made the journey across to Victoria on Vancouver Island where I'd catch my connecting flight back to Calgary and beyond. Billed as more English than England, Victoria's apparent tea-and-scones-at-eleven-and-three Englishness was lost on me as I didn't seem to get that impression at all, I guess I saw the wrong places. Hooking up with an Aussie dude, we explored the city and it's sights including the BC Parliament as a highlight. The best part of this short visit was meeting the bass player of The 88's who were playing in town that night, unable to help in his quest for some pot we still had a good banter after which we were invited as VIPs to their gig that night. To be honest I'd never heard of them, apparently they were used on The OC tv hell show. The evening began with a night at the town's Irish bar where we celebrated Tartan Day (no idea what that was about but lots of Irish performers, jiggers etc) and met the mayor if Hollyrood, New Foundland who was an idiot and didn't know who Tony Blair was, after discovering he and his friend were RCMP in town for a conference with 400+ other enforcers we scarpered quick sharp and on the the gig. The venue was awesome, small intimare bar with friendly locals, The 88's were awesome and absolutely loved it - cheers dudes!

Calgary

Quick exit from Victoria the next day, and flew back to Calgary with WestJet (top airline and no lost bags) and just had time for one last night of hedonism before leaving for the USA. Hooked up with Megz (on special visit to the town), cousins and their football team and headed to the quality establishment Ranchmans (as seen in Brokeback Mountain) which is a cowboy styled bar. Made a fool of myself on the mechanical bull, I mockingly stroked it's hide on the warm up run which was all the lesbianator machine operator needed and she whipped it up into breakback mode. Ouch, the bruises have just about faded after 10 days. Anyhow, a good night all in all tho I felt inadequate in two-step dancing skills to the Cowboy who whipped Megz off her feet tho thankfully he was an inbred idiot with the brain capacity of a flea and looks to match (ha ha, how bitter I am ;o)

Just a single day in Rodeo city and time to head off already. Sob sob, I'll miss Canada soo much, I'll be back next year.

Next stop sunny (ha ha) California and the City of San Francisco.

Granola Island & beyond remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Arriving in Vancouver, I brushed with the crystal-meth charged homeless that congregate around the bus station, managing to avoid any unpleasant confrontations. The city has a real problem here and little evidence of any community projects to address the problem which is a shame for such a liberal place. Continuing en-route to my accommodation - the HI Vancouver Downtown - I met some interesting folks who again displayed the open and helpful Canadian welcome with bus route banter. Hostel was basic but friendly and clean which is all you can ask, I hear much nicer/safer than the HI Central. A little culture shocked as I re-established contact with 1) the real world and city life; and 2) the backpacker fraternity who at times I find a little self-indulgent for want of a better word, especially when you discover the extent of their ‘travels’ is living in the hostel for the past 3 months. Cynicism aside I met some really nice people, notably one chap from Cornwall who invited me to experience surfing English style. Unfortunately, none would join me for a beer so I headed out alone, only to venture unwittingly into a gay bar, the super-camp waiters and 6 foot paintings of naked men on the walls should have been a giveaway - I guess I was too tired to notice, no problem with gay bars at all but perhaps a single young male drinking alone might send out the wrong message, pint down the neck, quick exit and early to bed.

Setting aside only a single day to explore Vancouver having stayed in the city for 7 days on my previous trip in 1996, a whistle stop tour ensued and admittedly Lonely Planet was my guide verbatim. I was impressed - they do quite a good job if you haven’t got the time or inclination to think and explore for yourself.

Walking downtown from the hostel on Granville Avenue, I was overhauled by diversity of the people that live in this city - office workers supping on their soya-lattes, punks and layabouts hanging out (one begging for change under the slogan 'any spare change for weed, too lazy to work'), and tourists gazing skyward or eyes buried in their streetmaps. Neon signs advertising DRUGS and evening soirees amblazoned in 6 foot high hoardings created a neo-Tokyo style feel, intermingled with chrome-plated office blocks in a modern inside-out arcitectural style.

Arriving at Canada Place Way, I take in the remnants of the EXPO '86
exhibition that I was fortunate to visit as a kid, which has now been converted for use as a convention centre, on this day hosting an IT conference with the likes of Oracle and IBM representing. I am reminded of the 'real world' of laptop powerpoint presentations and business jargon speak as I eavesdrop on conversations.

I pass by a curious statue, a plastic looking bear that has been painted with a colourful depiction of Vancouver's sights.

Entitled 'Bears in the City', this is a British Columbia charity fund-raising initiative where 6,000 life size (approx. 7ft) custom formed fiberglass Spirit Bears are distributed across BC to local artists who create a unique design and apply it to the surface. The Bear becomes the artist's canvas. Once the work is complete, the Spirit Bear will be displayed in prominent public spaces around the participating cities.

The bear is actually the rare "Spirit Bear" or "Kermode Bear". A First Nation legend states that the Raven, their creator, made these bears white as a reminder of the time when the world was pure and clean and covered with snowdrifts and ice blue glaciers. Raven promised that these bears would live in peace and harmony forever.

The exhibit ends with the great 'Spirit Bear Auction', a gala event where the Spirit Bears will be put on the block and auctioned to the highest bidder. Spirit Bear auction proceeds will benefit the BC Lions Society's Easter Seal Operations and the Canucks for Kids Fund. read more here. Very nice.

Moving on I take in the view from the Sea Bus terminal looking over the bay, North Vancouver and up and beyond to Grouse (where they do flood-lit) night skiing) and Seymour Mountains and feel a aching in my belly to return to mothership. Around the corner, I stumble across the home of computer game legends Electronic Arts. The developers outside enjoying their morning smoke break quite the contrast to the business folks.

To get a better view of the city on this splendid blue sky day, I head to the Harbour Centre Tower opened in 1977 and at an impressive 177 metres, it certainly fit the bill, tho thankfully there was a convenient glass fronted elevator to save my poor whittling lungs. The view from the top was amazing and I attempted my first panoramic construction to re-create the view.

Next on the Lonely Planet's guide to life was Dr Sun Yat-Sen’s Classical Chinese Garden, which whilst not being an entirely Canadian affair, has some local significance given that Vancouver's Chinatown is the 2nd largest in North America, and Mandarin and Cantonese are the mother tongues in 30 per cent of Vancouver homes.A freebie was to be had next door to the real mccoy which was impressive, and provided a sneak glimpse of the real thing which won me over despite the hefty $9 entry fee.

Once inside you are whisked away to a magical Chinese wonderland with ornate summer houses, naturally-created limestone features in the shapes of dragons or depicting scenes, and the ebb and flow of Chee (?) passing on an invisible spiritual plane.

Amazingly the garden is constructed entirely of materials imported from China from the tiles on the mosaiced floor to the beams of. There are four major elements in the Garden: water, rock, plants and architecture, the relationship of which reflect the Taoist belief in Yin and Yang--opposites that must be in balance to create harmony, depicting all elements of the natural landscape--mountains, rivers, lakes, trees, valleys, hills--and, by bringing them together in a small space, to concentrate the life force, the qi, that animates them, or so they say. I was even inspired to take pictures of some pretty flowers such was the power of the energy flow.

Moving on, I completed my whistle-stop tour with a stroll, which quickly turned into a gentle sprint through Gas Town. Whilst it is steeped in historic charm and independence, infact being the birth place of the city back in 1867, it's back streets have deteriorated into a vibrant not-so-clean needle exchange so I'd not recommend hanging around. That said, I managed to grab a sneak peak of the statue of Gassy Jack who built the first boozer in town so is accredited with making the city, and the infamous Steam Clock that tells the time and blows steam out of many an orifice every 15 minutes - how quaint.

Time a pressing, there was only time to grab a Tim Horton's combo special before grabbing my oversized and overpacked rucksack (no snowboard bag in tow now thank the lord) and heading off to complete my Greyhound adventure - on to Horshoe Bay and ferry across to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island before I retreat once again to the wilderness that is Gabriola Island where my next over-verbatim tail will pick up.

Vancouver remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The end of the season is nigh so it’s time to pack my bags and head off to explore the big wide world.

I have mixed feelings about leaving - very excited about all the adventures and exciting people to meet but also sad to leave Golden which has been my home for the past 83 days. I honestly feel like I belong here and found a home-from-home in a mountain paradise. Simple as life here is, it never ceases to bring new surprises each day, both on and off the hill. The locals here have been simply amazing, so welcoming and willing to go the extra mile for you unconditionally. The people take such pride in their town, Canada and pretty much anything they do - pick up an product in a super market, any TV or magazine advert and you‘ll see the word ‘proud‘. The Canadian culture seems to be defined through complex interactions of people in day-to-day life maintained with absolute pride an integrity, rather than a set of rules or overseeing control by government, corporations etc. Thinking back to my sociology A-Level I think this is actually termed ‘interactionism‘, but don’t quote me on that. I’m not disillusioned in that like anywhere there are bad seeds, but I could not think of a single incident in the past 3 months that would burst this bubble.

To celebrate the end of an epic season and wish all the best for pastures new, a slap up dinner was held at Eleven 22 - a super-nice restaurant in Golden town, with PowderTrip picking up the tab (which is nice). All the usual suspects were there, plus some honorary guests including Megz, Bruno, Christie (as seen in Backcountry Adventures Part I), Marie and Gary (owners of Alpen Rose where the rest of the PowderTrip rabble stayed), Colin, Mike, Lisa and Carrie (from the KHMR Snow School).

For pure comedy value and a bit of harmless fun, John Boyte (PowderTrip Director) organised some awards for the crew, accolades as follows:

Gnarliest tricks - Me
Best Helmet Hair & Best Attendance - Matt
Novice to Expert - John
Most Exotic & Numerous Injuries - Mike
Most Entertaining Dancing & You Pull that Sh*t Again and I’ll Cut Your Balls Off - Tom (Ice Man)

The night was completed with a trip to Taps for some obligatory shot-skis and our last dose of Altitude lager (@ only $10 a pitcher!). To finish, as it’s Monday where else is there to go apart from a last soiree at Fresh Meat Mondays @ The Roadhouse, where for a change the Dollar draft was surprisingly good quality with a hangover arriving after only 4 glasses rather than the usual 2. It was a tear-jerking farewell as I said goodbye to peeps and time to head back home. A jolly 11 hour Greyhound to Vancouver awaits in the morning, joy joy joy.

My thanks to the following people for making this the best season ever:

Matt, Olly, Travis T, Nicci, John, Tom, Mike, John B, & Neil (Powder Trip); Bruno (ski lessons); Ryan, Lisa, Trevor, Colin, Don, Carissa, Leanne, Mike, Steve, Christen, Crystal, Sarah, Ana, Lyndsey, Trisha, Jenna, Mallory, Claire & friends (KHMR); Polly, Ronnie, Annette & Marlene (11th St); Megz (dudette); Dave & Bridget (double-dudes); Kurt & Garcy (The Cabin Owners), Brady & Ryan (Ontario dudes), dude no-name & Lee (Selkirk Sports), and all other dudes I missed.

Golden - I love you and hope to be back soon. Bye for now! Next stop Vancouver.

Leaving Golden remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Feuz (pronounced ‘Feutz’) Bowl was today discovered by The Empire as the secret location of the Rebel Snowboard base. The battle commenced with Darth Vader launching a spearhead attack on the Powder Generator with a deadly concoction of At-At and Scout Walkers. The out-gunned and out-manned Rebels bravely fought on and contrary to the popular fictional account, the Rebels repelled the onslaught spirited on by Mike Skywalker, notably dropping an At-At with a fearless lip slide to nose blunt, jibbing the balance regulator and causing it to stumble to the ground. Wedge Antilles AKA me received a court marshal for hiding in a snow pit for the duration of the battle - confrontation was never my strong point. The powder dream in Feuz Bowl lives on.

(Thanks Red 5 AKA Chris Bullas for the pics!)

PowderTrip passes First Aid Course

To ready us all for injuring the paying customers that await in our snowboard instructor careers, we thought it a good idea to gain a First Aid qualification to cover liability - all passed with flying colours. The course covered the basics from CPR to how to safely pack a body in a back-board for rescue off the hill minimising C-Spine injury risk.

Hidden benefits of the course included a horror film of horrific mountain-related injuries including two climbers falling 80ft + onto rocks breaking just about every bone in their body, resembling a piece of jelly rolling down a hill, and a de-scalped skier who misjudged the gap underneath a branch whilst wearing no helmet. Sanctuary from Tom’s relentless onslaught of random and illogical facts was found when we discovered once a ’victim’ is strapped into a back-board that it’s impossible to escape unassisted.

Bonified Snowboard Instructor I am

Contrary to national security and public concerns, KHMR released the PowderTrip collective onto the public with some volunteer snowboard lessons. Donning the delightful snow school uniform which I can only assume is constructed of plywood and air-sealed for maximum sweat retention, I conducted a series of lessons. All went very well apart from one when I discovered that the student had been riding backwards for the entirety of the lesson, nonetheless perfecting switch linked turns is a great achievement. Joking aside, it was a very proud moment to don the uniform and great to put our training into practice. Pictured is myself and Olly, who will be returning to The Shire (LOTR) soon.

Dave Smith found guilty of Contravention of Coyote Rights Law

Following the recent disgrace of key US Military Officers violating Human Rights laws through the mistreatment of prisoners in Iraq, it seems that such behaviour is not limited to the Middle East and the mistreatment of humans. GI Dave Smith has been charged with gross misconduct after interfering with and being pictured with a coyote carcass on Upper Donald Road, Golden. The exact whereabouts of the coyotes missing lower jaw and eyeballs have not been established, although identical items have been seen for sale on eBay. Coyote officials have refused to release a formal statement, commenting that if Dave had not already escaped to Mexico he would be their next meal.

Curling Fever Hits Golden

With the arrival of the Winter Olympics 2006 in Turin, curling fever has swept across Canada and PowderTrip have been caught up in the whirlwind of events. Introductions to the game began with on open-session on a Monday night with teams from Australia, UK, Japan, Canada & Uzbekhistan representing. The Golden Star were there to capture the moment.

Following this opening extravaganza, the zen factor kicked in and the UK team took it to the next level with Mike and Olly assuming captaincy roles and some stunning stone placement from myself and Matt as key openers. Joking aside, this game is beyond awesome - give it a try. Watch this space for the ’curling cam’ video once I get around posting it.

Golden Skatepark Opens

The snow is finally melting around Golden town, liberating the newly built Golden skate park from it’s icy prison. The kids were out in force on the opening day throwing some gnarly tricks. Posing as a tree, I managed to sneak into this secret world and grab some shots of the local talent doing their stuff.

A special treat for all, local heroes Jeremy and Ryan arrived to build an impromptu snowboard jib rail using snow scraped from the local ice rink, a series of crates for the launch pad and a bike lock-up thing for the slider. A great session ensued with a gnarly mix of BS & FS board slides, lip slides, disasters and thankfully no face plants. I was too scared to hit it - the thought of landing face first on a grit encrusted icy car park was too much to bear.

Towards the end of the session, I was exposed as a fraud when a dog peed on my lower branches forcing me to remove my disguise. To avoid certain death, I grabbed the nearest skateboard and showed the youth I can skate a bit only to find I can’t at all proven with a shove-it to shin breaker and a tic-tack to face plant. Tail between my legs I retreated home.

Octomus Prime Lives on!

Contrary to popular belief, Octomus Prime was not killed by the Decepticons and is alive and well living in Golden. He now likes to spend his days posing at the base of KHMR for tourists and the like. He commented ‘I was fed up of being a robot in disguise and wanted to show the world the real me instead of hiding behind the façade that I am a truck. Besides, I doubted that we were fooling anybody as I was the same size as a tape recorder, hand gun and aircraft carrier.’

Bear Found in Tree

An ancient Native American legend was proven true today when the spirit of the Great Grizzly Bear of Golden was found alive and well embedded in a tree, much like Han Solo imprisoned in carbonite, witnessed whilst hiking en route to Cedar Lake on the Moonshine Trails.

BBQ @ The Cabin, Upper Donald Road

In celebration of passing our level one exams (old news I know), Dave, Megz and I hosted a BBQ at our mountain retreat. A great time was had by all as we braved the -14 degree conditions, kept alive only by a monstrous fire built by Kurt and a continual supply of mulled wine. My infamous homemade burgers made with buckets of balsamic vinegar and a surprise cube of mozzarella within were devoured with great haste. Our inexperience in hosting a bbq in such conditions was revealed when the humongous bowl of salad we lovingly prepared froze solid - my advice is not to bother with such additions and stick to the meat, but be quick about that too. Honorary guests at the bbq besides the usual rabble were Lindsey and Marie who turned out to be the hit of the night, with Marie recounting numerous tales of meeting the rich and famous who all commented on what a nice person she was, including none other than Bob Marley. It could have been the truth, either that or the wine or other stimulants doing the talking, or the mere power of suggestion of her wearing a sweater with the man himself emblazoned on it, we’ll never know. Nonetheless an entertaining evening had by all.

The Stuff I Forgot to Mention....

Ask me about these when I get back...

• Fresh Meat Mondays
  
• Wet T-Shirt Contest
  
• Free Keg Night @ Taps
  
• Silly Powder Day
  
• Ice Man
  
• What is said in the Gondola stays in the Gondola
  

The Golden News Round-up…. remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Day One was shared with Megz who had safely navigated the same hike with friends the week before; Day Two led by yours truly with Matt, Olly, Travis T and John in tow which is where this story follows in most part. Day two started with a melodrama with Olly dropping his helmet at the peak of Terminator. We all watched as it bobbed and rolled towards the impending cliff and to our terror Olly decided to put life before expense and (literally) dived after it, just managing to catch it before plummeting off the edge. We all shared a minor coronary and agreed if sh*t falls down (as it always does) to let it go.

Now in the backcountry, the hike to the peak of T2 involved a short traverse across Super Bowl and onto the ridge which would eventually lead to our destination. The back-side looked so tempting to drop in to with the promise of fresh powder lines - the only thing that held us back was the same as any other sane person would rationalise - a 15km hike out of the valley or a virtually unassailable scramble back up to the ridge. Nonetheless, some gnarly looking lines to fantasise about.

Our dreams were rudely interrupted by the sheer magnitude of the hike ahead, requiring a careful traverse along a narrow and winding ridge which at points narrows to only 1m with a sheer drop to certain death either side - with a force 10 gale blowing and a snowboard/sail strapped to your back this is no mean feat. Add to that the fact that the route winds around huge rock boulders with death’s jaws awaiting below and you start to get the picture.

What else do we need to settle our nerves? How about some almost vertical steps up the final push to the summit? That’ll do nicely sir. I think Olly’s quote at the top of one particularly steep pitch was ’f*ck that for a game of soldiers’ - an oldie but appropriate in the circumstances. Maximum respect to Megz who lead this section of the hike on day one without a visible boot-pack - you is truly hardcore!

Finally the summit appears, and we’ve made it safe and sound. The weather suddenly closes in and it’s time to make the final push to the cornice which marks the start of our descent, which invites us with open arms to drop from it’s bosom into the soft powder beneath. Right on cue, Mother Nature whips up the strongest winds of the day turning what should be a well deserved rest spot into an artic blizzard. No time to hang around, though I chuffed the obligatory cigarette first.

Onto the ride down. Day One I dropped this a couple of times - the first a straight air onto a surprisingly hard-packed wind blown section; the second a two-stage drop managing a 180 on the first ridge and half-cab to ride out, nice! Day two, all but one of the crew dropped the highest point of the cornice (a good 15ft) and this time the powder beneath did not disappoint, the ride out with lots of space to lay some big power turns on a fairly gentle face.

The group gathers at the first meeting point to drop the next ridge - the real meat in the sandwich! I was first down and hammered it down the base. Some super light snow and fun rocks to drop and small trees to jib. Pictured is Matt stood silhouetted on the ridge with Travis T beginning his descent.

Rip down through some evenly spaced trees and find an open powder chute, clearly a result of continual battering through repeated avalanches but given the stability of the snow pack, a good day to ride it and ride with style we did. At the base, the snow lacked quality with cruddy, icy stuff awaiting and we all dreamed of returning here after a huge dump. With haste we raced to the Day Lodge for a well deserved luncheon.

After much debate, we could not call it a day on this note, so decided to re-visit Super Bowl, this time requiring only a hike up T1. At the peak, the cloud clears to reveal a stunning view back over to KHMR and an other opportunity to capture this magnificent landscape.

Beyond the safety of T1 and the Truth & Dare chutes which lead in-bounds, this was my first venture into Super Bowl so I had no real idea of where to head, apart from scanning the bowl from the previous hike for possible routes. I liken this to parrying laser blasts with a lightsaber with the blast-shield down. Opting for the safer option of following the boundary rope down, we picked a chute with fresh lines awaiting, with a sharp left turn immediately at the bottom to return to the rope. Matt dropped first throwing all powder etiquette out of the window, laying out huge powder turns across the entire width of the bowl - we forgave him as all agreed it would be hard to resist such temptations. Olly, John & Travis (pictured) dropped next and I pick up the rear to lead the way to the final descent.

It turns out the decision to veer left to the rope was a good one as below the chute lay a 60ft + cliff, thankfully we all made it down the safety channel. Last dibs now as approach the top of the run ‘Terminator’ and we are overjoyed to find that just out of bounds awaits our last powder stash of the day - a 6m wide gulley/natural half-pipe with almost knee deep light fluffy powder, superb!

A race to the base for a well deserved beer and chin-wag about the days events. How lucky we’ve been for Spring skiing to find such great snow and how privileged we are to share this experience in the mountains - another super-awesome day at the Dogtooth.

More Backcountry Adventures remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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With all due respect to the level 1 qualification, which at the time I believed to be harder than alchemy, that was a piece of cake compared to this multi-tiered monstrosity. How? Well, the level 2 introduces that concept of analysis and improvement (A & I) which requires you to identify a problem in somebody’s riding then diagnose what the cause is (not to be confused with a symptom of the problem of which there are many), then utilise an appropriate tactic in appropriate terrain to correct it. Compound that with the fact that all this must be delivered alongside sound demonstrative knowledge of snowboarding theory and consistent riding of the highest technical level, and you see why it‘s no mean feat - it‘s not all gnarly tricks, hip-hop and baggy pants you know. I can safely say that this one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

Although the exam was only 4 days long it felt like a lifetime, requiring absolute focus an concentration for the whole 9 hours each day which was incredibly draining. We were honoured that the Technical Director for CASI, who just so happens to run the KHMR Snowboard School, would be the examiner, with Ryan (our main instructor for the PowderTrip program) alongside as the observing rookie. (Trevor incidentally jetted in from a 10 day trip to Alaska on the first morning of the course, and flew out again on the last day to Colorado for more snowy fun - can’t be bad!) Given the high calibre of the examiner, he expected the absolute best from us all so it was no walk in the park.

Day 1 was spent introducing the course, developing and assessing our riding capability. Day 2 moved onto intermediate and advanced sliding turns which I found a doddle. Day 3 we moved onto carving which I’ve always struggled a little with - I’d like to blame the board as is shorter than I should ride and is a very flexible (K2 Zeppelin 156cm) so not the easiest to work with, but workman/tools springs to mind. I was practically reduced to tears with Trevor ripping my riding to shreds, highlighting fundamental flaws in my steering skills in a video session (leading with the hip not knees/ankles). Add to that an unfortunate string of pretend feedback from my course comrades which I took as literal, and a miserable attempt to deliver a crappy lesson in the wrong terrain and I was destroyed. That night I thought it was all over but I knuckled down, studied hard, switched by board setup with natural stance and insane high-back lean to aid carving and set my mind for the next day. Listening to Changes by 2 Pac (not my normal choice) on my journey to the hill on day 4 I felt so inspired to give it my all and yay yay I totally nailed it and stormed the day - teaching was spot on, riding was flawless with some razor sharp carving everywhere I went, and mood was positive. Still I was beyond surprised when Trevor stuck out his hand at the end of the day with the magic words ‘congratulations’. Stoked beyond belief!

So, level 2 instructor I am. Congrats also to Leanne, Travis & Matt who passed too; next time will be yours Paul and Yotoko.

CASI Level II Instructor I am!!!! remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The day began with a seemingly normal start for a snowboard bum @ KHMR - awake at 8am, wolf down a bowl of super-power fuel breakfast cereal (Vector), stumble to the bus sprinting the last 50m as running late, with Ben the trusty driver tapping his foot and checking his watch as he always does in tune to my late arrival; arrive at KHMR day lodge and gorge down a Mountain Muffin (ham, egg & cheese muffin) and (free) coffee.

Checking in at snow school it seems I have a lesson for the morning - probably the cutest little girl (11 years old) I’ve ever seen - no paedophiliac comments please, just perfectly innocent admiration of a little one). Lesson progression is insane - within the allotted 2 hours we’ve moved from a rather tentative side-slip on the nursery slope to full blown, smooth-as-silk linked turns from Catamount. I don’t know who was happier - the girl or me. Mid-lesson Travis T, Matt and Lisa (my instructor) passed overhead on the chairlift and I could see how pleased they were that the lesson was working out. Afterwards, the sense of achievement in helping another to further their snowboarding and discover confidence in themselves was almost too much for me - I almost cried with joy. Happy happy days!

The afternoon was free to rip it up with Matt and Lisa, the highlight being my first venture into a secret powder chute called Dutchman’s Wallet - a tight, steep gulley with a balls-to-the-wall entrance which requires a clamber down a 25ft cliff with only roots and small rocks to hang onto. (Apparently Canadians view the Dutch as being generosity challenged, i.e. tight as a duck’s bottom, hence the chute’s name.) Powderous fun ensued in this secret stash which was a real treat as seemingly none was left else where on the mountain.

Onto the evening, and oh what a night! Proceedings started at Bar Omega - I have a mental block for recalling the name of this place, instead insisting on calling it Utopia which caught me out one night where I met 3 nice girlies from Edmonton and arranged to meet them at said Utopia which of course doesn’t exist. Besides that I also forgot their names, telephone numbers and where they lived even though I had been to their room - some things never change. Anyhow, the Powder Trip massive was out in full effect, with Megz and fellow peeps from KHMR joining the ensemble, green Kokanee beer was consumed in copious quantities and The Pogues and other such Irish classics were delved out to the slightly-unaware-of-the-meaning-of-the-day public.

Step up the pace and onto The Mad Trappers Pub, normally a beer swilling venue for lumberjacks, railroad workers, mathematical geniuses, tourists from Alberta and such like, but tonight the place had a new vibe courtesy of the Golden’s own party crew ‘Golden Delicious’. Pumping house and breaks filled the air as the crowd were whipped up into a frenzy of chemically-charged dancing mayhem, with Tom delivering his own unique dance choreography likened only to a mix of David Brent’s (The Office) MC Hammer impression meets Michael Flatly (Lord of The Dance). Even the normally reserved toon Neil (our Powder Trip chaperone) showed us all what can be done with a hula-hoop (hah hah). Brady and Ryan joined the throng, slightly amused at my seemingly unblinking eyes - it’s the adrenalin I tell ya.

The party finished all too soon at 2am and end-of-the-night panic set in. Luckily my party animal friend Mallory came up with the goods and announces an impromptu mash-up is to be hosted at our favourite party venue on 10th Street. Arrive at the house with a slightly reduced number of Olly, Matt & Megz with several newly acquired friends in tow, we ascend the stairs to find that their loft conversion has been super-clubified since our last soiree, with the addition of a disco ball, funky lights, and jungle cargo net.

Right on cue the Golden Delicious massive arrive armed with decks, sound rig and boxes full of juicy vinyl and the beats begin to flow once more. A mystical man known only as The Leprechaun satisfied the masses with his Lucky Charms. My familiarity with the tunes is realised when delving through the record boxes only to find classic after classic of UK house, break beat, new school breaks and every anthem ever to grace the glorious shores of Brighton. Happy days!

After a brief discussion of life, the universe and the intricacies of tea making, the Golden Delicious DJs agree to let me grace the decks. I hadn’t played in months but luckily for the awaiting masses and my own ego I did not fail to deliver, and was quickly whisked away into a trance-like state, oblivious to all who danced only 2 feet from my face, chopping the beats into spine-tingling packages and dropping bass-lines like there’s no tomorrow. I had fun, oh yes I had fun.

Down with the DJ mitts and on with the dancing. Hooked up again with Matt, Megz and Olly and we became as One, with a certain young lady more than others. After spending 3 months hanging out together day in, day out, a connection never felt before was shared (which has continued till this day), love and dancing mayhem filled the air once more. Down to the chill-out lounge, sharing some great conversations, also discovering the merits of the Canadian version of ’Lights Alive’. Much fun!

Before we knew it, the sun was beginning to rise reminding us all of the fact that night doesn’t last for ever and a new day is dawning. Megz had a full day of work ahead on next-to-no sleep after her first real rave experience (ouch) and work she did, hardcore! I on the other hand had a slightly better deal, driven to Radium Hot Springs to soak and relax for the afternoon in the mineral enriched waters. Heaven!

Back to Golden and I treat Megz to a slap-up dinner at the Kicking Horse Grill. The food was simply amazing, devouring a 14oz prime Albertan steak with the most amazing spiced chutney I’ve ever tasted, washed down with a fine Okanogan Valley red wine, and finished with the richest chocolate desert known to man. Bliss! Bed beckons, have to get my rest you see for another day at KHMR - oh, did I forget to mention the 20cm dump over the weekend? Joy joy joy!

Not your traditional St Paddy’s day I know, and perhaps I am starved of such entertainment, but surely life doesn’t get better than this!?

St Patricks Day remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The declared route for the day, accounting for weather conditions, snow pack stability etc, was to ride up the Stairway to Heaven chairlift, hike the backside of White Wall, up and over Ozone, and then down into Rudi's Bowl and hike and drop the North face.

Having done our Recreational Avalanche Course (RAC) earlier in the season (see my previous narrative here), we knew that despite the appearance of beautiful the slopes that lies outside the confines of the resort, Mother Nature is a wild and temptuous beast and not to be treated lightly! With this in mind, we made sure to hire snowshoes, transceiver, shovel and probe from Don down at 180 in town to safeguard ourselves and compadres on the trip.

With the sun blazing down on a glorious Spring March morning, we were ready to embark on the adventure. Lisa, as the most experienced backcountry traveller, had offered to lead us on our quest for the Virgin Snow much to the pleasure of our party.

The team were buzzing with excitement - alighting the gondola at the Base Station donned with our backpacks and snowshoes, we looked like real backcountry-monkeys and felt our months of training in the ways for the Force were about to come into fruition. You could feel the buzz in the air as the anticipation of the adventure ahead grew and grew with every passing moment, each person expressing their excitement in their own unique way - quiet contemplation, telling enthused tales of previous backcountry adventures or the ever-timeless 'Gondola Chat' ("what is said in the Gondola, stays in the Gondola").

At the top of the gondola, the true splendour and impeccable fluke in choosing today of all days became apparent - blue skies as far as the eye could see, a perfect view of the surrrounding mountains and, perhaps more importantly, every feature and undulation of the terrain was crystal clear. Compare this to attempting the same route on a 'white-out' day where you can barely see your own hand in front of your face let alone the 60ft cliff you are about to unknowingly plummet from to your peril.

None were willing to risk injury and descend one of the many garbage chutes (now wind-blown, rock exposed, and icy as hell) down into Crystal Bowl on the way to the Stairway chairlift, so we opted for the safe(r) cat-track. My ever pressing desire fling myself off any drop won through however, but I quickly discovered just how difficult any freestyle manoeuvre is with a 5kg + backpack - getting any air is a feat in itself, 180's become 270's with the extra weight swinging you further around, and even straight airs are no walk in the park as the load shifts you off balance. Needless to say I kept my feet firmly on the ground after the first few failed attempts.

Alighting at the top of the Stairway lift, the group assembled and checked all transceivers were switched to 'send' and donned the snowshoes. Olly, as the solo skier, mastered the art of attaching climbing skins and touring bindings to his skis wih amazing fluidity for a first-timer. With all gear present and correct and the team fully accounted for, we set off on the first leg of the hike - traverse White Wall ridge and up and over Ozone.

The now familiar inbound double-black diamond terrain from previous powder days seemed tame compared to the gnarly delights that lay ahead. That said, stumbling along a narrow boot-pack trail with over-sized snowshoes made interesting entertainment with a few near miss stumbles off the cornice. Still, I managed to maintain balance long enough for a photo opportunity.

The hike was tough going, my 20-a-day Canadian Lights habit coming back to remind me that it's not big and clever to smoke in the form of neatly congealed grey lumps surfacing from my suffocating alvioli. At the top of Ozone, body and spirits were re-junevinated with an impressive view of White Wall whence we came.

Dropping to the backside of Ozone, the way down to Rudi's Bowl revealed itself in the form of 6 gnarly chutes to choose from, all equally inviting with fresh untouched powder in most. Lisa proved her worth by highlighting that the first two of these chutes contained a hidden suprise - a double 20ft + cliff drop to negotiatate before reaching the open bowl - clearly we were glad of her expert knowledge and opted out. Still with 4 barely-touched chutes to choose from and we could barely stop ourselves from all charging in. Our RAC had shown us, though, that one at a time is the way to go to minimise total burial. We picked two chutes, Christen dropping the left more open chute, and your author granted the privilege of christening the right tighter chute wih only two tracks layed down this one (just off to the right of picture).

Dropping in from a 6ft cornice into foot deep powder, my board seemed to yelp in delight and forged it's way to the mouth, laying out powder slashes as I went creating clouds of powder dust in the suprisingly light snow. The chute tightened almost into a mini-halfpipe allowing me to slash huge turns up the sides and control my speed. When the chute opened out I was presented with my first real view of Rudi's Bowl - a stunning, pristine, untouched, snow-capped wilderness playground. The triple pillow line ahead caught my eye and I tentatively dropped it without feeling a slight pressure change the snow was that light, opening up into a open powder field and cruise to our meeting point. It was amazing is all I can say(super-amazing even)! I think the rather corny ryhme 'deep and steep' pretty much do it justice.

At the bottom, with giant smiles on our faces, we strapped on the shoes again to start the hike up the side of the bowl. Travis and Lisa’s DIY skills were needed to fix Olly’s now broken touring bindings so that he could get up the hill using a cunning mix of duck tape and fuse wire. This is one of the things about backcountry: anything can happen and you need to be prepared! We did get away in the end and we made quite a sight heading up the slope. If we’d thought the first hike was hard…!

The delirium seemed to affect some more than others, notably the Action Man of the team Travis(T) struggling behind and admitting on camera that fitness is lacking - it seems that Mother Nature can humble even the most inflated of ego's ;o) Still, he managed to summon a gnarly gesture on Kodak demand.

One hour later, having all lost half a stone in weight plus our coats, hoodies, hats etc., we hit the top of the ridge. I can safely say that this was in my top 10 of incredible views I’ve ever seen. We lay down, sunbathed, ate lunch, took photos and generally soaked it up. Amazing!

Morey's Bowl

Kicking Horse and Dogtooth Mountain Range

Eventually we decided that, as we’d taken the time to walk up the damn thing, we really ought to get a bit of riding in! We had planned to rip it down the same way as the hike, but given that the North face had been exposed to the warming sun's rays al morning, the other side of the ridge looked too hold lighter snow - an opportunity too good to miss. Every one of us hit knee-deep, totally untouched lines and I have to admit that my English reservedness disappeared in a second as I found a strange, whooping sound coming out of my mouth - I don’t think I was the only one. Nothing compares to the feeling of your board floating through the fluffy white untouched powder, not even sex ("that's because you're not doing it right Roach - quote from Point Break, sad I know").

A moment of reflection and time to change underwear, it was on to the journey home - a tough traverse through gnarly trees, creeks and tree-wells (the last two were reserved for Travis and Mike!), the bottom of which turned into a icey luge/boardercross track which wound it's way around a now melted and fully flowing mountain stream. Hairy stuff, luckily none of the team found cause to take a dip. Still, we couldn’t wipe the grins off our faces.

Back at KHMR, we grabbed some beer and reflected on the day's events. Perhaps a little too much faffing limited how much riding we actually got in (approx 20 minutes versus the 4 hours or so of hiking), but it was one hell of a run, eh?! Quality not quantity and that jazz.

Stand up Matt, Olly, Travis, Ryan, Lisa, Christen and Mike - Rudi's Bowl is ours. See y'all same time, same place next week!

Backcountry Adventures remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The mountain has been truly awesome throughout with some mind-blowing snow dumps followed by white-out 'use the force' hucking days (oxford dictionary entry for 2006, meaning to throw yourself off something without a hope in hell of landing it), and bluebird days.

I had my best ever week's riding last, one of those string of days where everything goes right for you and anything you try seems (and is) possible, where the ground beneath your feet is a cushioned mattress beneath you that moulds and shapes to your every whim, and where gravity ceases it's grip on you and liberates you to enjoy the skies. Mildy poetic I know, perhaps a little melancholic but I don't know how else to describe it without gushing somewhat.

To give an indication of what went on, here's an account from one day. Bear in mind that half of this stuff I haven't been able to do in my 14 years snowboarding so I am happier than the laughing policeman on prozac. Much to my distaste, the only word that does it justice is 'sick' (skater/snowboard speak for very very very good):

(to follow this the piste map may help)

GONDOLA

Gaze across at the awe inspiring Terminator Ridge. This ridge and runs (Glory, Truth, Dare, & Consequence) hold their powder real well due to the 20 minute hike to the peak scaring off the not-so-dedicated tourists. Not on today's menu - no time to waste hiking and the like.

Drop CPR Ridge trees towards terminator, blasting through knee deep powder and comfortably spaced Fir Trees, halting above Pride Rock. Drop Pride Rock with a sweet Mute Grab and smooth landing.

Across to Double Header (hike past the Howitzer cannon hut), ollie FS180 over single pillar line and thru a tight gap in the trees to exit.

Flat line all of the way down Double Header. Normally this is an dicy icy mogul affair with sharpened logs and jagged rocks waiting to spear you or knock you over, but with the amount of snow it was conveniently converted into a collection of pillows and knee deep powder with many offerings to ollie, spin and butter all the way down. Across to Bugablue where The Natural Park Sculptor in the sky has been at work yet again, laying out 8 or so evenly spaced kickers with a nice steep and cushioned landing behind each, perfect for popping multiple linked airs. The routine was FS180, FS Half Cab, FS360 to BS 360 as I recall, and finally (I do have some modesty/honesty left in me) to a cracking face plant.

GONDOLA

Gaze in wonder at the bluebird day and the beauty that is Crystal Bowl.

Drop Tunnel Vision off CPR ridge, ridden with balls and precision. Traverse to 15ft cliff drop (one of my favourites), landed cleanly and booted away down the remainder of the face.

LIFT (stairway to heaven)

FS 360 method grab off corner of the My Blue Heaven ridge, which has been sculpted into a wind-lip by the everlasting southerly wind. Not a perfect landing (almost over rated to 540) but soft powder deposited on the leeward slope makes it forgiving and comfortable. Traverse around bowl and cross cat track to cornice above the Tombstone. 5m run-in to a 6 ft cornice drop, front side 360 air with clean landing, land cleanly into soft powder. fast down bowl to clear a 4m cat-track gap jump with a nice Mute Grab into a speedy landing and ride out.

LIFT

Hike up White Wall.

12ft cornice drop with nice landing into Certainty, ride gully in centre (videoed). traverse across to a 4-5ft drop off, smooth landing into a fast open powder bowl with smooth short radius powder turns.

Fun single-lane track across base of Feuz Bowl with many spoon-up kickers to pop nose grabs a plenty. Feuz Bowl kicker (our favourite spot for freestyle fun) - FS 540 with Indy grab (videoed) - yay yay yay!!

Couldn’t stop to talk to girly as about to pop a FS 360 off cat-track lip into top of Blaster with a clean landing much to the pleasure of the onlookers. multiple BS & FS 180s through Blaster, some tweaked with stalefish, indy & tailfish grabs.

GONDOLA

CPR Ridge, cliff drop as above resulting in a core shot after landing neatly from 15ft on top of a previously invisible pointy rock - neat forward roll (like I meant it, ha ha) and ride out at warp speed. Pop off two pillows with FS 180 followed by half cab (switch FS 180) on the way to Stairway Lift.

LIFT

White Wall II - 30ft Cliff drop with Mute grab.

Oh my god, this was huge - I sat there for a good 5 minutes contemplating my life, destiny and all the loved ones I'd ever known as you'll see in the video I'm putting together. A bit of advice, Oakley goggles tend to steam up when you pause to crap your pants and bathe in your own pre-jump sweat - my advice, keep moving, the drop ain't gonna get any smaller and nerves do weird things to your balance/coordination. That said I landed it and lived to tell the tale.

Down to our trusty Feuz Bowl kicker - FS 360 landed cleanly. Blast through underneath Pioneer chair dropping quadruple pillow line (large boulders of snow that you 'tap' on dropping a steep/cliff line). Into Bubbly/Grizzly Paw - fresh lines through powder trees, rock hops and logs slides.

Race down to the Day Lodge for a well deserved pitcher of Sleeman's Honey Beer to exchange stories with compadres of the day's ventures. I struggle to recall all that has happened, but it seems that my riding has done the talking for me and everyone knows it. It's not about the glory I assure you, the pleasure from riding and pulling out the stops is all selfish and purely me for me, but a bit of crowd appreciation never goes amiss ;o)

Phew, my heart rate has rocketed even writing this, nothing compared to how I felt on this special day tho, and I don't have to change my pants which is a winner. Still another 3 weeks ish of riding to go and Spring conditions are going to open up a lot of the stunning backcountry on offer (Rogers Pass, Canyon Creek, Chatter Creek, Gorman Lake etc) so I hope I can top this.

Watch this space.....

Kicking Horse Kicks My Behind remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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A very quick update to say that I passed my Level One instructor exams!!!! Hurrah. top of the class with exceeded requirements for technical riding (up to novice linked and intermediate sliding turns) and teaching. Very chuffed!

Congrats also to Travis, Mike, and Matt who passed with flying colours (albeit without the double exceeded's, heh heh ;o) better luck next time for Lindsay - those pesky turns will come once you drop that Craig Kelly stance ;o)

Thanks a lot to Ryan and Lisa for their time to train and examine us, cheers!

(Oh, and yes it really was -28 degrees, Artic weather fronts - you gotta love it!)

Hurrah! I passed CASI Level One!!!! remains copyright of the author phileas, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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