The trip down to the South was to be our next adventure. For this, we chose a familiar steed. The Jucy El Cheapo. This is not the first time we have chosen such a beast, for on our first trip to NZ a few years back, El Cheapo had proven a worthy choice.

As the name would imply, El Cheapo is not a top of the line entry on the cars for hire list. What it is, is usually an old, basic, slightly worn rental car, with a terrible gearbox, is usually a Nissan of some shitty base variety and painted in the worst shade of fleet white imaginable, with a matching fleet tan/beige interior. They are however, also implied in the name, cheap.

We picked El Cheapo II up in Auckland and sauntered out of the city like we knew what we were doing. We did not. We had a vague direction(zig-zag) and a tank of gas, alongside a will to bust free of the shitty Auckland traffic and hit a spot by the sea for tea and perhaps the night. Heading East, the roadsides were taken mostly by avocado farms, all with stalls selling their wares with little honesty boxes. Personally I couldn’t see such a thing taking off in the UK as it would invariably be ruined by a dishonest number of inhabitants, yet, here it seems to work. The avocados, unfortunately were all too fresh, and are often picked to ripen at home, given we are homeless, we couldn’t really stop, but still, we did like the idea of abundantly cheap avocados. Side note: in my opinion, the only good banana is an avocado, you see they are almost identical in what they offer nutritionally, only one is delicious and wonderful, and the other is simply food made by Satan and modelled after his penis, Which he coloured brightly to attract folk to slip it down their gullets making it taste truly horrific while doing so(Secondary side point: the previous statement is declared null and void when said banana is served with custard, for that is a nostalgia flavoured delight, chomping on Satan’s cock, not so much). Anyway, digressions aside, we headed for the coast and hit upon Whakatane. We saw a strange setup of a pizza oven, in a mobile van-tent, next to a trailer with a glass door. Turns out the pizza oven is operated by a pair of dudes, one French, one Italian. They live in the tiny trailer next door and cook pizzas whenever someone wanting passes by. Their pizza was indeed delicious. Conny and I sat at the local surf club picnic tables and munched happily. We still weren’t done with driving though and headed along the coast to Opotiki. We slept, as a few others did, parked right against the sea front, overlooking a bird sanctuary and the Pacific beyond. It really was a perfect spot. In all honesty the El Cheapo, not being a camper, is not necessarily the most fantastic place to sleep, but still, we were in it for the experience and as many of these coastal stops do, we had clean facilities for the night and following morning. I even awoke to a rather viking-esque Scandinavian man flannel washing just over the road.

The New Zealand coast is abundant with little towns and delightful beaches, packed full of beautiful shells and long sandy shores. Ohope is a particularly pleasant one, where Conny and I stretched our legs before continuing on. We had even managed to stop at a little veg shop that morning that had some ripe avo’s and a few delicious home made pickles, so we chose this beach to brunch upon before heading to what was one of very few planned stops along the trip down.

Just North West of Gisbourne lies Rere Falls, and a couple of km along the road lies the Rere Rockslide. We made it there before nightfall and made our plan for the next morning. Rere Rockslide is about fifty feet of naturally gentle sloping smooth rock, ending in a plunge pool below. But for the night, we chose to head to the falls. Now, these falls aren’t Niagara, but they are beautiful nonetheless. They also have a nice secluded picnic site that nowhere upon them has a sign precluding one from camping. Excellent. We parked up, and before long our lack of conversation drove us to skinny dipping. It was a cold and windy night, but the dip was a little delight. As ever Conny managed to look at ease and lovely, I however looked more like an overweight Gollum searching for his Precious. Still, when the morning sun arose, we headed back up the hill to the slide.

The sun got hot. Well it’s always hot, you know with it being a sunny ball of burning stuff, but I think you get what I mean. We were alone at the rockslide. I had read that you could use a piece of card or a body board under your bum to prevent damage,. I spotted half a body board there by the stream, so armed with this and my favourite 1€ anchor print toggs, I galantly braved the first run. Conny you see is a bit of a chicken, and I am like this chicken’s guinea pig. I did suggest that she ought to suck it up and do it at the same time, but alas no, she just clucked back with a chickeny retort that she would go next if I survived. I waded across the frigid (read icy. The sun may have warmed, but the water had no such fucking ideas) river too the middle of the piste, I selected what appeared to be a smooth run and went for it. The body board lasted all of a second and disintegrated beneath me, I bungled over a larger than expected bump in the track and then BLAMMO into the cold icy depths I went. It was ace. Getting out was somewhat less fun, the rocks that were so slippy and slidey and great for hooning down on ones botty made for a very difficult exit. Several splashes and tumbles later, I found myself at the bottom of the hill, but on dry land. Conny, bent over in laughter. Upon summiting, I told Conny, the truth, that the rocks were smooth and didn’t hurt and that it was a lot of fun, also that it was her turn. Cluck cluck came the response. She would not do it with out me. The valiant boyfriend that I am once more shone through. This time I opted for cardboard as chosen bum protector. I knew it would fail but thought it might ease Conny along. The card board didn’t even make it to the start of the slide before destruction. I did manage to convince Conny that it was fun and painless with no devices to aid ones botty. So we decided to go on 3, Conny, however chose 2 as her preferred number, but also to grab onto me as she did. So I when spinning down the slide, hit the aforementioned large bump backwards and still managed to splat into the water face first. Still a fun time was had, and by the end of our slide based shenanigans, we were still alone, so Conny, nature lover she is chose to bathe in the stream. So in full birthday suit we lathered and scrubbed at our most indecent of bits in the unforgiving cold of the stream I hear gasps of “irresponsible” and “how dare you destroy such a beautiful ecosystem?”, but hold your horses. We two are quite keen to respect the wilderlands and their balance, our soap was made of nought but goats milk and lavender essence, perfectly acceptable for stream washing.

After the falls, a coffee was required. We went to Wairoa, a quaint little river town and headed to the local coffee den. We were however drawn to a small gathering of folk on bean bags outside the community centre, before a small tent with a guitar and microphone. Here we lazed away the afternoon listening to a few local artists, most notably a charming duo of brothers called 1.5men, before we pushed towards our most challenging drive yet. The dirt road of the Te Urewera pass. We had a picnic at some beautiful falls and chatted to the ladies in the visitor centre about our chances of survival. They said, take our time, we’d be grand, but just mind the locals. By the locals they meant themselves. They told us it would take us a couple of hours but if we saw a local to let them pass, because it would likely be them on their way home and what takes us 2 hours would take them 40 minutes and they have no patience for us slow coaches!

The pass is a torturous road made of rocks and gravel, winding up the steep sides of the stunning Lake Waikaremoana. The views are beautiful, the weather was bright and sunny, the road was fucking bonkers. It reminded us of the backroads in Iceland, only with out snow and in a much poorer state. The biggest difference however is that we were driving a car that ranked amongst the shittest (said with love and respect, I am a fan) on earth. The lady at the info centre was right about the locals, we feared death on several occasions as utes sped up behind us with local folk busier on their phones than their driving, but still, we saw no death nor wreckage, so can’t grumble.

The pass took us out towards the great lakes of the North, Rotorua and Taupo and we chose a little tavern in between the two called the Waitapu Tavern to get a bowl of chips and for Conny to settle her nerves with a beer. As I was at the bar, waiting for my instant coffee, I got chatting to some lovely ladies, from France. The barkeep was having trouble deciphering what they were saying, and they in turn had no idea of what her replies in a thick Kiwi brogue meant, so I bridged the gap with my internationally renowned linguistic service. I ordered them vege burgers, with chips on the side like a pro. The girls were lovely, we had a natter, they stroked my franco-ego by telling me they couldn’t detect my English accent. It was a lie of course, but I am happy to breeze over such untruths. Typically, while I was cosying up to the pretty Fench girls, Conny was out back, mingling with the men folk. She, however is much more successful than I and by the time my coffee had arrived, she had secured herself a bed for the night, at the house of a chap called Ian. Truth be told, Ian was an old gent who lived on his own, he kept the offer open when a bearded horror such as myself waddled to the table and really was just being a decent human. He also gave us a fantastic tip for the area. That part of NZ is famed for its hot springs, it is a hub of geothermic activity. There was a whole park with pools a mere stones throw from the tavern, however, Ian, in all his splendour, told us what the locals do, where they go. There is a free area mere metres from the expensive park, where you can go and hang out at the confluence of two rivers, the beauty being that one is hot, the other cold. That way you can even regulate the temperature of your hot bath. He even took me to show me where it was in his ute, while Conny sat and waited for the chips. A truly decent fellow, and a bit of a laugh. He told me that the river can get a bit messy with the young folk going there to party at night, and that many a local was made there.

We spent a good while chatting everything from politics to Hilux’s at the tavern and had a thoroughly pleasant evening. We parked up by some volcanic boiling mud and awoke sharp at 6 am for a dip in the pool. It was fantastic. The water silky smooth and warm. We were greeted by a big burly bee keeper who goes there all the time and a mad but wonderful Maori healer named Matu. Matu takes tourists on hikes through the spiritual places, he claims he can take them to UFO landing sites (but he doesn’t talk to the aliens) and that he can make the forest come alive, and dance, like full on moving around like a rave dance, not just blowing in the wind. No matter how dubious his claims, he again was a thoroughly nice bloke. We talked history and culture, we talked random stuff and we talked about what it is to be a good person. We seemed to find common ground, he offered us a place to stay too, should we end up at his place in the Bay of Plenty, which sadly we couldn’t but still, it was nice of him to offer and it would be a great pleasure to do so.

Onwards we headed, to Taupo, we had lunch by the lake shore, with the snowcapped mountains in the back ground and witnessed one of the most bizarre but fun Christmas parades ever in a little community called Tauranui. It was a hodge podge affair of just about every kind of vehicle you could expect to find in such a place, with a bit of tinsel thrown on top. Not forgetting this is my first Christmas in summer, the oddness was not helped by the Santa Sleigh bowling around in 30 degree heat or all the random decorations on the most unchristmassy of occasions. Still, the community turned out in force, and the families seemed to love it. We found a seclude little picnic spot on a lakeside road and set about sleeping for the night.

From here, the plan was to head to Mordor and Mount Doom, where we would do a nice hike, have a look at Middle Earth and tick some geek boxes. Instead we got as far as the cafe, which, with it’s intermittent interweb, my computer told me both of an update and a security threat, so I nonchalently tapped OK. An hour and a half in, Conny was pissed. I wasn’t pleased, but what could I do, the computer was reinstalling everything and said not to turn it off. By two and a half hours in Conny, who had been reading outside, was at boiling point. Some three or so hours in and it finished. Conny was no longer speaking to me, except for some vicious mutterings. But sadly, what I didn’t know, is that Conny had decided to use both the cars aircon and music, as opposed to that of the cafe we were at. The car battery was not really a fan of this approach and Conny, in her blind rage, simply decided that the fault was mine, as if I hadn’t put her in the situation to diminish the battery in such a way, she would not have done so, and as such, I was entirely to blame. To the point she decided I either get the car going or she would use the shit internet to book a flight home. To this day I fail to see the logic in Conny’s approach, and at all points I admitted that it was poor timing for the update, but we live and we learn and knowing what I know now it could be avoided. The lady logic however, will stump me evermore. A couple of friendly locals with brand new jump cables (the kindness of these locals was such that they purchased new cables to start our car. I even tried to pay for them, but the guy just said that he needed a pair anyway. FULL FLEDGED LEGEND)and a chat about Aussie V8s later, we headed to the West coast. The drive calmed matters down somewhat and we ended up at a little seaside spot where we picked up some chips and had a walk on the beach.

It was here that I was truly introduced to my most fiendish of foes. Now, I had already noticed a couple of spots where I was being bitten. I had come to worry that the El Cheapo was infested with fleas but that night at the seaside my legs were bitten to shit. I counted 60 bites below my knees the next morning. Fucking ridiculous. And itchy as fuck. Comic relief however came as Conny, decided to take a shower. Only the one option for a shower was the local surf club’s outdoor shower, and it was cold. We also happened to be in a gale driven rain storm. Funny doesn’t cover it. Conny still claims it to be her best ever shower and that she was glad she chose to do it. I however was happy that I chose to stink. I still wasn’t aware what the bites were on my legs, but at this point I didn’t care.

We were in the home stretch. We headed to a bed and the relative bustle of Wellington for the night before taking in the Te Papa museum and a stroll around the city prior to take off for our next leg of the NZ adventure…Nelson.