North Island

The prospect of driving a camper van around New Zealand was all too much for us. So much so that on our first night in Auckland with American friend Louis, we completely over did it on the tequila on the city's K-Road (think Bangkok meets Amsterdam), picked up the van the next day after an early breakfast with Candice's cousin Michael, drove four hours in the heat of the day to the north of the north island, got to a campsite, and crashed the van. There goes the NZ$1000 deposit. It wasn't, we hoped, a sign of things to come.

It wasn't.

Zorbing was a lot of fun, in that it made you feel about five-years-old again.

The Bay of Islands proved to be a gentle introduction to New Zealand. Gentle in that it resembled the south coast of Devon, with a slightly disappointing grey lid of cloud hovering above, and populated by tourists spending their retirement dollar. We did visit Waitangi, the site of the 1840 treaty signed by the white settlers and the Maori in which the former basically signed everything over to the latter, and the town of Russell, the first capital of the country (it's about the size of Marston Magna. Exactly.) But a planned snorkelling trip on a yacht was canned due to the weather and we went in search of more dramatic lands.

We didn't have to go far. After an early morning drive through the morning mist across to the west coast of the north island, we drove through Maori country, rolling hills and forests and ramshackle houses with at least five cars in each drive, a common theme we soon realised. On the other side were beaches that stretched further than the horizon, populated by toothless old men who, it seemed, needed their car jumping (with no-one else around, I'm not sure how he'd do it any other day). And the magnificent kauri forests, with huge thick trees that once populated swathes of the country. One thing we soon realised was that, despite it's impeccable green credentials today, only 100 years ago New Zealand was an environmental disaster. More species have become extinct there than any other country in the world, and everything from trees to whales to seals to the now-mythical Moa bird were culled for trade.

On past the hills, trees, and the landscape became decidely Welsh. The first British settlers must have thought New Zealand was made for them when they arrived, as so much of it resembles the English, Welsh and Scottish countryside. On past Auckland again (if only the government could move Auckland to the very top, it would make holiday itineraries so much easier). Next stop was Rotarua, the home to hot springs, a large lake, zorbing and a very touristy town indeed.

Zorbing was a lot of fun, in that it made you feel about five-years-old again. For those in the dark, it's a big plastic ball about 10ft high, with a smaller, 6ft high ball inside it, which you get inside and roll down a hill. A pretty simple pleasure but silly fun. The ball is also filled with water just to make the experience all the more crazy. "Again, again!" we cried as we reached the bottom in a bedraggled frenzy.

We were meant to go to Taupo but decided at the last minute to give it a skip and head to our old Kiwi housemate's homeland of Hawkes bay. En route, we stopped at the first Department Of Conservation (DOC) campsite of many on the holiday. These are situated in national parks with breathtaking scenery, and, more importantly, cost a pittance compared to the rather expensive campsites. The facilities, however, are basic - think a long-drop and a tap... However, the views more than make up for it. And the one we stayed in on the way to Hawkes Bay was no exception. We had the whole site, next to a river with a waterfall, to ourselves. Ed manfully built a fire, Candice cooked and we played Scrabble by torchlight. Ahhh. The next morning we had a skinny dip instead of a shower, who could ask for more?

Napier, the first town we came to in the Hawkes bay area, is renowned for its Art Deco buildings. But not, it seems, for campsites close to the wine farms (our real reason for coming here, let's be honest) but we lucked out, somehow, by finding a working farm-come-backpackers near Hastings that let us park our van in the driveway for two nights. Dawson, the owner, makes his money by hunting deer which are flown into the country and bred for the sport, and then making DVDs about it and selling the DVDs! Needless to say, he was quite a character. But charming nonetheless. When we said we fancied cycling around the vineyards, he promptly produced two bikes and helmets free of charge. And once we'd spent a day winetasting-by-bike in the scorching heat, he invited us to a meal with him and his buddies consisting of venison he'd shot and veggies he grew on the farm. Delicious! The next day, we drove to Havelock North and drove up Te Mata Peak to see the breathtaking views of the bay below. We spent the morning at Ocean beach, bewildered by the blistering heat - New Zealand is meant to be freezing, isn't it?

Our final stop on the North Island was Wellington, which was the host of the Rugby Sevens, unbeknownst to us until the night before. This resulted us in having to stay in the carpark of a motorway motel, pretty dire but did the job. England won so Ed walked with a strut in his step that night along Cuba street. The next day we bought fish fresh off the boat in the harbour, and then took the obligatory tram journey up to the botanical gardens. I'm sure if we were to see Wellington in its famed windy weather we'd have less of a blissful image of it, but we loved it. All too soon it was time to board the ferry and take the magnificent crossing to Picton on the South Island.

A lot of travellers to NZ skip the North Island altogether, but this is a mistake. We loved the North Island and want to come back one day to see what we missed.