Chapter 1. Delhi to Pushkar

Chapter 2. Arambol to Fort Cochin and back again

Chapter 3. Singapore to Bangkok

Chapter 4. Koh Phangan to Pangadaran

Chapter 5. Yogyakarta to Exmouth

Chapter 6. Adelaide to Brisbane

Chapter 7. Noosa to Mount Maunganui

Chapter 8. Auckland to Home



The sky is full of rain, the internet cafe is full of shouting Koreans and the news is full of earthquakes, interest rates and the rugby world cup.  This is Auckland, the largest city in New Zealand with over one million inhabitants.  The skyline is dominated by the Sky Tower, another concrete column with a revolving restaurant and 360 views, reminiscent of those ones I've stood on in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur. 

This feels a more diverse and cosmopolitan city than Wellington and like San Francisco it is a city built on hills sloping down to the waterfront.  New Zealand is a fiercely proud country and the people make a point of celebrating everything about it and its achievements. They complain that Australia tries to cream off some of NZ finest and present it to the world as theirs, two notable examples being the band Crowded House and the actor Russel Crowe. This place is thriving though. It already had a significant tourist population even before Lord of the Rings was filmed here and the All Blacks continue to dominate world rugby.

Queen Street dominates the city centre like a giant ski jump into the ocean.  It's a city that has everything you would want, coffee bars, theatres, book shops, open markets and a people who are openly friendly and helpful to strangers.  In fact I have to reflect that both in Australia and New Zealand I found the people wonderfully kind to me without knowing anything about me.  I don't know what I did but the guy at reception in the YHA puts me on my own in a two person room for the price of a 6 dorm and I enjoy the luxury of privacy for the next two nights.  It's a rare treat but slightly unsettling after living with other people's snoring, farting, coughing and socks for as long as I can remember.  It puts me in mind of what life will be like when I get back home, silent and alone.  For now the Korean guys around me here in the internet cafe are shouting with pleasure about Warcraft, the game they are all playing online.  They laugh and gesture to each other and I wonder where they are supposed to be this Friday morning.  Free study period I suspect.

Down at the waterfront the grand architecture of the harbour master's house stands alongside a cocktail of smart bars and restaurants at Vincent Quay which was developed for the Americas Cup yacht race a couple of years ago. It's now the place to be seen on a Friday night after work. Auckland stretches along the coastline and is the most spread out of NZ cities with a long harbour bridge taking traffic across onto the North Shore where many of the local people live. In the supermarkets there is apparently some singles scene involving Tuesdays and which way up your bananas are pointing. If pointing up in your basket you are single and available and open to conversation, pointing down and you just wanted some bananas. I don't buy bananas but if I did there's no way I'd be peering into anyone's basket!

The morning I leave Auckland is a mix of sunshine and sudden showers that cast a bright rainbow across the western suburbs. The bus is southbound towards Rotarua, an area famous for its thermal vents, geysers and hot mud pools. In fact New Zealand seems to be built on shifting tectonic plates, volcanoes and unstable land masses. The bus passes town house gardens, parks and open land all with plumes of steam, laced with sulphur smoking white out of the ground. Everywhere in the town you can smell it. I'm sure the locals no longer notice it, but as a visitor you are very aware of the consistent odour. Out of town volcanic pools belch grey mud like porridge kept on the stove all day and the wind wafts clouds of stinking steam back and forth. A few yards away is the famous Lady Knox geyser where we learn about how soap powder deposited down the spout breaks the surface tension of a cool layer of water that covers a super heated water below the ground. The spout starts to foam like a washing machine with the door open and pressure builds until a shoot of water from the underground fountains 20 meters high laying a fine spray over the crowd.

The next stop on our morning is 'Rock and Ropes' outside Taupo and my immediate reaction is to pass and stay on the bus. It looks like some kind of adventure playground. We clamber off into the sunshine and the cheerful instructors tell us about the two main attractions at the park, the giant swing and the death trapeze. By the time he has finished I am interested again as this is another high risk high adrenalin rush. The trapeze involves climbing up a 50 foot single pole. At the top you have to step one foot onto the flat top of the pole end. The pole is swaying slightly under your weight and although you are wearing a safety harness on your back your brain is panicking. The hardest part is to get your second foot onto the top of the pole and stand up straight. I hesitate, breath deep but my legs are shaking. One, two, three I straighten the left leg and hop up onto the swaying stump. Now all I have to do is not fall off, leap forward two meters and grab the trapeze bar in front of me, ignoring the 50 foot drop below. One, two, three I pounce, get the bar and hang there to applause from my fellow travellers. On the ground I'm still shaking but also buzzing which is what its all about I guess. No sooner is the first brush with death done than its on to the second, up another 50 foot pole onto a platform where you are attached to a thirty foot cable and asked to stand on the platform edge ready to hop sideways into mid air. I hop and drop like a stone before the slack of the line is taken up and I arc in a wide pendulum flight over the spectators and back again. Again it's a moment of truth where you have to force yourself off the platform which is the greatest test of will over self preservation.

At mid afternoon we find ourselves back in the town at the edge of the lake Taupo. This is a quiet town where everyone knows everyone else, the pace is laid back and quality of life is high. The New Zealanders love their outdoor life, skiing, sailing, hiking, you name it and that's where you will find people at the weekend. Of course its winter now and not ideal for getting out there but when the sun shines you can feel why the people love to live here. The lake itself is huge, the size of Wales apparently and looks more like the ocean against a familiar curtain of snow capped mountains.

One issue that keeps coming to the fore in this country is the relationship between the Maori and the European settlers. There is much talk of reconciliation and shared values but I can't help feeling an under current of resentment towards the 'white invaders' who bought land for a pittance of its true value and looked on the Maori as a quaint cultural attraction. I talk to some locals who tell me about the land that has been given back to the Mauri and how much of it has been sold and the money used for all sorts of useful and some useless projects. I may be wrong but in my eyes there seems to be a simmering dissatisfaction under the surface.

Of course it was too good to continue. For all the hills on life's journey there are also vales and I'd had the hills of peace and privacy in Auckland and Taupo. It was time for the deep vale of room 601 at YHA Wellington. I was back in Wellington briefly to hang out for the weekend before catching the ferry back over to Marlborough Sound and the South Island. What I didn't know is that I'd have to ensure three of the most disruptive nights of the whole eight months on the road. The other five guys in the room are nice enough people but they are Kiwi lads from Nelson over for a long weekend in the capital to celebrate a birthday by doing all the things guys in their early 20's like to do. Drinking, throwing up, coming in drunk and talking loudly, chasing girls, going out again, coming in again, treating the room like a stinking pit of rubbish and dirty washing and then getting up the next morning bright as a button and starting it all over again. Yes I could have asked to be moved but I just thought I might end up in a room just as bad or worse so I resolved that I had to take my vale like a man. Add to that the fact that on the third day I came down with a flu bug that was sweeping NZ and I felt the worst I have felt in years; throbbing headache, coughing, sweats, aching muscles. What a combination. After a night of the party crew and the flu I sank out of bed onto the carpet and hauled on last night's clothes. I had to find some pain relief. Greasy hair, creased clothes and unbrushed teeth I pulled my NYC cap low over my eyes and limped out into the breezy Wellington sunshine. Three pills later and a big cup of tea and I feel a different person. I have to say I don't like taking pills but these saved my life that day. I could actually get showered, shaved and dressed clean before making it back out into town for the rest of the day. The guys still managed to wake me up at 2 in the morning again, this time two of them vomiting into the toilet in succession. Lovely.

Smacked up on my pimped paracetemol I manage to get myself outside for the shuttle to the ferry for 7.15am. It always seems the Japanese are up at that time. They never seem to drink alcohol, they go to bed at 9pm and only eat noodles and vegetables. No wonder they live to be 100. The sea was merciful between the islands and by lunchtime we are back on the bus heading through more beautiful scenery to the city of Nelson at the tip of the west coast. Nelson is another attractive NZ town on the west coast with a backdrop of hills and views of the start of the southern Alps. The flu bug is still with me and so I stay close to the hostel, preferring to rest and try to shake the virus off. After a couple of days the tour rumbles on south past more rolling hills, snow capped peaks, rugged coastline and ice cold rivers all the way down to Franz Joseph one of the must see highlights of the south island. Joseph is famous for its glacier, one of only two glaciers that descend into temperate climates in the world. The village here only exists because of this attraction and serves the thousands of people who come to walk on it and around it every year. From the main street an old school bus carries 50 of us up the valley road to the car park where we fall out into the early morning rain, clad in supplied waterproofs and hiking boots. No one told us when we were booking that this place enjoys over 260 days of rain a year. From here it's a 45 minute walk through the woods and across the valley floor where the river flows shallow. At the head of the valley, two kilometres upstream, curtained by steep valley walls on both sides sprouting random water falls on every side, we get first site of the face of the glacier, a great wall of compacted ice and broken stone filling the v of the valley. As we draw up close the scale of the glacier becomes clearer. Some four kilometres away up in the hills the snow falls and falls, causing a lake of compacted layers of ice which through gravity pulls the ripping ice along the valley floor like a giant snake toward the sea.

We climb up steps cut into the ice by the guides and onto the face of the beast. Under the white surface is a bright blue glow of the deep cold below. The glacier is perhaps 150 feet wide with winding paths between thick slab walls of slipped dripping cold. This is a desolate place in the rain and I get the distinct impression the glacier doesn't like us people crawling on it. The path leads into a long narrow stretch between two towering walls. It's hardly wide enough to get your body through and you can't help wondering if the pressure points in the ice shifted, the walls close and take you down into its black crevasse of its belly. Our guide tells us that you can hear the glacier moving, biting the grey rock of the valley floor and great splits shear across the ice walls as the tension points move. The rain pours down, streams of ice water cascade down past us, our boots are leaking, socks wet, hands wet and the guides fight a constant battle to keep the steps open. Slowly, the beast is sliding its way down the valley to the sea but it's in no hurry. It might take a thousand years.

From Franz Joseph we continue down the coast past Lake Matheson and Fox to one of the most picturesque parts of New Zealand, the southern lakes of Lake Wanaka and Queenstown. These are classic picture postcard territory, great panoramas of crisp coated mountains around mirror lakes, some patched with spring green, others still winter white. Wanaka is more calm than Queenstown, it's where people with more serene pursuits enjoy natures beauties, whereas Queenstown is party central, a Mecca to thousands of 20 somethings who want to risk life and limb for adrenaline rushes all day and dance and drink all night, night after night. Queenstown is also gateway to the ski fields of Cardrona, Coronet Peak and the Remarkables. This heralds my last big new learning experience of this trip, how to ski. I have no idea, before the event, how difficult this is going to be but I suspect that more time will be spent on the floor than upright. In reality this proves happily not to be the case. Day one, lesson one, the snow plough, a basic technique of forming a v shape with the skis to slow down and stop. Tick. Now take the magic carpet lift to the head of the nursery slope and attempt to parallel ski down ending in plough stop. Tick. I feel surprisingly comfortable on these two lengths of fibreglass and steel. I think having fairly strong legs from running helps as all the work in skiing comes from the lower body. Over the rest of the day I get a feel for turning, brake stops, weight shifting leg to leg and leaning into turns.

Day two. I look nervously at the chair lift. It climbs its path up to the higher fields relentlessly. It laughs at me and tells me I'm not up to it. I start the day on the nurseries again but the thing about skiing is that once you have the measure of one slope it starts to feel too easy and you are dare yourself to the next level. I look at the chair lift again and it's too late, I'm on it, the safety bar is down and I'm climbing. There are only three ways down; chicken out and get the chair back down (unacceptable as would have to commit hari cari at bottom); wipe out and be stretchered down by medics on skijet (highly embarrassing); sail down in glory, sweeping majestically from side to side with a flourish brake finish (unlikely). On this occasion I manage to terrify myself down the mountain upright and stop at the bottom with some sort of dignity. Up again. And so it goes on, over and over and over again. Sometimes I fall and a ski comes off as I eat snow but that's how you learn, so long as you don't bust your body into bits of course. I move up to the even more terrifying 'intermediate' course which looks like a sheer drop of a thousand feet. Lose your cool on this one, let one wobbly leg slide out from under you, lean too far forward or back and you're either over the edge into a 50 foot drop or you are rolling head over feet for a hundred yards with an audience of thousands. It's touch and go, I almost lose it, I over rotate, one of my leg turns is definitely weaker than the other. Three days and three hundred runs later I have the basis of being able to ski. The weather has been glorious, blue sky and warm sun on our faces with inspiring views down to Queenstown below. Unfortunately I have no sunscreen so I have a red face except for the large central area round my eyes where my ski mask fits. At the end of day three I make a final descent of the intermediate run of death, convinced of a late knee dislocation but somehow I make it to the bottom complete and give thanks. I leave the mountains of Coronet Peak behind sold on skiing as wonderful fun and dedicated to being on skis again in the future.

Time passes and I find myself back in Christchurch and treading water. I can hardly believe it but I'm in the very last stages of this amazing journey. It's the 20th September and in just 10 days time I should be back in London. It feels like a dream after so many days and weeks moving on and on. I still have the playgrounds of Hollywood and Las Vegas to experience on my way home but the countdown to the normality of home life has begun and I find myself busy looking and applying for a new 'nine to five' in the real world. In some ways I miss the mental discipline of work. If you had asked me that a year ago and I would have laughed in your face. All I can say is that I suppose the best life is one which balances many types of stimulation and experience.

In Christchurch I meet up for coffee with Jo, who I met in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia. Jo is from Christchurch and we promised to catch up when I came back here. She looks well and is so enjoying being back in work. She tells me that the travel bug is out of her system now and she is looking to work hard for the next couple of years at least, as she wants to buy her first house. It's almost impossible to convey the experience of places you've been to someone who hasn't travelled there. People sometime ask with all seriousness and genuine interest 'what was your favourite place' or 'where did you go in Australia'. They smile and look at you square in the eyes and so with equal genuine intent I try to provide an interesting answer. The problem is after 20 seconds of me speaking you see the first flick of their eyes, away to the left or right, a momentary distraction of attention to someone or something on the other side of the room. It doesn't matter what it is, the point is that they are already losing interest. You press on but their interest is haemorrhaging. I pause. They fix back onto me, smile and gesture with hands to go on. I smile and continue but within 40 seconds the glazed expression is setting in. Maybe it's in the quality of the telling or just maybe you just can't tell someone about the rainforests of Malaysia, the street food of Singapore, the poverty and opulence of India or the exhilaration of skiing in New Zealand. The fact is you have to experience it for yourself.

From the wide open spaces of New Zealand to the closed in spaces of Los Angeles. As we approach the runway the sprawl of the urban becomes obvious. 1000 square miles of LA concrete and cars in every direction. At the airport the queue to land and take off is like the check out of a supermarket on Friday night. No wonder this economy is so dependent on oil. LA is not high on my list of must go places but it's a transit on my way home and I take the chance to check out Hollywood, home to the stars. I tick the boxes. The sign on the hill.

A stroll down Hollywood Boulevard name spotting the pink marble star names in the pavements. At least I thought they were all household names but I spend most of the time reading names and asking 'who?' The famous Chinese theatre. To be honest there is not a lot more to see or say. The most popular thing to do here is the star homes tour which I manage to avoid very easily. What intrigues me more is why anyone who is anyone wants to live in Los Angeles. To me it's a rather soulless, slightly threatening place which is so spread out that it has no sense of heart and even less charm. Perhaps it's the sunshine, perhaps there are better places to see than Hollywood and Downtown but I don't have time on this trip for Santa Monica or Rodeo Drive.

Another day another world class destination. Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas. that's what the multi coloured sign in the desert exclaims. Six hours inland from Los Angeles they built an adult playground in the Nevada sunshine to cater for pretty much every sinful act known to humans. In fact the other name of this place is Sin City. Vegas is a whirl of lights, hotels and thousands of teaming fun seekers gathered around one main corridor of thrills, Las Vegas Boulevard which stretches for five miles starting at 'Downtown' where the original casinos offer cheap food and cheap gambling. From the worn blackjack tables of the Golden Nugget to the gold gleaming glass of the Mandalay Bay at the other and in between are billions of dollars of prime real estate and a constant stream of human traffic seeing and being seen on 'The Strip'. The roar of Harley Davidson exhausts, the stretch of white Hummer limousines, Chevrolets with Elvis look-alikes and in the air a swarm of helicopters back and forth ferrying those for whom travelling by car is so last year.

At any hour of the day or night you can waste away your hours and your money in the darkened casino lounges at the Bellagio, The Mirage or the MGM Grand. The gaming rooms twinkle like Christmas trees from a thousand slot machines and the atmosphere of loss is occasionally broken by the whooping of a few winning voices from the craps table, roulette or black jack. In the main however, people stay quiet, after all who wants to admit they're a loser and you only have to look around at the money these places must cost to build and run to see that ultimately the house always wins. I play one dollar into a slot monkey and spin the reels. The 'cash out' button is flashing at me and I hit it. Out comes a chit for ten dollars. I declare a 10 time return on my investment and decide to quit while ahead. The food here is subsidised by the gambling revenues, as are the shows and the hotel rooms. When you've lost enough you go and see one of a hundred shows from magicians to hypnotists, singers to strippers or you get married at the Viva Las Vegas Chapel near 4th Street. Otherwise take the Champagne buffet at the Fremont Casino a 10 dollar feast of as much as you want to eat and by the look of them many of the clientele today are here for this very reason. The room is stacked with course after course of immaculately presented food. Start with a salad course, then seafood of crab claws and prawns followed by your meats course. In time there's dessert, followed by coffee and more sweet treats. Then if you want, start all over again. Vegas doesn't care about what's right, only what feels good. Behind the smiles and glamour however there is an uneasy atmosphere that looks up at you from the stone of the pavements. I felt it in LA and I feel it here. The homeless, the hopeless and the desperate. Everyone passes in the street with a certain tense reluctance. You get the feeling violence could kick off here at any time. I can almost smell the guns. Of all the countries I have been in these nine months I have to admit that I feel most under threat here in the USA but I have not seen enough of America to be conclusive and time is running out.

I sit on my brother's blue sofa and look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It says 12 noon but my wrist watch says 4am. I wonder how long it's going to take to get my sleeping and metabolism to come round. I'm back in grey overcast London but it's a good feeling, coming home, connecting to the people and places with which I have an emotional lock. This is where my family live, this is where my son goes to college and my parents and grandparents are laid to rest. This is where my friends are and where the emotional investment they and I have made with each other, lies stored. Ten months, nine countries, 35,000 miles, 300 days and nights. I am very grateful and privileged to have had this wonderful and unique opportunity to see so many amazing places, meet great people and take a journey round myself.

I sit there on the sofa and ask myself how I have changed, what did I learn in these weeks and months? I learned that the world is a beautiful and diverse place populated predominantly by good and caring people. I learned that I am happy in my skin and in my life. I learned that to travel is to step out of your comforts, test your values, appreciate your blessings. In a month or perhaps a year I may see other things, look back mellow and digested, find a greater legacy but for now I am happy to be home and ready to take back to the life I had all those experiences ago.



 I stayed at the YHA Auckland. Conclusion good.

 In Auckland try the bars and restaurants in Ponsenby near the city centre

 I stayed at the Silver Fern in Taupo. Conclusion excellent.

 Try eating the homemade foods at Repete in Taupo or take a beer at On Tap.

 I stayed again at the YHA Wellington. Conclusion excellent.

 I stayed at the YHA Nelson. Conclusion good.

 I stayed at the YHA Franz Joseph. Conclusion very good.

 I stayed at the YHA Wanaka. Conclusion average.

 I stayed at the Lakeside YHA and Discovery Lodge in Queenstown. Conclusion good. YHA has wider age range, Disco Lodge is party hostel right in the middle of town.

 I took a ski package for three days with Ski Express for 313 dollars and included transport, two nights accommodation, up to 6 lessons, ski chair pass, all equipment and clothing hire. Excellent value.

 In Christchurch I stayed again at the Coachman. Conclusion very good. Try coffee at the Dux de Lux café next to the arts centre. The Tolsi Indian restaurant on Gloucester Street do an excellent evening take away of curry, rice and nan bread for 10 dollars.

 In LA I stayed at the USA Hostel off Hollywood Boulevard. Conclusion good.

 In Vegas I stayed at the Sin City Hostel. Conclusion good.

 In Vegas travel up and down the Strip by the 'Deuce' bus for 5 dollars all day.

 Take a Saturday brunch buffet at the Fremont Casino in Downtown for 10 dollars. It's the best meal you'll have.

 Catch the fountain show at 8pm outside the Bellagio casino and the Lions inside the MGM Grand. Both free.