Travel Series: NEW ZEALAND

It's been a heck of a long time since I posted my last (and only) travel story entry (part of my Globetrotter blogging series begun in 2011). But this year I've vowed to post at least once a month, so here's my first attempt at picking up that old and dusty thread! In my first post in this series, I talked about my trip across Australia with my father and uncle back in 1998. This trip was actually the start of a months-long world trip my Dad and I went on. The second leg of the journey took us to New Zealand, and that's what this blog post will be about.

I've been to New Zealand a fair few times prior to and since 1998 (both my parents are from there). In 1998, we flew from Sydney (where we'd spent a bit of time with my dad's sister and her family) to Wellington. My Grandad collected us at the airport, having borrowed his girlfriend's car for the purpose, and drove us back to Paraparaumu ----------->

We spent a few weeks in Paraparaumu and surrounding areas, hanging with family. My Kiwi family is pretty darn interesting, and I could write about them for daaaays on end. Don't worry, I won't! After a lovely relaxing visit with the family, it was time to move on. We headed off (with Grandad in tow!) to explore the North Island on the way up to Auckland.

Tongariro, Ngauruhoe, I don't know which one we're looking at here (possibly both?).

One of the first places we stopped was the Tongariro National Park, part of which is pictured above. Dad and Grandad climbed one of the mountains, leaving seventeen-year-old me to fend for myself on solid ground. I was thrilled to have time to myself, and drove around listening to my alt. rock/grunge mix tapes. I also had really bad food for dinner (chippies and cookies) and it was awesome.

Seventeen-year-old me, at or near them mountains.
This is my Dad's photo! (he is very very very clever!)

The next morning Dad and Grandad came back down the mountain, and I snapped this shot of them just before they collapsed to the ground in exhaustion:

Next, we ventured to other places, such as Lake Taupo, where we swam in a river with natural hot springs (there is a cool pic of us in the river that Dad took, but I haven't scanned that slide yet). We also went to Rotorua, which smelled strongly of sulphur (understandable, what with the mud pools there):

Finally we reached Auckland, and I'm sure I have photos from there somewhere but I haven't scanned all my pics yet. To close this post, here is a picture of me, Grandad and Dad at McDonald's (and I believe this was the place where Grandad had met up with some of his friends from his motorcycle group whose motto was: "Grow old disgracefully."

Another of Dad's photos.

And for today, that's all there is! Tune in next month for another travel story.

Travel Series: AUSTRALIA

I do actually live in Australia, though I was born in the U.K., but just 'cause you live somewhere doesn't mean you know everything about the place. I learned a bit more about my country of residence in 1998 when I set out with my father and uncle on the first leg of a 6-month journey with my Dad.

This leg took us across Australia, from Perth to Sydney. We drove that little car you see in the photograph above. It was February, the height of the Australian summer (did I mention I hate summer?). And I was seventeen.

We drove from Perth to Laverton through numerous small towns in the WA outback, including Kalgoorlie. Along the way, I got my driver's licence. From Laverton, we headed into the desert, setting our sights on the opal-mining town of Coober Pedy in South Australia. Dad had calculated to the mililitre how much petrol we would need for that desert trek. We didn't take any extra.

It took us 4-5 days to reach Coober Pedy, and while I burned with teenaged hatred for much of that time (4-odd days without a shower? In February?!), I also had numerous amazing, breathtaking moments. I got caught in desert storms, crossed broad brown-gold-red plains, and learned that deserts can be incredibly lush and green even in

the burning summer months.

I saw creatures in our headlights that looked like tiny veloceraptors. I still don't know what the heck those things were, but they were cool and...prehistoric-looking! I saw rolling hills and dusty dirt roads and wonderful trees. In short, I saw a side of my country I never knew existed. A side I can never forget.

My Dad is the kind of guy who likes to live on the edge. Prior to our departure from Perth, my mother's side of the family had concerns for my safety. Mum had travelled with Dad before, and she knew better than most what might be in store for me. Basically though, my Dad was notorious (and still is) for his love of living on the edge. Edge of a glacier, edge of a desert, edge of a war-torn region - you name it, he's been there. At seventeen, I'd heard the stories, but I soon learned that it's one thing to hear them and another to experience them yourself.

The trip across the desert in February 1998 gave me a good taste of what was to come for the next few months. I think back on it now and still get inspired. I could go on all day about it, really. I could try to count the number of times I rolled my eyes or sighed or did any of those teenaged girl things.But instead I'm going to say that it

was amazing. Especially that shower in Coober Pedy - being clean never felt so good!