G'Day mates.

In the last mail I went off on one about hitchhiking. In my excitement I got ahead of myself and didn't tell you anything of what happened to me on my first three weeks in "the land of the long white cloud". So here goes. (And this installment of stories is 100% hitchhiking-free, promise).

Fishing for a Good Time

The Tasman Sea

After landing in Auckland and enjoying a complimentary cup of tea offered by a couple of old dears sat behind a "Welcome to New Zealand" booth - a very nice touch - it's a dash in a taxi through rush hour traffic to meet Sarah Canet at the downtown ferry building. Sarah and I are to spend a week travelling in the "northlands" of New Zealand's North Island. But first we've been invited to spend the weekend at the luxury island retreat of another Sarah, a friend of Sarah's boss. And I'm late for the ferry.

My taxi driver is at least 100 years old and apparently has some kind of arthritis that prevents him from utilizing his car's third or fourth gear. But he can talk, just about, and tells me: a) that Auckland is known as the "City of Sails"; b) that I can bungy jump from the top of the Sky Tower if I want to (New Zealanders - or "Kiwis" - are mad for bungy jumping. Bridges, towers, cable cars - if it's more than 30 feet high, some enthusiastic nutter will set up a bungy jump off of it); c) that I'm a fool for planning a trip to Wellington solely to watch Jonah Lomu play rugby - he's got no defensive game, my driver scoffs, and he only turns it on when the All Black selection committee is watching. As the clock ticks towards my ferry's departure time and we're still nowhere near the docks I amuse myself with the image of Jonah Lomu driving my taxi and my geriatric taxi driver on a rugby pitch with three 240 pound rugby players barreling towards him.

But sure enough the old codger gets me there on time, and I meet up with Sarah, her boss Collette Dinnigan (no signs of any whiskers on her chinnigan) and the rest of the party. We catch the ferry - feels just like the hop from San Francisco to Sausalito - and proceed to spend the weekend guzzling oysters, cake, and some of the finest wines known to humanity.

Very nice too.

But I'm anxious to get on with exploring New Zealand, and finding out how the sophisticated Ms. Sarah Callieu-Canet gets on in the world of $20-a-night "backpackers" hostels. So after returning to the mainland we check into one of Auckland's cheaper establishments and it's with evil glee that I'm reminded of when the Queen was visiting a council estate in some low-rent part of England a long way from Buckingham Palace, got caught short, and had to use a common family's bathroom. I imagine she had a similar look on her face to the one Sarah displays when she learns she's to share a dormitory with two "strangers".

But I'm being unfair to Sarah. She takes it all in her stride and we enjoy a wonderful week exploring the New Zealand countryside north of Auckland.

Bay of Islands

We spend $75 each to go deep-sea fishing in the Bay of Islands, only to learn upon leaving port that - in the opinion of our boat's captain - there are no fish to be caught.

"To be honest, you're all wasting your money" he offers with surprising candour. "This area's totally fished out."

Sure enough, there are no fish biting. So in an attempt to avoid coming back to shore entirely empty handed I fish for stories from our Captain instead. Turns out he's full of them, and is famous locally for having run over a killer whale in his boat - killing the poor whale and taking the boat out of action for a month.

"I was hauled up in front of some environmental court!" he explains incredulously. "They thought I'd done it on purpose! YOU should try running over a killer whale and seeing how difficult it is!"

Motoring along we suddenly hear an enormous thump from underneath the boat. The engine screams and we veer off to the side. He's only gone and hit something else and taken out one of the boat's drive shafts.

"Not again!" our captain wails, as we all shield our faces from the expected spray of blubber and dismembered whale parts. Luckily it's only a piece of driftwood he's clobbered. But it's enough to disable the boat and we have to wait for a rescue craft to come and tow us back to harbour.

(Actually, we do catch one fish. On the very last attempt of the day a reasonably-sized Trevally very generously takes my bait and I haul him in. Sarah cooks him up with some lemon juice and there's just enough of him for our tea. Not quite $150 worth but very tasty).

Sarah and I continue our journey and drive through some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen - 50 miles or so between Ninety Mile Beach and the river mouth at Omapere. Rolling green hills, woodlands, streams, narrow winding roads full of sheep. It's like England, only more so; the kind of English countryside you see in TV adverts but rarely in real life. (Actually, New South Wales in Australia looks more like England than England does, too. The movie "Babe" - supposedly set in Yorkshire - was filmed there). We slam on the brakes when we see a sign advertising "Devonshire Cream Teas". I half expect a good old British Bobby to cycle past. I'd been told that New Zealand is like England "before the War" (referring to World War II, natch) and I suppose this is what it's like. Certainly it's all very green and pleasant.

And there's hardly anyone here.

We befriend a Maori brother and sister - Daniel and Barbara - in a bar and they offer to take us out on their boat. On their way up the river they drop us off at some enormous sand dunes so we can go sledding down them on boogie boards (if you get enough speed up you can whizz down the sand dune, across the beach, and over the water Wile E. Coyote style). After an hour or so they pick us up and offer us some of their catch. The local fish and chip shop cooks it up for us. Our faith in fishermen is restored.

Wellington gets the Boot

Sarah flies back to Sydney, I fly down to Wellington to catch up with my great-Aunt and second cousin for dinner. I have a good old laugh with Aunt Joss and then I'm on my own.

Usually this wouldn't be a problem but for some reason I can't get into Wellington. And I'd been really looking forward to it. Although not as big as Auckland, it's the cultural capital of New Zealand (the opera, ballet, and most of the theater is based here) and before arriving I thought it would be my kind of place. But I don't get on with it at all. A cold wind is blowing, and I'm told worse weather is to come. There's nowhere to stay other than enormous "superhostels" crammed with 18 year old kids. I try to go swimming and find out the pool's closed. None of the internet cafes will let me plug in my laptop, so I can send any emails. I decide that I don't want to be in a city. I turn up my collar against the wind and book my passage on the ferry over to the South Island...

The South Island

Alright, we're back in business. All it takes is a four hour ferry ride across Cook Straight and then up Queen Charlotte Sounds to the ferry terminal in Picton. The sun is shining. The sea is calm. The scenery is wonderful. I see a penguin! I'm feeling much better.

Dawn in Abel Tasman park

The US dollar is strong against the New Zealand dollar and I have a lot of ground to cover, so I decide to splash out and rent a car for a couple of weeks. I ask the woman behind the counter of "Ace Rental Cars" for the cheapest car she's got with a stereo in it. She tells me all the cars have stereos and calls up her man in the parking lot to send down the smallest Compacto-Mini-Econo- Car he's got. Five minutes later a man pulls up with my wheels for the next fortnight. It looks like a washing machine but costs only $30 NZ ($15 US) per day. I get in and discover there's no stereo - just a radio with one loudspeaker.

This won't do. I have big singing-along-to-Crowded- House-(my-All-Time-Favorite-Kiwi-Band)-while-driving- through-New- Zealand plans.

I've bought tapes with me specially.

So I go back to the counter and explain all this to the woman. I even give her a couple of preview choruses. She listens, smiles at me, and gets back on the phone. She asks her man to come pick up the Washing Machine and replace it with the car with the best stereo he can find. She says I can have whatever he comes up with at the Washing Machine rate. What a sweetie.

So I have a nice fuel-injected Toyota with a kicking Kenwood stereo system. I'm ready to roll.

And I check out the South Island; an area roughly the size of England with less than one million people living in it. The scenery is dominated by the Southern Alps which run down the west side. There are national parks all over the place. The sun shines throughout my two week exploration and I have a great time picking up hitchhikers (got to keep the karma balanced) and getting out and about in the fresh air. I won't bore you with all the details. Highlights include:

• Abel Tasman National Park. Hike in 12 or so miles, sleep in a cabin, then catch an "Aqua Taxi" from the beach back to the trail head.

  Millford Sound

• Millford Sound. A fjord carved by a glacier. Like Yosemite Valley but under water.
• Franz Josef Glacier. You get to climb inside it.
• Mount Cook. I don't get to climb it, that would be too hardcore. (I read in the paper about some disabled bloke who just climbed up, 20 years after an unsuccessful attempt in the 1970s saw him trapped in an ice cave near the summit for two weeks. The ordeal cost him his legs to frostbite, or - as the paper put it - "30% of his body mass". Yuck). So I content myself with balancing rocks while waiting for the clouds to clear at the scenic overlook.

If it wasn't for all the bastard SAND FLIES this place would indeed be paradise. But don't underestimate the menace of the sand fly. They're on you the moment you step outside the car.

I don't bother with any of the high-adrenaline sports and activities that are New Zealand's trademark. No bungy jumping, no skydiving, no bridge-swinging, no river-sledding. While watching the local ads before a movie, however, me and a Dutch guy see footage of some guy stood on top of a bi-plane. "Wing Walking" I think it's called. We decide that this is the activity for us.

What do you think? Smoke an enormous spliff, get strapped to a crucifix-style frame on top of a bi-plane, and zoom round and round the top of Mount Cook for an hour or two. Fantastic! You'd think you were some kind of God. No? At least it would be a morning you wouldn't forget in a hurry. Unfortunately, our enquiries around town reveal that the bloke with the bi-plane managed to crash and kill himself last year. Too bad.

The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.

Kiwi! Kiwi! Kiwi!

Rocks by Mount Cook

But ultimately for me, the highlight of New Zealand isn't the scenery or the sheep or the adventure sports but the people. They're a wonderful bunch.

Blokes will make sure they're not obstructing your view before they stand in front of you at a sports game. They'll also strike up a cheery conversation while stood next to you in the Gents. Shopkeepers are helpful in a way you think you remember from childhood and see on BBC period dramas. I meet a couple of sheep farmers while watching the rugby in a pub, they invite me to come stay on their farm. They introduce me to their friend who invites me to come stay with her when I'm in Christchurch. I left my swimming kit behind at the Wanganui swimming pool. I go back the next day to pick it up find it's been washed, dried, and waiting for me at reception.

And everyone gets on with everyone else. The whites, the Maoris, the Islanders - as far as I can tell everyone just gets on with it. "We're all Mutts" explains one Maori guy in a bar.

The only complaint I have of the Kiwis is that despite it being all so rural (there's adverts for sheep de-wormer on TV) the people aren't always as green and eco-friendly as I'd been led to believe. Recently the New Zealand Prime Minister lambasted the South Islanders - calling them "a bunch of ignorant ferrals" - for overlogging the forests. The use of hardcore chemical pesticides such as 1080 ("It kills everything" boast the ads) is widespread. And this from the people who make such a big deal about the Rainbow Warrior having been sunk in their waters.

There's just so much space and so much growing, I guess it doesn't seem precious to them. But then I'm the one careering around the place in a fuel-injected Toyota all to myself...

And so with that I guess I'd better shut up and leave you for today. I already told you about how I got back up North to Auckland. I'm off to Fiji now for some sunshine. I'll write soon.

- Neil