Rounding out our tour of the North

After cruising the North Island in true rubbertramp fashion, we are back on the parade in Wellington, overlooking Oriental Bay. Such a strange feeling to return to the capital city, some 2.5 months after our first visit, now feeling like (somewhat) seasoned New Zealand travelers. There are a few talents that mark this achievement: understanding the local language (togs, boot [of a car], jandals, a cuppa, etc.), not lapsing into shock at the sight of a 5-pronged roundabout, and never underestimating the power of foamed full milk on top of a shot of espresso.

Since we last checked in (I know, it's been ages), we have covered a lot of road. We climbed to the Pinnacles in the Coromandel, watched the surf breaks in Mt. Maunganui, admired the orchards of kiwi fruit in the Bay of Plenty, ate pie in Rotorua, wwoofed on a dairy farm near Dannevirke, and tramped in the Tararua Forest Park. For a more detailed description, please see photo montage below:

Hiking through beautiful NZ native bush on the way
down from the Pinnacles in the Coromandel.

Bry takes a dip in the (freezing cold) Cathedral Cove,
on the East side of the Coromandel.

Meet: our improvised chilly bin. It is here that I should report that after much deliberation,
Bry and I decided that Fern had to go. The (lack of) fuel economy was biting our budget in the butt, and so we are now on the look out for a wee car to see the South.
Translation: we're addicted to TradeMe.

When you're on the road, you stop at waterfalls. It's just what you do. Here's a waterfall, somewhere in NZ, rather ordinary looking, with two not-so-ordinary smelly travelers.

Eager for some new scenery, we make a dairy farm our home for the week. Jeff
(man in the yellow suit) and Annie (lady in the hot wellies) treat us more like royalty
that wwoofers (they are new at this wwoof thing). We love every minute of it.

Many lessons learned on the dairy farm, a few being:
(1) there's more to Japanese cuisine than sushi,
(2) now matter how elaborate the rain dance, it's still dry in Dannevirke,
and (3) always make more home brew than you think you will need.

We meet up with a long lost love, Jocelyne, and hike the Tararua Range.
We decided that we saw a lot of the tramp in it's true form
(or, what it looks like 90% of the time).

The beauty of NZ tramping is the huts. Oh the huts. Parnoosh warned me about them,
but I underestimated just how fabulous they would be after a day of tramping in the rain.
I am now a believer.

Sweet as.

The view from the patio: resting on the parade in Wellington with
family until our next adventure. Stay tuned.