The first stop on Coromandel is a flop. The tour of the Waihi gold mine was actually supposed to be free. But the offer was cancelled five years ago. However, in order to hear how harmless mercury is for the local biotopes, we are not prepared to pay twice the $28 and drive to the “historic gold mining site” of Waitekauri.

The word “historic” is about three and a half times as trendy in New Zealand as “organic” was here in 1992. If a fart stinks for more than ten seconds, it’s called “historic”. Our gold mine dates back to 1987, as we read in awe after travelling 20 km. We definitely count the two remaining reinforced concrete foundations on a remote cow pasture among the illuminating historical highlights of this trip. (more…)

As soon as we round the East Cape, the weather clears up again. The Bay Of Plenty is ancient Maori cultural land. The first canoes of our ancestors from the Pacific landed here sometime between 700 and 1400. We also land here. These are the last days of a great journey. This too ends as good journeys should: We are ready for a holiday.

I catch bed bugs in a hostel in Opotiki. Bed bugs are by far the worst travelling nuisance. Neither the white and black ringed giant mosquitoes of Fiji nor the clouds of sandflies off Milford Sound have anywhere near the same potential to turn you into a walking pile of bloody mincemeat. (more…)

From Wellington onwards, we drive several hundred kilometres every day. Even country roads are a bit different in New Zealand: if you don’t slow down on a bend, you’re guaranteed to take off on the next bump. Part one of the trip takes us to the Art Deco town of Napier. After a five-hour drive, the wind is still blowing over the rough shore break, so the architecture has to wait.

In the evening, the rest of the Bee Gees play in the nearby stadium – presumably also “Staying alive”. At midnight, the old fans stagger drunkenly into the dorm. A granny first pours wine over me, then snores all night, interrupted by worryingly long breathing interruptions. Napier’s last two dormitory beds hardly bring us any sleep either. (more…)

We started our six weeks on the South Island of New Zealand on the Queen Charlotte Track. This is where we will end it. Tutukaka’s foot is lame. The brakes are squealing worse and worse and need to be repaired soon. But he still manages the last winding 60 kilometres out onto the outermost gravel tracks of the Marlborough Sounds.

The last hike takes us to the highest peak in the Sounds. At 1203 metres, Mount Stokes is not particularly high. But the hike starts close to the sea and the path is definitely one of the tougher ones. It begins steeply through the jungle, becomes steeper and climbs steadily up to the summit over rough rocks, roots and fallen cowries. (more…)

Travelling is life. It is the life I have chosen. Some friends called it escape, others don’t understand that I call this dream life. Everyone chooses the life they think is right. Some follow a good plan, and a few complete it. I just lost the dream somewhere along the journey.

We take a few days of rest in Nelson, the Tuscany of New Zealand. The kites on the beach put me in a bad mood: there’s no wind in the sail. I can hardly keep my eyes open for all the beauty. My ears can no longer hear the incredible stories. Or simply put: blind, deaf and dumb are very bad travelling companions. (more…)

Golden Bay is located in the very north-west of New Zealand’s South Island. The clocks tick very differently in this hippie centre. The houses are colourful, the people relaxed and/or naked. The sea runs endlessly flat on the beach, so flat that you can’t even see it on the horizon at low tide. Herons stalk through the mudflats.

Near Takaka, the largest freshwater springs in Australasia spew 14 cubic metres of crystal-clear water per second from the karst ground. Sheep pastures and roads are rarely separated by fences. We drive to the last corner of New Zealand, Farewell Spit. A 50 kilometre long sandbank stretches out into the sea. (more…)

Abel Tasman National Park is New Zealand’s smallest but most visited of the 14 national parks. The Abel Tasman Coastal Walk is one of the Great Walks and runs for 53 kilometres from Marahau to Wainui Bay. It mostly runs along the coastline at different altitudes. Some branches lead to remote bays or into the interior of the national park.

It usually takes three to five days to complete this track. You can spend the night either in DOC huts or on campsites. Frank drives me by car to the starting point in Marahau – and there’s no turning back. I spend the first night in the hut in Bark Bay, with 23 kilometres ahead of me today. The first day is exhausting and rainy. It’s unusual to hike alone. (more…)

In the German news you only ever hear that the New Zealand glaciers are some of the few glaciers in the world that are still growing. This is generally true, but only rarely. We arrive in Franz Josef late in the evening and check into the YHA. We have booked a full-day trip on the Fox Glacier for the next day.

Early in the morning we take the bus to the glacier break. You can’t see the Fox Glacier. Within a year, the glacier has retreated a whole 400 metres around the corner. I don’t dare ask how much it has retreated since my last visit five years ago. The first thing the guide jokes about is that he will soon need a new job. (more…)

Thunder rolls from the Sefton Glacier over Mount Cook Village. We see a large avalanche at 2300 metres. After almost two weeks of sunshine and temperatures of over 30° in New Zealand, it’s no wonder. In the late afternoon, another avalanche starts, but we only hear it.

Every trip is different. I’ve already been to Mount Cook, but I’ve never seen it. The Hooker Valley Track leads over large suspension bridges and raging glacial rivers to Hooker Lake in front of Mount Cook. It’s great weather again today. Blue glacier ice floats in the white water. A cold wind blows off the glacier, clouds gather in the late afternoon. (more…)

What the Hajj to Mecca is to Muslims, the Hatsch on one of New Zealand’s ten Great Walks is to hikers. The enthusiasm of some travellers sometimes takes on religious traits: glowing eyes, catatonic drooling or sex with hiking socks worn for five days.

Today we are travelling on the Routeburn Track, one of New Zealand’s Ten Great Walks. The Routeburn Track is only 32 kilometres long, but crosses a very long mountain range. The journey by car from one end of the Routeburn Track to the other is over 350 kilometres. The bus costs just under $200, it takes at least a day and a half to stop, and we don’t want to double up. (more…)

None of us have ever been to a pub crawl. We were always more than suspicious of pub crawls. What was there to experience? People who think that life can’t possibly consist of anything more than calling for the next beer. But the truth is even worse…

I’m happy, because it’s always best to make fun of your own mistakes. After two months of travelling pretty much solo in pairs and often through the loneliest parts of New Zealand without much socialising, I seriously thought it was a good idea to take up this offer: Big Night Out Queenstown: The Pub Crawl. (more…)

Auf dem Weg von Invercargill nach Te Anau machen wir einen kleinen Abstecher ins südliche Fjordland. Über die wunderbar staubige Borland Road kann man bis zu 50 km an den Südarm des Lake Manapouri fahren. Weiter ins Fjordland kommt man nirgends mit dem Auto.

Nach 30 km grober Schotterpiste steigen wir aus und über einen steilen Pfad rauf auf die Mount Burns Tops. Kristallklare Bergseen leuchten zwischen goldenem Tussockgras in strahlender Sonne. Seit Tagen herrscht endlich der Sommer in Neuseeland. Sogar hier in den Fjords mit bis zu 7 m Regen im Jahr haben wir nur Kaiserwetter. Bei Temperaturen um die 30° wird jede kleine Bergwanderung zum schweisstreibenden Extremsport. (more…)

Oamaru is famous for its penguin colonies. However, as they no longer feel the need for forced prostitution, they are decimating. The only blue penguin we see committed suicide in the grass next to the harbour. We refuse to disturb the return of the live penguins from the sea in the evening for moral reasons.

Dunedin is the oldest city in New Zealand, although at least three are in contention for this title. In the black and white stone buildings, which are up to 200 years old, one shop after another is closing down. 50% vacancy is supplemented by 25% galleries and second-hand shops. The rest seems to consist of empty pubs and restaurants. (more…)

The sun rises hours after our departure from Christchurch. In the middle of the Canterbury Plains, New Zealand’s oldest farmland, we help inflate the colourful envelope of a hot air balloon. Two motorised fans and the burner make a hell of a racket. Then everything happens quickly. We climb into the basket and slowly rise into the air in silence.

Grisu hisses from time to time. The sun rises and casts long shadows behind the rows of trees. The New Zealand Alps rise up in the distance. We are lucky. According to the captain, this is the best day for a long time. For us, it’s by far the best visibility in the last six weeks. A sheep bleats. A cow complains. A hare flees from our shadow. Silence. (more…)

This is really creepy. Achterdorm in the wonderful old Victorian Rolleston House in the centre of Christchurch. Even two years after the big quake, everything around it is still broken or just rubble and ashes. A laptop LCD glows in every bed. Apart from the typing, everything is as quiet as a mouse. Nobody is talking. Presumably everyone is writing about homesickness for home.

I’m the web designer here! I’m the first and the last to type at night! But I feel great when I’m not typing. It’s really incredible how the travelling world has changed in just five years. Everyone is rushing from hotspot to hotspot, and the free ones are becoming increasingly rare. Travelling in between has become a necessary evil to decorate the Facebook wall with the same pictures over and over again. (more…)

Greymouth was simply bland to grey. It continued to piss until we reached Arthur’s Pass. The former definition of a New Zealand summer was: “When the breaks between the rain get longer”. In the meantime, even the New Zealand media have labelled this summer with all its floods as “extremely pissy”.

We simply can’t cope with the temporary lack of rain, so we quickly hike to Devil’s Punchhole. In the veil of the falls, summer feels like summer again. Without rain, we are starting to have real problems with our leisure activities. Out of sheer frustration, we take the piss out of Keas. Priceless fun, but probably also the source of their aggression towards all inorganic soft parts. (more…)

The spiders, the kiwi winemakers! Blenheim is New Zealand’s most famous wine-growing region. The fame has gone to their heads. You can’t buy anything for less than $20 in the wine cellars, and you can only get plonk wine from $10 in the supermarket. Our wine tasting is limited to supermarket wine. Australian wine wins hands down.

Windfinder gives good winds for Kaikoura, 130 kilometres to the south. We race over golden hills to the east and along the bright blue sea – directly into a thick rain storm. Shortly after a tornado hits Kaikoura, the sun shines again – in absolute calm. (more…)

The Marlborough Sounds are located in the north of New Zealand’s South Island. Here, land and sea merge seamlessly into one another: At first, the land predominates with its steep green forested mountains. Then the inlets become wider and bluer. Schools of dolphins hunt, splashing loudly off the last islands in the Cook Straight. Then there is only the sea.

The water taxi drops us off on historic ground. Ship Cove lies quite far out in the sounds. Captain Cook camped here for many weeks on several voyages from 1774. The Maoris also regarded the site as an important stop on their crossing of the dangerous strait. For us today, Ship Cove is the start of the longest hike we have both ever done. (more…)

I apologise to everyone who wished me a happy new year. I had to turn it down at first. Two days before New Year’s Eve, we go shopping in New Plymouth for the ascent of New Zealand’s second highest volcano, Mount Taranaki. We borrowed the necessary ice axes and crampons for the steep summit, which was still covered in snow, and set off in the rain.

The ascent to the summit at 2,550 m begins at the North Egmont DOC Visitor Centre. Our first destination for the day is at an altitude of 1,500 metres. We reach the Taranaki Alpine Club’s Tahurangi Hut after just under two hours and 600 metres in altitude, completely soaked through with more than 15 kg of luggage each for the two days on the mountain. Visibility is close to zero and the wind is blowing strongly. (more…)