The flight from Christchurch to Auckland goes smoothly. I take the bus and check in again at Yaping House for my last day in New Zealand. After walking a kilometre with 40kg of luggage, I’m pretty exhausted. As soon as I arrive, I finally run head-on into a really good person again.

That makes my last day in New Zealand very nice. Indian food, an afternoon on the beach. No wind, but it doesn’t matter with the right people. A nice bottle of wine in the evening. Everything is quiet. I look down on Auckland’s twinkling lights from Mount Eden. I’m exactly right, here and now. That’s why I can go on. (more…)

On my penultimate day in Christchurch, I reach Bosco, the Black Forest pirate from Mana/Fiji. He moved to New Zealand a few months ago. He’s been pretty cold since then. In the middle of New Zealand’s midsummer, he drops by my hostel in the evening wearing a thick fur jacket. I greet him warmly from the 100 people I met on the trip. Bosco is probably something of a legend among world travellers.

I’m pleased to see that he’s doing well. Apparently he doesn’t drink quite as much as he did on Mana. We change this habit on the spot. After a few rounds of pre-drinking, we stroll into the city centre. First club: Dux de Lux. Beer garden, bar and concert. The seven boys from Retrodelic Funk Machine really heat things up. The whole room is steaming. (more…)

Middle-earth lies behind me. Christchurch in front of me. The journey on the 1.60 metre high bus takes almost 9 hours. Afterwards I’m a bit dejected. From Cathedral Square I lug 35kg of luggage back to the bus terminal and drive to the nearby Shalom Hostel. Nothing special, but cheap and WiFi.

First day: storm and rain. I walk through Christchurch soaking wet. Everywhere in New Zealand, the city planners have somehow managed to blend different architectural styles into a beautiful whole. In Christchurch they have failed completely. No two buildings fit together. Disneyworld, Brutalism, Victorian, timber house, Bauhaus, tower block, Mies. No two houses are the same scale. Bears! (more…)

I’m hanging out in Wanaka. No wind. The hostel is nice, the people are good. But just no wind. Sometimes I’m happy that it’s sometimes so easy for me to be happy. Sometimes it annoys me. Today, for example. No wind. I’m hanging around all day, wandering through the city. Nothing new in Wanaka.

I sleep to videos in the living room. Cook my salmon. Chat a bit with good people at home. Work. Then I head out into the nightlife – it’s Friday after all. The first bar sells beer at prices below supermarket level. The second is well above. A drunken Maori twat knocks over the first half of my Heineken. The second half is stolen. I watch the people partying. My day? (more…)

I somehow feel like I should be travelling a long way today. I manage 650 kilometres by the evening. First I head back south through the hot coastal plain. Then I turn off onto completely empty roads heading west. I’m heading into the Alps again. Although it quickly becomes much cooler, the whole country is still golden in the rain shadow of the Alps.

There are several large lakes along the way. Turquoise, white and blue skies. The bush is on fire at Lake Pukaki near Mount Cook. It’s raining on my side. Mount Cook is hiding behind thick clouds, so I drive on to Wanaka. There’s a salmon farm on the way. I pick up half a salmon for very little money. (more…)

I continue northwards. I’m riding fast today. 300 kilometres to the Akaroa Peninsula near Christchurch is a lot. I thought so. But between Oamaru and Christchurch is probably the longest, most boring and straightest road in New Zealand: 40 kilometres without a bend. I arrive four hours earlier than expected.

Akaroa is the Tuscany of New Zealand. An old volcanic crater, open to the south. Turquoise blue water and Mediterranean temperatures. It smells of lavender, thyme, cedar and pine trees. The fields are dry and golden in colour. Even some of the houses are imported directly from Tuscany. I drive to Omuku Farm Lodge. Kerstin is working here for three months. (more…)

The largest gold mines in New Zealand are located near Palmerston. Unfortunately, the tour on the 200-tonne monster trucks is fully booked. Once again, it’s just as well: shortly afterwards I’m at the Moeraki Boulders. Once submarine boulders that have crystallised over the millennia. Round stone balls on the beach. Lots of tourists.

The beach is beautiful. 200 metres wide, fine sand, gently sloping. The wind is even nicer. Very laminar, 18 knots, side-onshore. Perfect. Kite out on the beach and off we go. Directly in front of the boulders, I make a few really great crash landings after unsuccessful jumps. At least jumping is now possible with the Vegas. (more…)

The journey continues to Dunedin. For once, I set off early after little sleep. I arrive in Dunedin early in the afternoon and am quite impressed. I can almost smell something like history. Old buildings, imitation Italian Renaissance, neo-Gothic and again Art Deco alongside classicism. The first city in New Zealand where there are more stone buildings than wooden houses.

Why is clear: Dun-Edin means New Edinburgh and goes back to a Scottish foundation. Scots don’t like wood, but they really like black and white stone. It lasts longer and is therefore cheaper. I wind my way through Dunedin and soon find my hostel high up on a hill. (more…)

I sleep through the night. The villa is too beautiful and nobody is snoring in the 7-bed dorm today. When I wake up, it’s 11am and almost everyone has left. I get ready, take a Berlin woman to her plane to Stewart Island and set off eastwards.

I continue along the coast and soon arrive at Catlins Forest Park. In the 19th century it was practically completely mown down. The last remnants now form the centre of the park. Even before the forest, there are beautiful stretches of coastline. High cliffs, green grass, sheep and windswept tree hedges. The sun is blazing. (more…)

On the journey to Invercargill, I notice a lot of trees that look like wind tunnel dummies. All the branches grow in one direction. Almost every house before Invercargill is surrounded by a hedge more than a house high. Good signs put the pedal to the metal. My hostel is small and cosy: Southern Comfort, an Art Nouveau Victorian villa near the park.

Invercargill is quite old compared to other cities in New Zealand. Many different architectural styles, neo-gothic, classicism, imitation baroque and of course art deco. A beautiful town. Unfortunately no wind on the day I arrived. No matter. The neighbour’s WiFi is hijacked. Good people here, good conversations and a beautiful sunset by the sea. (more…)

Well, unfortunately no more wind in Te Anau. Continue southwards. Shortly after Lake Manapouri, my map shows a turn-off into the Fjordland National Park. It’s probably the thinnest line on the whole map…. and the first map ever to show a track. Hey, a path is a path. I turn off at Lake Monowai. First 20km of gravel track.

Then there’s a gate and a sign warning of avalanches, washouts, rockfalls, tight bends and steep gradients. Sounds quite adventurous. At the bottom there is a sign: strictly for 4WD. I get out, walk round my little runabout. Count. Oh my God! 4 wheels! So let’s go! (more…)