Cloudy Bay

500 miles north and 2 days later I'm at the northern end of the South Island to find myself on the hallowed ground that is Cloudy Bay vineyard. The very vines and grapes that go into (arguably) the ultimate NZ Sauvignon Blanc are there in front of me, and it's tempting to get down and kiss the earth in awe (obviously I don't as this would look a little over-obsessive).

Of course, in reality it looks much like any other vineyard - rows of anonymous looking plants surrounding an opulent tasting hall that tells you where some of that premium price goes... Still, like most new world wineries, they're chatty, friendly and happy to hand out as many samples as you think the drink driving laws will take. Also the SB is about 40% of the price it is in the UK - it seems criminal to leave without stocking up on a case or two, but this is no time to undo the good work I've been doing the last 6 weeks in reducing my inevitably overpacked luggage.

The road to Glenorchy

November 28th.

It seems like all the people in Queenstown - 'adventure capital of New Zealand', and friendly relaxed vibey place - are either 20 years younger than me or 20 years older. I guess the 40-somethings are all either at work and/or looking after children (shouldn't you be doing that too, I hear some of you say).

I head off with no particular expectations along the lakeside road, it's not mentioned in the guidebook, but every corner turns out to have another impossibly perfect view. Glenorchy itself is of course tiny but doesn't stop it having three cafes. The one I pick again does a reliably mean flat white and some great brunches to have out back in the garden in the sun looking at the clear blue skies and the mountains. Ho hum, November Wednesdays are always such a drag...

NZzzzzzz

This place is so relaxed that my life has slowed to levels only a little above where cryogenics kick in. No complaints about that, mind. The sun keeps shining despite the 5 metres of rainfall I hear they get a year on the west coast (producing some truly beautiful ancient rainforest which I've explored a little of - not too much activity though you understand....). The air is crystal clear (promised in Bhutan but really true here) and driving on the deserted roads there's just the minor stress of who has priority on the one lane bridges to deal with, plus great views served up on a regular basis. Then there's the surprising (and welcome) capacity of a place the size of England with 1m people in it to consistently turn up great coffee shops just when you're starting to think it would be nice to chill for a while with a 'flat white' (sort of latte/macchiato cross, though they have both of those as well). It's also reassuring to see that someone breaking the woman's sheepshearing world record made second item on the TV news yesterday. (In case you're wondering, 650 sheep were sheared in the allotted 12 hours).

No wonder the New Zealanders feel obliged to spice things up with a bit of extreme sports now and then (such as attached - no not me).

Glacier town dilemma

I don't know about you, but I always find this a tough one. You drive for miles with no glaciers and then all of a sudden two come along at once (well 25km apart). Which one to stay at for the night? Fox Glacier (yes, the town is called that as well as the ice formation) is a little further down the coast but can't match Franz Josef Glacier (ditto) for wacko name, also my guide book suggests you can get up close and personal with the ice at FJ but not Fox. It turns out to be the other way round, plus Fox looks the nicer town, plus it's close to Lake Matheson where once in a blue moon you get great views of Mount Tasman and Mount Cook on 'still and clear' early mornings. The large numbers of people coming back to the car park with oversize cameras and tripods tell me however I'm already too late to see the view (or the blue moon) by 7.30am as it's already clouded over.

It's not all one-sided though - Fox Glacier hasn't got a groovy bus-as-internet-cafe.

Note - in case you don't think the glacier looks very impressive, look at the size of the people in the pic.

Christchurch

So I've travelled right round the world... to end up in a little bit of England. Punting on the Avon, statues of Queen Victoria, nowhere to park, and a little light teenage yobbery of a Saturday evening. It all helps make you feel right at home.

Aussie Election Fever

Probably not much on the radar back in the UK or elsewhere, but tomorrow (Saturday) is Election Day in Oz. It's fairly momentous as John Howard (Liberal - but Conservative in Brit equivalent) is going for a 5th successive win - he's already been PM here longer than either Thatcher or Blair. Up against him - and ahead in the polls all year - is Labor's Kevin Rudd, a John Major look- and sound-alike (though slightly better taste in glasses), who is going for the be-more-conservative-than-the-conservatives approach (sound familiar at all?).

Just to ratchet up the excitement - (a) the polls today show a narrowing of the Labor lead and Oz has form in last minute surprises, and (b) Bruce and Jo live in the Prime Minister's own constituency, which itself is marginal and he might lose. Voting is also compulsory here. Bruce is, happily for me, an election buff too, and if I'd known, I'd have got my Saturday morning flight to Christchurch delayed 24 hours so I could join him for an evening of beers and election drama tomorrow night. However, the good news is he has promised to mail me a DVD of the results show...

Blue Mountains/No Mountains

I've hired a car for 2 days and headed off into the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. The idea is to do some 'bush walking' on some of the trails. I'm just getting my bearings and get one or two good photies of the mountains in the hot sunshine (see attached) when a huge storm whips up out of nowhere and rolls around the hills for the next six hours. After about three, the electricity cuts out in the hotel - for 2 hours. Not a huge problem - I have a torch and planned to head out for dinner in the very cutesy village of Leura where I am staying. However poking a nose outside I see the electricity is out across the village. No matter, drive to next town. Electricity out there too. Drive 20k west... still out. Drive 40k the other way before street and traffic lights are finally on again. Assemble sort of dinner from various outlets and head back. That said - pizza, red wine and Aussie election coverage on TV = happy Martin.

This morning I got up to find the village completely fog-bound so had to have 2 capuccinos a pastry and a newspaper waiting for it to clear (the sacrifice). It did clear - in the village. Trails still foggy - and no mountains to be seen of any colour, just a wall of grey at the lookouts. In some ways I preferred it - cooler for walking, fewer tourists and the insects had disappeared. Maybe I would have felt differently if I hadn't seen the views briefly yesterday. I got 3-4 hours walking but then the rain arrived and that was that.

Bridge Climb

Only the Aussies (well, perhaps Kiwis too) could have a gigantic bridge in their harbour and think not only 'I would like to climb that', but also think they could get about 2 million other people to do it too and pay for the privilege.

However, Bruce and Jo assure me that Bridge Climb is a must-do Sydney experience, but as I get close up to it and see it at full size, with the wind getting up...

So the deal is this. You get put into a very attractive all-in-one jump suit along with about a dozen other people, get some quick training on walking up and down the ladders, put on some radios so you can hear the group leader through the wind, then walk down the street looking like you've come to put out a nuclear reactor fire until you get to the start of the bridge. You get clipped to a clever device that keeps you hooked to a steel line all the way round, then off you go - first through the underside of the bridge structure, then you climb several sets of ladders that has you appearing through the middle of the freeway, then you get onto the top arch and climb up to the middle where the flags are. Then you cross over from one side the other (with the Freeway about 200 feet below) and walk down the other side. It takes about 3 hours in all. The views are amazing (they needed to be...) Daniel, our wholesome all-Australian guide, helpfully mentions at the top that the height of the bridge is the same as the London Eye (about 500ft) - with the obvious difference that you're outside. If you look very carefully at the photo of the bridge attached, you might be able to make out some dots on the top arch - that's the Bridge Climb (you may need to double click on the photo to enlarge it).

By the way, Bruce and Jo are right. It's awesome.

Sydney

G'day!

The Kathmandu-Calcutta-Singapore-Sydney triple hop was happily uneventful, the only downer being no internet availability in Calcutta Airport so a very boring 6 hours there. 24 hours after leaving the Shanker Hotel in Kathmandu I touched down at Sydney just five minutes late.

I'm staying here with good friends Bruce and Jo Colman and their two young sons Dylan and Lewis. Bruce worked with Kate in Oxford in the 90's and I met them in the first few weeks that Kate and I were seeing each other. They immediately announced they were going back to Australia...

It was a welcome sight to see Bruce waiting at arrivals and weird to be on smooth roads as we drive out to their house. We snatch a view of the Opera House as we swing round in front of the harbour and then turn to drive over the massive Harbour Bridge.

We stay up chatting late but I am keen to be up and out and see the city on Monday. Needless to say that goes by the board, I sleep till midday then spend till 3pm doing the blog update I would have done in Calcutta. But then head into town, and it's... great. There's something momentous about harbour cities and Sydney does it really well.

And then there were three

November 15-17.

Our group disbands, a bit sadly, in dribs and drabs. Ron, my tent-mate on trek (thanks for putting up with that, Ron) leaves us in Paro to head eastwards back to Wisconsin, Chris(tine) leaves us Thursday morning for Winchester, and late Thursday afternoon Sue from Twickenham and the three Scottish lassies also depart Kathmandu. Which leaves three of us staying till Saturday.

Hannah and Nicky have decided to join me on a day trek on Friday into the Kathmandu Valley, which turns out well because (a) they're good company, and (b) it dilutes the faintly dislikable guide. We head up to a high point at Nagarkot, and walk 4 hours mainly downhill in a big arc. Above the pollution haze over Kathmandu the views of the Himalayas are awesome, the day is pin-sharp and the mountains much closer than in Bhutan. We end the day in Baktapur, well-preserved medieval town (maybe what Kathmandu was once more like?) though also inevitably lots of tourists.

(Almost) as memorable is real Italian pizza and great cappuccino (though any rough approximation probably would be after a month) at 'Fire & Ice' in Kathmandu. This knocks off two trivial cravings - others being:

- Brushing teeth under a tap

- Wine (Aussie red and NZ white would do just nicely)

- Sandwich - preferably from Pret

- Any meal without rice in it

Saturday midday we leave Kathmandu. The plane is late and by the time it leaves the sun is starting to set, suddenly washing the still-clear mountains in variously pink, orange, red. Before heading to Calcutta the plane does a lap of honour over the city - as the sun goes down the colour moves up the mountains to their tips until they are all just silent grey, then we head south and they are gone.

A month out, South Asia has been amazing, full-on, sensory overload, beyond any expectations I could reasonably have had. Not coming back sometime isn't an option.

Kathmandu - mad metropolis

I suppose, if you try very hard, you can just about imagine Kathmandu as a small, quiet, faintly medieval, quite religious, mountain trading centre. It isn't any more.

Playing as much to tourists as locals, the narrow streets seethe with small (and some large western) shops, traders, motorbikes, trucks and cars, horns much to the fore as elsewhere in Asia, the effect of the exhaust fumes emphasised by the thinner air (albeit we're only at about 5,000 feet here). I had thought Indian driving was an experience, but really they're amateurs compared with the brinkmanship here. Not one for the cycling trip I think.

At first I thought it was all a bit forgettable but after 3 days I'm warming to the place. One to come back to?

The P Word (Bhutan)

In Bhutan - Politics.

The country has been a kingdom for 100 years since the 'first king' was elected from among the various rulers of bits of the country, and ruled in an absolute though apparently benevolent way since then (it's difficult to decipher exactly) - the 'fourth king' who came to the throne in the 1970's famously made it his objective to increase 'gross national happiness' rather than gross national product - although he is being helped in that aim by getting Indian migrant workers to do lots of the rough jobs.

We caught Bhutan in the middle of what is clearly huge change - domestic TV only arrived in 2000, and until last year all men and women were required to wear national dress ('gho' - a sort of tartan robe and kilt with knee length socks for men, and 'kira' - full length straight dress, same tartan for women) between 6am and 6pm. There are also first elections due on new year's eve, and it's all being taken very seriously, with mock elections being held so people can get the hang of it, and articles in the state-run newspapers headed 'Politicians - Good People' - can't imagine that running in The Sun somehow... The historic central role of religion (Buddhism), its philosophy and rituals, is also coming under pressure - embedded traditionally both in the power structures (the king only rules the secular side - there is a Chief Abbot who has equal sway over the religious) and the fact that there are so many monks (who effectively report up through the religious side). For older people (meaning anyone over 30) it's still obviously part of the fabric of life (see photos) but for the young it's equally obviously not.

There are already more tourists, and will be more still - the Druk Air monopoly surely can't last forever, and you can't help thinking that overall it will end up being more like everywhere else at the end of all this. On the other hand do people really want to live in a sort of medieval rural theme park forever? It's a truism to say there will be pluses and minuses, but from what I saw, I would say (a) it's probably unstoppable, and (b) it will mean one less bit of diversity in our homogenising world.

Dzonged Out

The hotel in Thimpu after 5 days on the road could have been pretty crumby and still semed like heaven provided the showers worked, but it was good by any standard, and an indescribably welcoming sight. Thimpu (pop. 95,000 - but that's double what it was 2 years ago) is a reasonably happening sort of town, and was able to meet several members of the group's need for bow and arrow purchases (archery is national sport).

A couple of welcome recovery days follow and we drive east in a minibus to see various other dzongs - Punakha, Wangdi, Jeli, were there others? They all follow the similar model of fortress, temple and monastery, and although highly striking, beautiful and other-worldly, it's good not to have signed up for that two-week comprehensive evaluation of every dzong in the country. It's also just good to let the world go by for a couple of days and gently absorb this very odd but very appealing country.

The Joys of Camping

Er, there aren't any.

Bhutan Dry Season

It's true that it doesn't rain in the dry season in Bhutan - it snows instead.

Trek Day 1 starts gently enough with visit to National Museum, notable above all for its entire floor devoted to the stamp collection. Bhutan seems to have marked every last British royal occasion on its stamps but very few of its own. Guide-in-chief (Chencho) looks slightly cross when we get out as assistant-guide (Kinley) has overrun by an hour, which means we're going to find the ascent ahead tougher. Day 1 is almost all uphill - Paro is at 7,000 feet, the museum 8,000 and we end the day camping at over 11,000. We're supported by 18 mules, 7 cooks/horsemen and 2 guides, which seems a bit excessive for 9 of us, but there is nothing at all between Paro and Thimpu (the capital about 50-60km away, to which we are walking) - apart from mountains obviously.

The snow at night is accompanied by cobalt-blue skies during most of the days (at least that's what I remember - the photos don't seem always to show it...) with clouds billowing in seas of white below us as much as above at this height. We get great views of the eastern Himalayas behind the Bhutan 'hills', though we're still talking 5,000m for most of those. The route is very definitely up and down, with no one on it (we met one trekking couple in 5 days) and overall personally (as a complete novice) a great challenge - one that would however have been improved no end however by ending up at a nice pub with good beer and food and a warm bed each day. Oh well. Highest point was 4,210m (about 14,000 feet) on the second last day, which was marked by walking into a snowstorm down from it to our campsite just above Thimpu - questions about whether we we are nearly there yet being met with an enigmatic 'not exactly' from Chencho (i.e. No).