Te Araroa : Ahipara to Paihia

KM this section : 142
KM completed : 243

Knee deep it was.

I walk out of Ahipara, and into something of a nightmare.  The route is along so-called 'forest tracks', but in truth there is no sign a path has ever been made, let alone maintained, here.  Worse, the ground underfoot is horrible, deep, sticky, slippery mud, even on steep and frankly dangerous slopes.  Progress is agonisingly slow, the way is either too muddy, too steep or too overgrown, often a combination of these.  I have to pick every step, and sometimes clamber over deadfall trees that have clearly been there for years, my speed dropping to as low as one kilometre per hour at times.  What looked to be two easy days on paper become dawn 'til dusk slogs on what are surely the worst 'paths' I have ever walked.

Camped in a random field, at least it is out of the woods.

Thankfully on the third day things pick up, the morning is mostly gravel logging roads, and then a river.  No, I don't mean a path alongside a river, rather I (and a bunch of Americans who I meet along the way) walk in a river for about five kilometres.  It is actually rather fun, and the cool fresh water doesn't feel too bad on the feet.  We even have a little swim where the river joins a more major course.  Still a long day though, again I walk until sunset and camp high up on a wooded ridge.

With less mud underfoot I can appreciate the forest a bit more - I could almost start to like the place...  It is certainly an alien environment, Tea Trees and giant Kauri grow beside odd looking palms and what looks like giant bracken.  Cries of strange birds fill the air...  It's kind of shocking then to emerge from this strange jungle into what could be a British hill farm, with sheep and cattle grazing.  I have a few kilometres of this before Kerikeri where there will be a proper campsite and real food, I am not in good shape though, tired after the last few days, and my legs are swollen from the number of insect bites I've received, mosquitoes of course and I swear, hornets... but it's not far.  Of course at the campsite a swarm of midges descends on my poor legs, but at least Kerikeri has a pub.

It also has a large waterfall, and NZ's oldest stone building, I walk past these on an easy tramp over to Paihia, a charming resort on the Bay of Islands (there are four hundred or more islands, as counted by Captain Cook).  I have a motel here booked for two nights, there are several pubs, it is good.  Though I really hope not much of this walk is like those two days in the forest...

Rainbow Falls, Kerikeri,

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Te Araroa : Cape Reinga to Ahipara

KM this section : 101
KM completed : 101

Sign tree at Cape Reinga, start of the walk.

OK, now I am walking.  I've wanted to do a proper long distance path for a while, indeed one reason for creating this blog was to document such a trip - has taken me a while to get started.  But now I have the time, so off I go.  At this time of year it has to be the Southern hemisphere, and I confess that English speaking is a draw, New Zealand it is then.

Te Araroa ('the long pathway' in Maori) is a three thousand kilometre trail from Cape Reinga at the northern tip of North Island, to the far end of South Island - don't know how far I'll get, but if I make it the whole way it will probably take four months.  It takes a couple of days of buses and motels just to reach the start, and then I start walking, along a beach.  Ninety Mile Beach, it is well named.  The tide comes in, out, in again, the sun sweeps across the sky, and the beach remains.  As do I, striding over the packed sand, the Tasman Sea to my right, dunes to my left.  Highlight is the first evening, a strong southerly wind drives streamers of sand like will o' the wisps around my feet.  Next day, there are parts of the beach where every shell has its own little wind sculpted aerofoil of sand, pointing my way south.

Accommodation on the way includes a random sand dune and a cabin shared with a German fellow hiker.  Then at the end of the beach I find Ahipara, time to rest up for a day in a nice motel before continuing.  I expect blog entries will become less frequent as the walk continues... I shan't be stopping every three days :)

Ninety Mile Beach.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off to Laos

I take the air conditioned bus out of Chiang Mai, the beautiful mountain scenery it passes through is well worth the 145 Baht (£3!) fare by itself.  After three hours I'm in Chiang Rai, a pleasant little place, there is a noticeable French influence here.  The night bazaar has a sign 'marche de nuit', and there is even an hourly son et lumière show at the gold clock tower that is the town's major landmark.  I end up eating some highly spiced pork followed by a much needed ice cream sundae at the night bazaar, while a series of musical acts perform and go through fabulous costume changes.  Is awesome.  I could spend longer in Chiang Rai, but next day it's time for another bus, this time a whole 65 Baht to get to Chiang Khong on the Mekong river.  In fact it turns out that it goes all the way to the border post by the new bridge, for another 35 Baht anyway.  Then after a degree of queuing and bureaucratic hassle I'm in Laos!  Also I am now a multi-millionaire, turns out you get quite a few Kip for your Baht, and my pocket is stuffed with a wad of 50,000 Kip notes.

The mighty Mekong.

From the border I get a quick tuktuk to Huay Xai, a one horse town where I nonetheless find a decent hotel and a nice meal overlooking the river, service is a bit lacking here mind.  I get a beer in one restaurant, wait some time for the dirty plates from previous diners to be removed, and eventually give up on getting food, never mind.  Is very hard to spend money here, my room is 100,000 Kip (£8), a big beer 12,000 Kip, dinner 45,000...  Next day, the adventure continues by boat.  I have a ticket for the two day slow boat to Luang Prabang, former capital of Laos and one of the highlights by all accounts.  I mess up a little by getting the wrong bus to the pier, apparently I didn't buy a ticket as such, and only the right tuktuk driver will convert what I do have into a ticket.  It is sorted easily enough... shame about the ninety minute wait on the sweltering and increasingly packed boat before it leaves.  When at last it does we get a bit of a breeze, and the journey is never dull thanks to the incredible views from the mighty Mekong river, Thailand to one side and Laos the other.  Turns out the best thing is to abandon my cramped seat and head for the back, either the engine room or the 'smoking section'.  They even sell beer!

Bamboo bridge at Luang Prabang.

If Huay Xai has one horse, then Pak Baeng, halfway stop for the slow boat, maybe merits a donkey.  Still I find another 100,000 Kip room, eat buffalo curry, drink some Beer Lao and have a nice chat with a couple of Thai tour guides.  Then back on the boat in the morning, this one is smaller, and the engine room is closed to tourists, and at regular intervals we stop at random bits of shore to let more locals onto the already crowded boat.  It is at least cooler today, and the views remain fine.  Luang Prabang is not a big place either, more than one street maybe, but pretty much only one with restaurants.  Classy cuisine though, that French influence I guess.  I go to La Casa Lao and eat Laos style tapas while rain hammers down outside.  Blue sticky rice!  Next day I have a good wander around, cross a bamboo bridge over one of the bigger tributaries of the Mekong - Luang Prabang is built on a peninsula between the two rivers.  I visit a couple of temples and ascend Mount Phousi at the heart of the city.  Then time to head to the current capital, Vientiane, on the 'VIP sleeper bus'.  At least the Swedish guy I end up sharing a bed with is slim...  and I have a bottle of Lao whisky (15,000 Kip!), with the help of which I sleep well enough.

On Mount Phousi.

Vientiane!  The bus drops us off a few miles from the centre, so I have an interesting walk in.  The road is terrible, vehicles weave right across it to avoid the massive potholes.  At least it has some tarmac, every side street I pass is just packed earth.  There is clearly some money here, I see new houses going up, still in the French colonial style... noticeable that the scaffolding is just sticks tied together though.  Eventually I reach the centre, seems to be mainly palatial government buildings and embassies, and there are red flags with the hammer and sickle everywhere - even the apple store.  There are enough sights to fill my day or so here, and even a little tourist area with some nice French restaurants, and some music, although Chiang Rai it is not.  I read about the terrible events in Paris, seems particularly poignant here in this former French colonial capital.  Time for me to leave Laos though, turns out not to be easy what with the huge queue at the immigration point.  Then another night train, much like the first, and one day to recover a bit in Bangkok.  And then off to even further afield...

I saw a lot of the Buddha this week.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Back in Chiang Mai

Elephant feeding.

Right, doing the travelling thing in earnest now, and where better than Chiang Mai, a real hub for people travelling around Southeast Asia, and somewhere I liked a lot last visit.  This time rather than flying, I take the night train from Bangkok, it is rather fun... After I've eaten a tasty dinner, the staff come around and fold my seat and the one opposite into a bed for me, very much like in a campervan, while a second bunk folds out above.  It is perfectly comfortable, and after a few cans of Chang I drop off.

Dawn in the mountains.

At 8am the train gets to Chiang Mai, it's a short walk into town, and after a quick coffee I head to a tour office.  No hotel for me today, rather I want to do a longer version of a trip I did last time I was here.  Sure enough they book me onto a two day trek, once again with elephant riding - this time we are an odd numbered group so I have to ride on the beast's neck which is, interesting.  Speaking of the group, turns out they're all French except me, so I spend the day dusting off my French.  It is still just about there...  After fun with the pachyderms and lunch we hike up, and up, eventually reaching a hill tribe village at over a thousand metres, this is home for the night.  Rather cool too, we have a dormitory cabin on stilts, with mattresses and mosquito nets.  And after a fine green curry dinner our hosts light up a camp fire... which attracts the English speakers from downhill.  We sit shirtless around the fire and a Canadian guy plays the guitar and sings - very badly.  Well it is the authentic travelling experience I suppose.

King and Queen pagodas.

Next morning we head downhill through fantastic surroundings and eventually reach a familiar waterfall, then down the river to catch a raft over the white waters, and then back to town.  I find a hotel and have a relaxing bath, listening to the sound of monks chanting at the temple next door.  Next day I take a rest from trekking, pretty much, with a bus trip to Doi Inthanon, Thailand's highest mountain - nice to cross off another of those, my count now stands at three.  American style, there is a road almost to the top, nice though, there is even a peat bog up there.  We also check out the King and Queen Pagodas, a fantastic array of gardens and Buddhist architecture, all above two thousand metres.  Then an excellent and huge lunch and a couple of awesome waterfalls before heading home.  Last day here, has to be more trekking then... Well, the other one day option I find is not too different to what I did before, still fun though.  I ride on an elephant's neck again, this time through a river, swim under another waterfall, and float along on a bamboo raft, is most cool.

Wachirathan waterfall.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

'Resting' in Tenerife

Right, festival madness is over, I was going to have a rest of some kind yeah?  Well what better place than Tenerife, scene of a couple of previous entries involving the volcano at the centre of the island.  These days I am fortunate enough to own an apartment there, so, six weeks in the sun it is then.  Highlights follow :

Back to school for Timmy.

I do three weeks of Spanish classes, it is really rather fun, my classmates are pleasant company and I make reasonable progress.  Fluent I am not but I can just about get by, which is good - I really don't want to be one of those expats who demand the locals speak English to them.  There is even a free surf lesson thrown in - I am very bad.  Probably should stick to swimming, which also has the advantage of being free.

This is generally a good place to be.  Any night I can wander out to one of many nearby bars, generally I head past the little 'Playa Chico' and along the seafront as far as Crab Island, where there is decent live music, and even a disco if you're willing to wait for it to get going (usually around 1am!).  Everybody here is on holiday, most of them are having a good time, and it is all rather fun.  The huge choice of restaurants means I eat out every other night, rarely more than once at the same place - there is an awful lot of good fresh fish here, but I think my favourite is actually the nearby German place.

Signing in for the 'Subida a Tamaimo'.

One Friday afternoon I come back from school to find the road in front of my apartment has become a carpark for various souped up cars, BMWs, Mitsubishis and indeed fully custom kit car style things.  Turns out there is going to be a hill climb event starting in Puerto de Santiago on the Saturday.  So I spend much of the next day watching fast cars zoom up the hill, indeed as they do two runs I'm able to watch the start of one, and then walk up the hill in time to see the same cars finishing their second run, in Tamaimo.  It is all rather awesome.

This is a paradise for hikers, it has been popular with Germans for years and so the island is criss crossed with well maintained and signposted paths, through a variety of terrain - albeit, almost always up or down steep slopes.  From my flat I can walk a little way through the old town of Puerto de Santiago and then up a lava flow to reach the 'camino real', the old road leading up to Tamaimo and Santiago del Teide, and there are various diversions possible from that, for instance to one of many 'Cruz de los Misioneros' on the island, this takes you via a ridge with spectacular views of the sea and nearby La Gomera on one side, and the volcano on the other.

Teno.

Taking the bus further afield - or for one week I have a car, as getting up at 7am so I can take the bus to school becomes a bit trying - there are many more walking options.  The famous Barranco del Infierno is now open so I do that, the waterfall at the blind end of the valley is certainly rather cool.  I visit the lighthouse at Teno, and walk up from there into the high country, finding goats in shelters carved from the volcanic rock, and indeed goat's milk cheese.  The 'Cuevas Negras' route down from Erjos to Los Silos could almost be in England, I pass locals picking blackberries and then walk down a damp path through woods, with lichen-stained limestone walls to either side.

I make it a mission to find a way to walk to Masca from my apartment, turns out there are various ways, but the simplest is just to walk up the camino real to Santiago del Teide and then along the road, while there are a lot of cars, they're more or less going at walking pace on the narrow switchbacks so it is not a problem.  It takes around four and a half hours, from Masca I walk down the scenic valley in time to get the boat back.  Bit of a shame I manage to fall into one of Tenerife's few ponds and get myself, and worse yet my phone, all wet.  Fingers crossed it can be dried out, at time of writing it is all working except the camera.

Goat.

For the future - well, I have also discovered at least five tunnels through the Gigantes cliffs, each around a kilometer long, these were dug in order to channel much needed fresh water to Los Gigantes and the nearby farms.  Nowadays you can walk through them, which I tested by walking up to Tamaimo, through a tunnel to a deserted valley, down that as far as the see, up again and through a different tunnel which emerged half way up the cliffs - there followed a somewhat terrifying mile of walking until I got to Los Gigantes.  And I reckon that if I got there in time I could walk the other way along the little beach, up a different valley, and then through yet another tunnel to Masca!  But that is for another day...

The plan now?  Well I have a week back in the UK, among other things for my birthday, then two weeks for a whistlestop tour of South East Asia, and then off to New Zealand.  Where my intention is to walk the three thousand kilometre long Te Araroa, which winds from the Northern tip of North Island, right down to the far end of South Island.  Watch this space.

Up on the caldera wall with El Teide behind me.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Bestival

On the coast path.

OK, one last hurdle and then I can stop living in a tent.  Er, I mean one last festival to enjoy... specifically, Bestival on the Isle of Wight, well, somewhere I've not been at least.  Seems like a pleasant place, though finding where I need to be to sign in proves tricky, and quelle surprise, I'm not working until Friday again.  Well, off for a walk on the Thursday then, I'm able to walk straight out of the site and into fields, and the island not being a terribly big place, it only takes a couple of hours to get to the coast, at Seaview.  From there, I follow the coastal path around, past Ryde where a hovercraft turns up to disgorge festival goers, who then get in a huge queue for shuttle buses.  Obviously my plan to walk back via East Cowes is better, well... it turns out that going all the way to Osborne House was not worth it, as English 'we're not bitter about the National Trust at all' Heritage want £16 just to see the outside of it.  Still it is a pleasant route inland along the Medina estuary to Newport, sadly from there I have a mile or two along the very busy, verge-lacking road to the festival.  At least there is a pub I can stop at before going back in.

Boutique camping.  You can stay in an actual hutch.

To work on the Friday morning, I have drawn 'boutique camping' where people have paid extra for more showers and actual flush toilets, or in some cases much, much more to stay in tipis and the like.  They are not a lot of trouble to steward, I mainly have to politely inform the non-boutique customers where the nearest showers they're allowed to use are.  Then into the festival... hmm.  Turns out Bestival is not for the faint hearted, they have many kinds of music here, including thumpy, shouty, and indeed thumpy and shouty.  Seems to be the sort of thing they play on Radio 1.  Slightly out of place are Duran Duran on the main stage, still they are pretty cool, and I find an oasis of music with actual instruments at the unpromisingly named 'Pig's Big Ballroom', the Caravanserai is nearby, as is the People's Front Room.  Just for a change, I watch the Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, and then make the long walk back to my just about upright tent... has been a long day.

In the lovely Caravanserai.

Feel kind of broken on Saturday, don't really do much before my shift starts at 4pm, same place, even less to do now as the punters mainly know where stuff is.  At least my fellow stewards are pleasant company, and time goes quickly enough, and at midnight there is still plenty of festival going on, albeit mainly of the shouty and / or thumpy kind.  Worse, I struggle to find beer, there is a crew bar, but frankly it is rather horrid, being, surprise, the home of an ear destroying DJ, and also a bunch of people queuing to buy cocktails.  I find myself paying £5 for a can of tuborg in Club Dada, recognisable as the Pussy Parlure that was, I decide to knock it on the head after that.

The Jacksons!  Only four of 'em, but four out of five ain't bad.

Sunday, my shift starts at midnight, yay, so I have a largely sober day.  Turns out there is more of the festival that does not suck, up the hill towards the pub there are various cool things, I wander around in an actual maze (the always turn left thing works), and watch a string quartet doing their thing.  More music in the Big Ballroom (it is not big), the Caravanserai for the Woohoo Revue, a look into Club Dada (the Ohmz, they are local), and then to the main stage.  It's the Jacksons, again a little out of place here but they've still got it.  And then the rain, which has defied the forecasts and held on 'til now, starts to come down.  Well I had to get back to the Oxfam field to eat (shout out to Nuts Cafe), but after that I lurk in my tent and hope the rain stops.  It does not... well, I at least am well prepared for my all night shift in the wet.  My younger colleagues aren't so well equipped with waterproofs, but to their credit they build a serviceable shelter from a discarded and broken looking gazebo.

I manage a few hours sleep the next morning, before being woken by gale force winds that try to blow my tent away with me in it.  And then, off to get a ferry, and that is it, no more festivals.  To be honest I could do with a rest... not sure if I'll do this again, if I'm in the UK next summer maybe I will do a festival or two.  But not one every week I suspect.  And not one in a poxy camper van.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Yorkshire Wolds Way

Start of the Yorkshire Wolds Way - more or less.

The festival season is almost over, and after that I have other plans - which will be revealed in due course :)
Before that, I have a few days free, so, time for some proper walking.  Seem to have got quite a few odd days in over the summer, but I want to actually complete one of the long distance trails end to end.  Thus I find myself staying with Chris in Sheffield again - when will I learn that a curry from his local takeaway is not ideal preparation for a hike?  Then up bright and early the next morning, to ride along the M18 and M62 to Hessle, just outside Hull, and at the northern end of the really rather impressive Humber Bridge.  This is the starting point for the Yorkshire Wolds Way, which at seventy-seven or so miles long should be just about doable in three days.  Of course, by the time I've parked up the bike, had a coffee and so on, it is nearly 11am, not ideal as it is a twenty-six mile day.  Time to get a shift on then.  Well it is pretty flat walking along the Humber estuary, although the bit where you have to walk through the mud slows me a little.  Then the route turns away, off into farmland, can't say it is terribly exciting, but it is nice to be out by myself, no responsibilities, no goal other than to keep walking until I've done the distance.  In the event I get to my evening stop for 8pm, pretty good with a full pack, the owners say I must have run.  Then in to the village, seems the pubs have all shut, but there is more of the ideal hiker food, curry.  Hmm.

A glaciated valley.

Day two, a 9am start, but I'm moving a bit more slowly I confess, body seems a little annoyed about yesterday's exertions.  Today I begin to see why this route was chosen, as I walk into a unique landscape.  The ground here is chalk, much like the South Downs, but up here they were beset by glaciers during the last ice age which cut easily through the soft chalk.  The result, an array of steep sided valleys, dales in the local parlance.  With no rivers running through them, they look like nothing so much as railway cuttings, all rather interesting.  The route sometimes leads through them, easy enough, sometimes up and down the sides which is, um, tougher.  And this is a long day, maybe as much as twenty-eight miles.  By the time I reach the abandoned medieval village of Wharram Percy, I'm not really feeling much excitement, not least it is raining.  But I press on, reach the campsite for not much after 8pm, it doesn't look too inviting though - I can see a few caravans, but the only sign says I'm on CCTV.  I press on to the village of North Grimston, where thankfully there is a pub, the Middleton Arms.  At first they say food is over, it is just me, the landlady and one old guy in there to be fair.  But she relents and provides a sandwich and chips, and even better lets me camp in the beer garden.

Archeology at Wharram Percy.

Day three, and I have about the same distance to do again, pleasant enough going to start with through a series of forest tracks.  I'm not seeing so much glaciation today, rather a lot more agriculture, though as with the previous days the route doesn't go through much in the way of towns and villages.  I don't know if I've passed a pub even... still, the miles roll by, after a while it becomes pretty much a straight line towards Filey, so when I do meet a valley it is straight down into it and up the other side.  Nonetheless I make decent enough time, reaching a couple of huge caravan parks a mile or two outside town by 7.30pm.  Had rather hoped given the size of these things there would be a bar and restaurant, but no such luck.  And it is raining of course, using my phone to find a pub is a bit tricky, and in fact I'm not terribly pleased to have to walk all the way into Filey to find something to eat.  Oh well, at least the beer is cheap, four cask ales on at £2.50 a pint cheers me up rather.  Less good is when I return to the campsite, pitch my tent during which process the howling arctic gale which is what passes for the climate of Filey snaps my remaining undamaged tent pole in two.  Oh well, the tent still refuses to die.

Carved acorns and twisted benches / in these ways shall ye measure the wolds.

I knock the last few miles off the following morning, turns out the route finishes a mile or so outside Filey along the coast, obviously this means climbing up and down the cliffs a few times.  Well, this was all fun, insane pace notwithstanding.  No messing about here though, I have to get to Birmingham for, ahem, a music festival.  Don't think I'll bother blogging about Moseley though, not sure the world needs to hear what I can remember of the drunken / hung over adventures of Austin's 40th celebrations.


Photos to go with this post can be found here.