Before I get into the meat of this blog, I wanted to write that we have now left Keri Keri and stayed the first two nights in the van at Waitangi, Bay of Islands. Surpassing all expectations, we spent a comfy quiet and warm night.........Lesley did not have to use the $ 2.50 hot water bottle that she'd bought in Gisborne. She has got quite tired after the weekend course, being quite physical wrestling with Annie, on top of a flu like bug she has picked up in Gisborne and she looks forward to a few days off. A sound night's sleep and a visit to the Paihia Hair salon does her the world of good and we're ready to get on with the business of exploring. So, we cover the tourist trap places........historical site of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, a 500m walk from the campsite and quaint Russell, a short boat ride from Paihia.

The plan is to cross North Island to its west coast, stopping en-route at Ngawha (pronounced Naf - fa) Springs campsite. After two visits to Morere south of Gisborne, we are keen to try these hot springs, what one of our guide books describes as 'uncluttered by tourist trappings', and in another book 'outsiders are welcome, and if they can accept the springs' unadorned character'. The Beast hits Ngawha and we are greeted from the office balcony by a lady who we have never met before gesticulating towards the bush. 'You've come at the right time', she shouts, look, it's Bonfire Night! We do this every year!' Lesley and I have, we must admit, forgotton about such annual institutions, not least of all because the Northland sun is still in the sky and we're in t-shirts. It seems that a group of young German travellers who have resided at the springs, have built the bonfire and placed Guy on top, his head a punctured football. Carol, the manageress, explains to us that the Guy Fawkes story was part of a New Zealand child's upbringing, and that she has let the Germans know what it is all about so that they understand why they are building the fire and a gruesome dummy (this one does not move and talk back to you).

So we join the group as the fire is lit, a quantity of petrol having been tossed onto it, and the bamboo crackles in the searing heat which quickly grows into an inferno. Darkness has fallen quickly, and as the youngsters light the fireworks directed by Carol who cajoles and barks at them, I ponder about this woman of character. Nightfall is kind to her, as in daylight her face gives away what looks like to have been a hard life. Of medium height but thin, with curly black hair, and a slightly stooping gait, she looks at you from heavily made up bloodshot eyes. Her laugh rasps and her cough is hoarse. Chain smoking her way through a pack of twenty, she works her way through a bottle of Bernardino wine. Len is introduced to us, he is 84 and came for a day 17 years ago and stayed on. 'Shine that light so that Len can pull in the bottom branches otherwise he'll get an involuntary bath (in the pond)'. It is a thoroughly entertaining evening in a great setting, quite unexpected and as if a play with superbly interesting charachters had been put on for us. As I make one last trip to the toilet block, someone throws more branches on the fire, it roars up again and drowns out Carol who is holding fireside court again with her views on liability insurance.

Ah, the Springs! Almost forgot about them..........the reason we came to Ngapha. The whole place is a bit run down, with 'unadorned character'. But, genuine and original, some might say. Inside the uncovered enclosure there are 8 pools, each one a named bath about 4 x 3 metres 1 metre deep timber surrounds, with varying degrees of water heat. For example, 'Scotsman' is a cool 32 deg C, 'Velvet' is 38 degrees C, and you could make a cup of tea in 'Jubilee' at 48 deg C. Ominously, a sign warns 'Temperatures in Jubilee and Lobster may rise during day'. The water is absolutely filthy, the hotter pools are foamy, and you sit on the muddy sandy bottom. It is so dirty that you can't see your own hand underwater. The place smells like a chemistry lab, but the locals we speak to in the baths swear by plastering mud on their faces 'every day of the week' and is very therapeutic. I ask a man with a mud smeared face squatting in 'Twin' (who in conversation tells us that his name is Bell and that he is related directly to Alexander Graham through his father and Edmund Hillary through his mother) if the locals can buy a season ticket, but no, there are no concessions, it's $ 5 each and every day.

The next morning we partake of the pleasure pools once again, before leaving the campsite with great memories and a story to tell. Despite a wash, our swimwear and towels stink of mud and metal. We have arranged with Debbie who with her husband (the local AA man) owns the Springs and another 550 acres, to take her tour of the nearby geothermal area and old mine workings. The land was opencast mined in the early 20th century for mercury and the huge 500m wide excavated area is now lowered such that bubbling hot and cold water, pools of burping mud and sucking and grunting holes in the ground create an extraordinary interactive landscape.

As we stroll around the ruined factory foundations, Debbie relates how her Uncle had tried to make a living from mercury extraction. 'He had no idea of the risk, he tried to do it on a small scale, and he got gout and his teeth fell out'. Pointing into an open foundation, partly filled with fallen branches, she advises 'I'd never go in there, it's got mercury'. We depart, better educated, and promising to wash out our swimwear so that it doesn't glow in the dark............

Back to Keri Keri this weekend, will keep you all up to date on the travels.