The day had finally come to set off on our long awaited trip of a lifetime. Feeling very unprepared and having dumped the entire contents of our flat in Greg's parents front room we set off. We departed with a tearful goodbye at the airport from Anne (Greg's mum) and some good pieces of advice from friends and family including 'you can do it!' on a tin of mints and 'say yes to everything'. Along with this we received a useful kiwi pronunciation guide from our friend Alex, which included 'peck' (to fill suitcase), 'fush' (marine creatures), 'nin tin dough' (games console), 'McKennock' (guy who fixes cars) and 'inner me' (enemy). The journey was long, and 29 hours could not go by without an incident or two.

We were on our first of three flights, 8 hours in and Greg decides he needs to open his bowels, with a bit of light encouragement he heads to the toilet, asking for one bit of advice, did he need shoes? Claire had already experienced the cleanliness of the Singapore Airlines toilet and so confidently told him that shoes were unnecessary. After 15 minutes Claire became a little concerned at Greg's disappearance, turning to look towards the toilet in a hope that the reason for his desertion would come clear. Greg was stood waiting outside the toilet, now it was at this point that Claire wondered why Greg had decided he was going to use the only engaged toilet out of three, despite the audible sound effects he could hear from the cubicle. He was, in his own words 'committed' as there was now a queue, he couldn't simply change tact at this point. He was also being confused by the man in the toilet who, by flushing every 5 minutes, kept getting Greg's hopes up. Finally a slightly peaky looking man emerged from the sliding door sheepishly muttering "I'm so so sorry". Greg confidently entered, closing the door on the queue which now stretched half the length of the airbus. He boldly stepped into the cubicle and immediately felt wet feet. Judging by the smell he decided that he was, in fact, standing in vomit. He again felt committed. It was probably one of his quicker toilet trips. Needless to say Greg decided to exchange those socks for the free ones the plane had provided and left his on the plane. His hand washing skills learnt in the first week of medical school have never felt so useful.

We finally arrived in the middle of middle earth (Wellington), after what can only be described as a bum clenching landing. The airport was frequented by a giant Gollum which reassured Greg's suspicion that hobbits really do exist. The pilot had already warned us of the significant 'Southerlies' that were present in Wellington. We shortly realised that 'Southerly' is a kiwi word for gale, a bitterly cold one at that.

We spent 48 hours exploring Wellington, sorting out our essentials such as bank accounts etc.and learning a bit about the country. The Te Papa museum, recommended to us, highlighted that New Zealand was neatly lined up on a large fault line and frequently has earthquakes. This has since been confirmed by people we have met who often start a sentence with 'sometimes when there's an earthquake...' and 'I always reverse into my driveway...just in case there's a tsunami'. Having only experienced a small rumble once in the UK whilst we were sleeping, we felt somewhat unprepared for this eventuality. Even the shop windows in Wellington have signs in to say whether you are entering an earthquake safe or unsafe building. Lunch was consumed rather quickly when we realised what sign was on the front of that cafe.

It was also in Wellington that we discovered Greg's socket research had been incorrect and in fact New Zealand does not have the same sockets as the UK.

After our whistle stop tour of Wellington, we headed onwards, to what was to be our hometown, Gisborne. We had decided to take the plane, and were expecting a kind of flybe experience a la London to Manchester or similar, how wrong we were. We arrived at the airport, printed our own boarding passes and luggage labels which we then attached to the cases before putting them onto the conveyor belt ourselves. The lady at the conveyor seemed surprised we expected our bags to be checked...or at least weighed. We then proceeded to the departure lounge, with the only security being Gandalf on an eagle, before getting onto the plane. We were actively seeking a machine for someone to scan our bags and check we didn't have any sharp items, explosives, or god forbid a 500ml bottle of water. We boarded our plane with the 16 other passengers, up the 3 steps into the aircraft and ducked towards our seats. It was a one by one kind of aircraft, where the co-pilot doubled as the air hostess who side stepped down the aisle to check our seatbelts, before taking her seat in the c*** pit with no door. It was a somewhat interesting experience watching the take off out of the front window, rather than just the side ones. Greg, as always when he's slightly anxious, became somewhat mute and it was all Claire could do to occasionally pat his shoulder by leaning across the wheel arch that sat between them. After an hour long flight that seemed to last 10, we landed in Gisborne airport, a building smaller than your regular Starbucks. We followed the signs to 'baggage reclaim' which led us to our bags, on a trolley in the car park, before heading to our first New Zealand home.