NEW ZEALAND DIARIES. ON THE ROAD
The second leg of our journey led us away from Hobbiton and deep into New Zealand’s landscapes – from the glow-worm caves of Waitomo to the volcanic trails of Tongariro, and across the Cook Strait to the South Island. There was beauty everywhere: green hills, steaming craters, fjords wrapped in cloud. Yet much of the time was swallowed by the van, with long drives, rushed meals, and the first signs of illness in our group. It was a stage of contrasts – wonder outside the window, frustration inside.
New Zealand Diaries. On the Road | Journaux de Nouvelle-Zélande. Sur la route | Neuseeland-Tagebücher. Unterwegs | Diarios de Nueva Zelanda. En el camino | Diários da Nova Zelândia. Na estrada | Diari della Nuova Zelanda. In viaggio | Dzienniki z Nowej Zelandii. W drodze | ニュージーランド日記。道中 (Nyūjīrando Nikki. Dōchū) | 뉴질랜드 일기. 길 위에서 (Nyujillaendeu Ilgi. Gil Wieseo) | 新西兰日记。在路上 (Xīnxīlán Rìjì. Zài Lùshàng) | يوميات نيوزيلندا. على الطريق (Yawmiyyāt Nīūzīlāndā. ʿAlā al-Ṭarīq)
SLOWLY HITTING THE ROAD
Monday morning found us well-rested and ready to continue our New Zealand journey. We took it slow, repacking our luggage along the way. On long trips it’s wise to split belongings – just in case the main bag goes missing – but once you’re settled, it makes sense to reshuffle everything for daily use.
The hotel offered us a hearty breakfast, and as we left we couldn’t help noticing a very local scene: a couple of New Zealanders calmly clearing their room straight through the window and into their car. Efficient, if nothing else.
By Monday the jet lag was finally easing, and our first stop of the day was Paradise Valley Springs, a small animal park less than an hour away in the van. We spent a couple of hours there, strolling the leafy paths at an easy pace. Buckets of food were handed out, so we even had the chance to feed some of the animals – a surprisingly enjoyable experience.
My last zoo visit, many years ago, had left me uneasy with cramped cages and restless animals. This place, however, felt completely different – clean, open, and spacious – and it was a relief to see the animals so well cared for.
Feeding the animals in Paradise Valley Springs animal park
That day we didn’t have far to go – the next stop on our New Zealand journey was less than an hour away. Still, we couldn’t resist pulling over in Rotorua, where the volcanic lake gleamed in the sun. What was meant to be a quick stop turned into more than an hour of photographs and wandering.
The weather was warm, the breeze gentle, and the views simply breathtaking. By the time we got back into the van I’d even caught a little colour on my cheeks. In the middle of the European winter, it felt like we’d stolen a slice of summer.
At the Rotorua lake
NZ STYLE HAMBURGER. DELICIOUS
The highlight of the day was still ahead. On the road we stopped at a local tavern, where I had my very first taste of a New Zealand-style hamburger. I don’t often eat burgers, but since they’re something of a national speciality here, I was determined to try at least a few.
The tavern itself felt like a place where time had stood still – an elderly woman with tattoos ran the bar, and a colourful jukebox glowed in the corner. When we first walked in, the place was completely empty, which didn’t seem promising. Yet within half an hour it was bustling with locals, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls.
My burger, paired with a pint of local beer, turned out to be excellent. Alongside the usual fillings it came with slices of beetroot – a signature New Zealand twist that I wasn’t expecting, but happily embraced.
WAI-O-TAPU. DEFINITELY ON A MUST-SEE LIST
In the late afternoon we explored Wai-O-Tapu, a geothermal reserve filled with collapsed craters and bubbling pools of mud and water. It was a photographer’s dream – the colours we’d seen in postcards were exactly what greeted us in reality.
The paths wound through forest and bush, and every so often we’d come upon a lake shimmering in shades that seemed almost unreal – from dark, earthy mud to bright greens and deep blues. With most of the waters hot, clouds of steam drifted around us, giving the whole place a surreal, otherworldly feel.
Wai-O-Tapu is without doubt a must-see in New Zealand.
A colorful (hot and toxic) lake at Wai-O-Tapu
NZ CHEESE AND WINE. DELICIOUS
Our hotel that night was somewhere near Huka Falls. The original plan had been simple: head back to the lodge, unwind with a spread of New Zealand cheeses, a few other delicacies we’d picked up along the way, and a glass of local wine.
But as so often happens when travelling in a group, plans have a way of changing. Some of our companions steered us instead to a local pizzeria, and by the time we finally reached the hotel it was already dark.
Determined to salvage a piece of the evening, I stuck to the plan in my own way – curling up on the sofa in the living room with cheese, wine, and my camera. Flicking through the photos of the day, I must have dozed off before midnight, sleeping like a baby.
DAY 2 ROUTE
AN ULTIMATELY NOT NEGLECTED THUMB RULE
Tuesday morning began with a clash over breakfast. The plan was to split into two groups: three would tackle the Tongariro Alpine Crossing – twenty kilometres across the dramatic landscapes better known to Lord of the Rings fans as Mordor – while the rest of us, myself included, were heading for the glow-worm caves.
The quarrel started at the table. When travelling, there are a few golden rules – and one of them is this: never set off on an empty stomach. If your day involves a mountain hike, you need breakfast, and you need food and water with you. No time for breakfast, we need to hurry didn’t fly with me. In the end, we left only fifteen minutes later than planned – but crucially, with breakfast in our bellies.
At the time, I didn’t realise quite how important that small stand was. Only a couple of days later, thanks to similarly poor planning, most of my companions would set off on a glacier climb without eating first…
TONGARIRO OR THE GLOW-WORM CAVES?
On the way to Tongariro, we paused once or twice for photos. As the mountains drew closer, it really did feel like approaching Mordor itself. We dropped off our hiking companions with a laugh and a promise: We’ll have a barbecue waiting when you come down. Seven or eight hours later, that was supposed to be our reunion.
Our own path led us towards the Waitomo glow-worm caves – more than two hours away, about 170 kilometres in total. The drive, however, was anything but dull. Rolling green hills unfolded around us, some of the most beautiful scenery we encountered during our New Zealand journey. It reminded me a little of Scotland – though the hills here had their own unique, unmistakably New Zealand character.
En route From Tongariro to Waitomo. The scenic views
When we finally reached the Waitomo Caves, I was surprised to learn that the entire visit – descent included – would last only about 45 minutes. After such a long drive, and with the return journey still ahead, it felt far too short.
That left us with some time to spare. So I asked my companions if I could explore another cave while I was there. Go ahead, they said. We’ll grab something to eat instead. It might be too chilly inside for us.
Inside the Ruakuri caves
The glow-worms in the first cave were mesmerising – tiny constellations glowing above our heads – but the tour itself was over almost as soon as it began. That’s why choosing to visit another cave turned out to be the best decision of the day.
The Ruakuri Caves, stretching some 60 metres underground, offered a far richer experience. The ninety minutes passed so quickly I barely noticed the time. It was here I first understood why New Zealand is so often praised as a paradise for anyone who loves outdoor adventures.
A carefully prepared visitor path wound through the cave, the tour was thoughtfully organised, and our guide – a knowledgeable, professional woman – made sure everything ran smoothly. We also had to follow strict safety and environmental rules, a reminder of how seriously New Zealand treats its natural treasures.
After visiting the caves, it was time to collect our companions from their mountain trek. The 19-kilometre route had taken them far longer than the planned eight hours. As it turned out, the times given by the park operators don’t account for all the photo stops along the way.
We waited, and for the very last of our group an extra forty minutes. Restless, I walked partway up the trail hoping to meet them. Every hiker I passed asked the same question: How much further to the car park? They must be exhausted, I thought.
Later my friends explained why the end felt so gruelling. The final stretch of the descent drags on for more than an hour through bushes with no real view. Inside the mountains, though, the vistas had been spectacular – making the tough finish easier to forgive.
It was already late, and we still had about a hundred kilometres to drive before reaching our hotel. At least the road rewarded us with beautiful views, softening the weariness of the long day.
On the way back from Tongariro National Park
Aftermath. Looking back at the photos my friends brought from Tongariro, I do regret not joining them – even if it would have meant a few extra weeks of training at the gym beforehand. Next time, though, I’d follow their advice: descend on the same side of the mountains you start from, so the sunlight gives you a whole new perspective for photography.
The glow-worm caves were certainly worth visiting, especially with the extended tour, though even the shorter one leaves you with lasting memories. And the road between Tongariro and Waitomo is a reward in itself – a genuinely scenic drive.
In hindsight, our planning here fell short. We should have stayed two days, giving ourselves the chance to enjoy both the Tongariro National Park and the caves without rushing. Some places simply deserve more time.
WRONG PLANNING OR LACK OF TEAMWORK?
This was the first time we truly failed as a travelling team. We had only a few snacks left in the van. Although we had promised our hungry hikers a barbecue, we hadn’t considered the timing – neither bringing proper food for their return nor the fact that in New Zealand restaurants close early.
That night we ended up in an ordinary hotel, but supper was out of the question. Instead, we found ourselves sprinting to a supermarket at ten o’clock, just as the doors were about to close. With an early wake-up ahead to deliver our trekking friends back to the mountains, we had managed to deprive ourselves of both sleep and dinner.
By then, it was also clear that a second member of our group had fallen ill. The distances between the hotels we’d booked were proving too long for the packed programme we had set. Thankfully, this night was meant to be a longer one – and after a proper eight hours of sleep, we finally felt rested again.
DAY 3 ROUTE
Three of our group set off on a long mountain walk. The rest of us took to the road, covering more than 300 kilometres there and back. Out of the four, I was the only one who spent any real time exploring the caves. In the end, for three of us the entire day boiled down to just forty minutes on foot – and nearly eight hours in the van.
A DAY LOST
On Wednesday morning, right after breakfast, we set off on the road. This was the day we would cross to the South Island, with our ferry scheduled for four in the afternoon. At our very first stop – a scenic viewpoint – I didn’t think much of it, just another chance to stretch our legs and take a few photos.
Only a road sign caught my eye – one I had never seen before. It warned that on the entire stretch ahead there wasn’t a single petrol station. If your tank wasn’t full, the message was blunt: Turn back and refuel. At this moment I did not give it any much thought.
For the next two and a half hours we drove through beautiful landscapes, pausing twice more: once to photograph a flock of sheep in the fields, and later for a coffee break. The little café, next to a small camping ground, seemed to be run by a Māori woman. It was bright, colourful, and full of character, so of course I snapped a few photos to remember it by.
My coffee was delicious – another mochaccino, coffee with chocolate and milk. Rested and in high spirits, I climbed back into the van, ready for the road ahead.
For me, the brief encounter with the Māori woman at the café took on a strangely personal, almost intimate meaning. I first went outside to take photos of the colourful place – it felt less like an ordinary stop and more like a gathering of cultural artefacts, carrying an air of something shamanic.
When I finally stepped inside to order coffee, she handed me the cup, and as her hand brushed against mine, she looked at me in a way that stopped me cold. In that instant I knew something was not quite right. At the time I couldn’t explain it – it was simply unsettling and unforgettable.
Only later, after returning to Europe, did I realise what had been happening with my family back home. And today, looking back and redrafting these notes after all these years, I am convinced she must have had some kind of sixth – maybe even seventh – sense. She seemed to recognise, before I did, that I was on the brink of the most difficult years of my life. I remember her gaze to this day.
I don’t fully remember everything that happened that day – only fragments. I don’t even think I have many photographs from it. What has stayed with me, though, is that brief encounter with the Māori woman, and the memory of Whanganui. Those are the pieces that remain clear, even as the rest of the day has faded.
Somewhere in the Wanganui National Park. A beautiful place. Either stay for a day or skip. Only window sightseeing – not a good idea.
Once we were all back in the van, it dawned on us that we weren’t actually moving forward. With time to spare, I had taken a side road into a scenic valley – but now we learned we had to turn back towards Whanganui to reach the road to Wellington.
I lost my mood if at thet moment any in an instant.
It took us about three and a half hours to reach Wellington, the capital. Altogether we had spent five or six hours in the van that day, broken up only by three short stops for photos and coffee.
When we finally arrived, we had about ninety minutes before ferry check-in. The attendant suggested we take an earlier crossing, but we still needed to refuel the van and repack our luggage. The camping gear, loosely piled in the trunk, had to be fitted into the main bags, as only hand luggage was allowed on board.
That left just enough time for a quick fifteen-minute tour of Wellington, before half an hour of waiting in the departure lounge until boarding began.
This was the first time I began to doubt our plans. The day before, most of us had spent nearly the entire day inside the van. Yes, the roads were scenic, but by our fourth day in New Zealand they all started to feel rather similar.
We often stopped at viewpoints or road pull-offs hoping for stunning shots, only to find the view blocked by foreground bushes or awkward angles. In fact, during the whole two-week trip, only a handful of viewpoints offered truly open vistas. It reminded me of Norway just three weeks earlier – endless beauty seen through the window, but few places to capture it properly with the camera.
By setting out on yet another scenic road that morning, only to turn back, we lost about four hours. The price was steep: no time to explore the streets of Wellington, no chance for a proper meal. We settled for sandwiches in the ferry lounge instead.
I was disappointed – but in the end, the decision hadn’t been mine to make.
SEAFOOD. DELICIOUS
Not wanting to lose the day, I spent most of the ferry crossing wandering from deck to deck, taking in the views. Much of the route wound its way through mountainous fjords, dramatic but muted under a blanket of cloud. I took plenty of photos, though none destined to be masterpieces – just a few memories to keep. The crossing lasted about three hours.
By the time we reached Picton, it was late and we had another rental van to collect. Hunger had caught up with us; two days in a row we’d been running mostly on snacks. At eight or nine in the evening we faced the same truth once again – in New Zealand, kitchens close early.
At last we stumbled upon a restaurant that was still open. Supper that night was a reward in itself: I ordered the local green-lipped mussels, one of New Zealand’s seafood specialities and a long-standing item on my bucket list. With that meal, the day was rescued.
EXHAUSTING RIDE
And then, once again, we climbed back into the van. Another announcement followed: it would take two, maybe two and a half hours to reach our hotel in Richmond.
I wasn’t the only one groaning at the news. To be honest, I was angry. More than half the day had already been lost to driving and waiting – and now another long stretch of road lay ahead.
At last we reached our hotel in Richmond, after a two–three hour drive that felt endless. I was exhausted. The loud music in the van had left me with a headache, not to mention the relentless jokes about how our two sick companions mustn’t fall asleep. You can sleep at home, we kept hearing. In truth, I think I dozed for an hour anyway. We pulled in shortly after midnight. By then I was too drained – and too disappointed with the day – to care about much else. My stomach was still heavy from the late supper. I found myself debating: a sip of wine or a painkiller? Either way, I felt so unwell that sleep seemed out of reach.
A glass or two of red wine helped my muscles finally relax. But I was still dehydrated, downing one glass of water after another. Even so, I could feel it creeping in – I was getting sick too. Maybe I had caught the virus from my two ill companions; after all, we spent all our time together in the van and later in the same apartment. Or perhaps it was just sheer lack of sleep.
DAY 4 ROUTE
Day 4 of our New Zealand journey included a three-hour ferry crossing from Wellington on the North Island to Picton on the South, and with no proper breaks it was still twelve hours on the road. Looking back, the planning was flawed, especially coming right after the previous day when most of us had already spent eight hours in the van, and all this just before what was meant to be a more physical day. Out of the less than 3,000 kilometres planned in total, we had somehow managed to cover more than half in the first four days alone, averaging nearly 400 kilometres per day.
We already knew that a storm was hitting the West Coast and the South, which meant our Thursday plans had to be skipped. As for today – and it was already two in the morning – everything would depend on the weather. At least there was one consolation: we could sleep in. What a relief.
Some vitamin C and a painkiller would have to do. I hate being sick while travelling.
Looking back, the second stage of our journey felt less like carefree exploration and more like a lesson in logistics. New Zealand dazzled us with caves glowing like constellations, endless green hills, and the fjords glimpsed from the ferry deck. Yet what I remember most is the sheer amount of time spent in the van – hours upon hours on the road, plans unraveling, meals skipped, and tempers fraying.
It was here that we first realised how fragile our schedule really was. Distances that looked short on the map swallowed entire days. Illness crept through the group. Even the beauty outside the windows could not always make up for the exhaustion inside.
Still, these were the growing pains of our adventure – the mistakes that taught us how much flexibility matters in a land where roads are long, kitchens close early, and the weather always has the final word.
