Sydney to Christchurch

An 8.30am flight to Christchurch saw us leaving Mona Vale at about 5.oo in the morning. This wasn't such a bad thing as it meant getting a snooze on the 3 hour flight.

Flying over New Zealand I was tantalised by glimpses of the Southern Alps poking up through the clouds. We landed and headed for the Camper Van rental station via an expensive, but necessary, shuttle bus driven by one of the wrinkliest blokes I've ever seen.

Now, Mandy had warned me that New Zealand is renowned for its eccentrics, which, considering its location, size and lack of population, is no great surprise, but I was still surprised when the bus driver's wife accosted me whilst unloading our gear. 'Excuse me, hello, erm, were you at the prophecies?', she said. This is a question which I would find hard to fend at the best of times, but even more so on arrival in a new country. 'Sorry?', I replied. 'I'm sure I saw you at the prophecies.', she asserted.

So at this point I'm thinking, is the 'prophecies' some kind of hippy, techno gathering; a club of some sort; or is she a genuine god-bothering loony who has mistaken me for a witness of Moses return from the burning bush. So, being as diplomatic as ever, I say 'Sorry, I just got off the plane. I have no idea what you are talking about.', and thankfully she leaves it at that.

Welcome to New Zealand, this is gonna be fun.

Anyhoo, we pick up our lowered, darkened windowed, gold badged camper van, called the 'Iceman' and head into Christchurch for the night.