And now for something completely different...

"Oh you are English?" said my taxi driver, as we pulled away from Nadi airport and the Fijian forests began to rise up around us.  "A lot of English people have been eaten here."

As opening gambits go, it's not exactly what you're hoping to hear, particularly as a single traveller, and I think it's fair to say that Fiji hasn't totally knocked my socks off in the first 24 hours.  But then that is the problem with this kind of travel; leaving behind the rarefied beauty of New Zealand, 

where I had my own car to explore, means that arriving in Fjij - on a tight tourist board timetable, with hotel inspections and early car pick-up times every morning - was going to come as a bit of a shock.

Fiji certainly feels more...hmmm....off-piste than I thought it would.

I'm kind of imagined it like Mauritius for the Australian/NZ market, but apart from the coastal strip - which is, unsurprisingly, dotted with resorts, it feels like stepping into a very different world.

Under a million people live in the whole Fijian archipelago, and life outside the cities carries on much as it always has; communities live in villages, each village has a chief, and all sorts of ceremonies and traditions are still observed (thankfully the eating English people one seems to have gone by the wayside).

As has been the way with every leg of this trip, an astonishing amount has been packed into my first 24 hours.  My first night was at the kind of resort I'd normally swerve; a kind of theme park version of Fiji (although it does look lovely in the pic),

 although watching the local dancers give a performance was fun (although I could have done without the part where one of the dancers mock-charged me with a spear, oh how we laughed).

But one of the best things about this trip is the people I've met.  Today was no exception; at 9.30am this morning I found myself glass-blowing in the outdoor studio of the lovely Alice, from Devon, who has lived in Fiji with her husband and family for nine years, and is a professional glass blower.  Really, you couldn't make it up. (there would have been a pic, but just discovered I've left my camera in the taxi, grrr).

Today's resort is more upscale and tucked away, and although it's not actually billed as a wildlife adventure hotel, I appear to be sharing my room with a mongoose and a lizard.  Actually, the mongoose is currently hanging out with me by the pool, God knows what the lizard's up to. Finding my camera,, hopefully.


All this was written before I got a note under my door inviting me to a 'surprise' at 6pm, which turned out to be a traditional 'Cava' ceremony, which basically involved me sitting cross legged in front of quite a scary bunch of chaps,

while they made 'cava' - a drink of powdered roots which is a staple part of village life.  By the time he'd finished wringing out the roots, and mopping round the bowl, it looked like muddy water.  Which is exactly what it tasted like.

There comes a point when nothing can surprise you any more.  So the frog pinging past us at dinner didn't raise an eyebrow, nor did the mud crab, skittering across the drive when I parked up my swanky transport for the evening.

I am, lets face it, the new Bear Grylls.  Just off to double lock the patio doors.

Adventures in Tribal Lands (Part Two)...

...so the Hangi dinner was over, night was falling across the lake and the brave few were off to put on their waders to go down to catch an eel or two.  Was I among them???

Well, obviously I'd have LOVED to do it, but I had an appointment at eight the next morning with Maurice,

a Maori elder and Dad of Karl (co-owner of the lodge), who was taking me on a tour of their tribe's Marae (their equivalent of a town/community hall) and on into the Whirinaki rainforest for a bit of a stomp.  Since the eelers weren't going to be back before midnight, regretfully I had to decline.

But my time with Maurice was a unique treat -he was able to tell me everything from what it was like growing up when tribe all lived together round the Marae; before they used money and simply lived off the land.  He's also part of the commission for his tribe, the Ngati Manawa, involved in reclaiming their land from the government - some 176,000 hectares.  He was fascinating, open and honest about being a Maori; it took ten years for the land reclamation to be agreed, and when I asked him if he ever doubted it would happen, or felt like giving up, he said firmly 'Maori never lie down.  When they want something they just keep going.'

A visit to the Ngati Manawa's Marae, was fascinating; inside the main building

were wood carvings of every tribe, through which every Maori can trace his heritage.  Everything happens at the Marae; birthdays, funerals, parties, story-telling, community meetings.  I couldn't take pictures inside the building, but this was one of the chiefs depicted outside (a particularly scary one apparently).

From there we went up to the rainforest, where Maurice knew every tree, plant, shrub, pathway, from having spent months at a time living in the forest.

The Whirinaki Forest is miles from anywhere, and yet when we walked out of the rainforest there were a couple of minibuses of walkers tying up their boots, readying for a walk.  Tourism gets everywhere, but here - because its so low-fi and small in numbers, its generally seen as a good thing

Driving away from the land owned by the Ngati Manawa, I genuinely felt like I was coming back from somewhere incredibly different.  And the contrast was made even stronger when I happened across Te Puia in Rotorua ; a Maori 'cultural attaction' combining spectacular hot springs

demonstrations of Maori crafts such as weaving and carving, a recreated village, wildlife projects and the chance to watch some traditional music and dance.  Intrigued to see how different it would be I paid up and went in, along with several zillion other people.  To be honest, I rather enjoyed the haka and the singing, even if it was quite touristy...

but it did make me think how different, and wonderful, my experience with Maurice had been, at a real Marae, out in vast swathes of empty fields.

On, then, to the Coromandel Peninsula, where I sit now with the most glorious view  - a long, sandy, totally undeveloped beach almost close enough to touch.  I swam this afternoon, with just one other person in the water, the odd wave rolling in, and the mountains in the distance a pale lilac shade of blue.

I think this might just be one of the most idyllic places I've ever been (its called Kuaotunu Bay) - and hey, guess what, its bloody miles from anywhere.  But I'm used to that by now.

Adventures in Tribal Lands (part one)

Forty-eight hours in New Zealand can be a very long time indeed.  Somehow, in the last two days, I've done the following; had a cold cider in the company of a wild boar, tried tightrope walking, eaten dinner that's been cooked in hessian and a layer of mud, trekked in rainforest, joined a busload of twentysomething backpackers, watched a haka, and been invited eel-fishing in the stilly watches of the night (but more of that later).

So much has happened it's hard to know where to start - or end, which is why this blog post is a two-parter.  I supposed it really all began yesterday, when I had to leave my cottage with its gorgeous view of Lake Taupo

saddle up my SUV and head into the hills.

The day before had been a gentle introduction to New Zealand's diverse, gorgeous, unspoilt empty landscapes, criss-crossed with roads that seem to barely ever see a driver.  God, but driving in this country is fun; I channelled my inner rally driver to whizz along the wonderfully-named Forgotten World Highway, stopping off to get my passport stamped at the Independent Republic of Whangamomona (population 15), and crawling  along the unmade road through the spectacular Tangarakau gorge, trying to take pictures over the steering wheel as I drove.

None of which prepared me for my foray deep in Maori tribal lands, when I left the main highway to drive through mile after mile of towering pines (turns out its the biggest man-made forest in the world).  I drove on through the small Maori town of Murepara, and finally ended up at a ramshackle lodge that wasn't actually in the middle of nowhere - it was beyond that, a good few kms beyond.  From the moment I arrived the day went bonkers - off to meet the owners family and then catapulted onto a backpacker bus who were touring the tribal lands before all staying at the lodge as well.

Surreality aside, it was an amazing glimpse into Maori culture and life.  Dinner was a hangi - a traditional feast where they wrap meat and vegetables in hessian sacks on hot stones, cover it with mud and leave it to steam cook for three hours.  Here, Karl is throwing water on the meat and hot stones to create steam...

before its covered in sheets of hessian, and the great shovelfuls of mud

If it sounds naff and touristy it wasn't (I've done that version of Maori culture today too, but more of that in part two).  Perhaps because it was SO back-woods, so low-fi, it just felt genuine.  Plus, after dinner we all packed up the leftovers into boxes to give to the elderly in the village - normally guests take the leftovers into the local school the next morning, but it was the weekend so the olds were in luck.

What's so fascinating is how much Maori (they actually pronounce it Moudi) culture is a part of society here.  There are massive issues - Maori's are in the process of being given back huge swathes of land that were originally theirs, and that's breeding resentment in some quarters.  And there's  problems in Maori society; lack of work in places like Murepara means drugs, gangs and crime.

But I've learnt an amazing amount in the last few days about a real tribal culture - and one that is still very much alive (and one that feels, according to every Maori I've spoken to, quite fortunate compared to other indigenous peoples, such as the Aborigines).  It adds another layer to this slightly other-worldly, far-flung, spectacularly beautiful land.

Anyway, back at the bonkers lodge the wild boar had just ambled past my front door,

and the sun was starting to set on the lake,

I'd tried my hand at tightrope walking (as you do) and the hour of eel-fishing was almost upon me.  Could I avoid it?

Wait till tomorrow to find out...

Of wearyness and other woes...

Well this point had to come, and to be fair I knew it would come around now.  I am shattered.  Knackered, exhausted, pooped and brain-mashingly tired.  Arriving into Auckland at midnight is one thing, having to turn round and check-in for a second flight at 7am the following morning does kind of feel like pushing it a bit. (I should add at this point if you're keen on pix, you might want to skip this blog post - I haven't got the energy to sort any out!)

And doing it solo does, in all honesty, make it a little harder.  No-one to make you laugh, or remind you that you're on the trip of a lifetime so bloody spark up; no-one to say - have you checked the safe (no, so I left my passport in it...) Or, have we double-checked the room (no, so I left my credit card in it...) or, maybe you should screw the top on that bottle of bright blue nail varnish a bit tighter (I didn't, so it leaked all over my sponge bag).

Travelling solo is daunting and rewarding in equal measure.  You meet people more, you chat, you interact in a different way - from the lovely car hire man who paternally told me I 'clearly had too much on' to the sweet customs guy who reassured me I wouldn't get arrested for taking a half-eaten bag of peanuts through custome.  You reach into yourself to find resources you didn't know you had.  Arriving at my hotel to find there's a dinner planned with half a dozen people I don't know isn't exactly my dream scenario right now, but where there's an iron, some lippy and a large glass of white there's always a way.

For anyone considering a solo trip I would say do it, absolutely.  It's a great feeling to be thousands of miles away, knowing that you got yourself there under your own steam and that you're having an adventure all of your own making.  My main advice would be to remember that you see places much quicker when you're travelling solo - particularly cities.  There are no long lunches, no lazy afternoons, there's no-one to lie on the beach with, so you tend to get round places much quicker. Four days in Sydney was plenty to get in the main sights; by the fifth day I felt almost as if I was hanging around for my flight.

Try and keep your arrangements simple too - two flights and complicated car hire and insurance docs in 12 hours made for a mass of paperwork and admin.  You are more likely to forget things when you're travelling alone - so keep it simple.  And use social media and email with care - its a huge plus in terms of eating alone - the iPad is the solo diner's best friend - but if you spend too much time in touch with peeps at home, it can make you feel even more on your own.

But enough with the prosaic stuff, back to the travels.  I haven't seen a huge amount of NZ yet, just the small town of New Plymouth, dominated by the huge Taranaki volcano (picture isn't mine, its grey and rainy today).

It feels agreeably frontier town-ish and the flight up from Auckland was a soothing 40-minute glide over lush agricultural landscapes that looked almost English.  I'm looking forward to tomorrow, saddling up my shiny SUV and heading for the hills.

Time for a bit of a siesta I think, before the whole dinner shebang kicks off.  But the stresses of the morning have been soothed away by a long walk along New Plymouth's beach promenade, watching the waves glide in towards the rocks.  It's the one constant in travel, for me at least; whether Bondi or Brighton or the black sand shoreline around here; reassuring and peaceful - the perfect antidote for a very tired mind.

Of hotels...and other Sydney stories...

Somehow, it's time for online check-in again (one of those things that's supposed to make things easier, but never does.  What's the point, when you have to check your bag in anyway, like normal check in?  Sigh.)  It's been an interesting few days in Sydney, quite work focused, punctuated by wide, windswept beaches, some really great food and a LOT of hotels.

Hotel World fascinates me. It's more competitive than professional sport and more full of Nathan Barley-esque 'strengthening the brand' nonsense than you would believe.  I visited a hotel a couple of days ago where the bowler-hatted door-girls were actually called the 'Directors of Chaos'.  Yes, really.  I've drunk cocktails pulled out of glass domes of cherry-oaked steam.  I've seen hotels converted from wool factories and department stores and been in a suite where Princess Diana stayed (this isn't a rare thing, that girl got around).  It's been quite a weekend.

In some ways Hotel World is a world full of nonsense and hyperbole and quite a lot of complete b***ocks, but the upside is that hotels are generally staffed by genuinely charming and interesting people.  You can't work front of house in hotels - at any level from reception to GM, without being good with people.  Usually a dinner with anyone from a hotel is good fun, even if it is a bit like a wierd work-y blind date.  And if they're a tad indiscreet (which the best ones never are, sadly) its even better.  You realise  just how much people who work in the hotel industry known about all of us, particularly celebs.  Discretion is clearly one of the key skills in their line of work.

But inbetween the hotel visits, what will I take away from Sydney?  The opera house for one; I booked myself a cheap ticket to Tosca on Saturday night and it was an absolute highlight of the trip so far.  The seat, supposedly restricted view, was great, the opera had subtitles so even a complete novice like me could understand the plot (which was fab; love, betrayal, sexual blackmail, murder - it was like Corrie with singing) and just to be in that amazing building, glass of bubbles in hand, so far away from home...was a really intoxicating feeling.

I hadn't expected Sydney to be such a mix - the predictably gleaming modernist towers of Downtown, but loads of grand Victorian buildings

and also old frontier-style frontages that remind you how recent the city's history is.

  The city is dotted with statues of men (always men, predictably) who founded a settlement, or started the wool trade, or did some other 'first'.  It made me think how little there is left for us to achieve or explore or discover.  I s'pose that's why Richard Branson's always barking on about space travel.

This is a hearty, outdoorsy city; on the weekend I couldn't understand why everywhere was so quiet - until I went to Coogee Beach and realised that was where everyone was.  Teeming with people, I put off visiting Bondi until a weekday - hoping it would be quieter.  It was - and it's a stunning beach - white sand, huge rollers

- but it did make me homesick for the undeveloped beauty of Devon's Croyde Bay - quite possibly my favourite beach in the whole of Britain.

From a travelling point of view, if I'm honest, it feels less of an adventure than my time in Asia. There's plenty to see and do in Sydney, it's an easy city to like, people are really friendly and the food is fantastic.  But I'm looking forward to saddling up my drive in NZ and heading out into some serious countryside.

Ironically, I did find a little bit of Asia in the heart of the city this morning, in the Chinese Garden. I'll leave you with a pic of it.  It really was lovely.

Letter from the other side of the world

So the two-week mark approaches.  A third of the way through already.  I've left Asia behind and now Saturday morning dawns in sunny Sydney.

 A good time to take stock, reflect and take an honest look at the whole travelling business, as promised in one of my first posts.

The first thing that needs saying is on a trip like this you have to pace yourself.   When we fell off the train at Singapore after two nights of very broken sleep we were completely knackered.  And so we spent a day pottering gently rather than whizzing round the city, and the evening watching telly on You Tube in our dressing gowns.  However much there is to see, it will all be there tomorrow. Tiredness is a real killer; it dampens down the joy of exploring and makes things feel more of an effort than they really are.

Secondly, do your research thoroughly.  This avoids the moment when you pitch up at the airport and and hear the immortal words; 'your boarding pass won't print because you don't have a visa.'  It simply never occurred to me I'd need any kind of visa for Australia.  The lesson is; never assume.  It's sheer luck that the Qantas desk was open and I could buy a a last minute visa (thirty five quid, rather than free, if I'd done it in advance).  Otherwise this would have been an extended post on the joys of Changi airport.

The whole food thing is an interesting one.  Eat the street food, everyone always tells you.  And we did - plates of rice and stir fries in hawker markets, fragrant bubbling fish on Yarowat Street in Bangkok's Chinatown.  Did we suffer for it?  A little, to be honest, but nothing serious.  But it can be a bit daunting - no-one wants to spend any of their precious time away unable to leave the bathroom.   The old advice that if you can see it being cooked, and its fresh off the flame then it will be fine - is good.  But if you're still unsure, join a locally-run food tour, which offers the reassurance that the stalls picked will be a good bet.  Or swerve it altogether if it you're not sure - travelling shouldn't be about feeling pressure to do things you don't really want to.

I guess the final lesson is - talk to people.  I'm lucky - a lot of this trip is for work, so I'm constantly having coffees and lunches with people.  Last night I had a fascinating evening, learning about how the Sydney coffee shop siege affected the city, and the love-hate relationship the Aussies have with New Zealanders.  In Singapore, talking to local workers gave an insight into what life in one of the world's most pristine cities is really like.

The girl I was chatting to last night works in tourism, and she was saying how differently people travel.  According to her, Chinese visitors tend to travel in a 'tick it off' kind of way - a picture of the Sydney Opera House is enough, on to the next thing.  For me, travel is about getting under the skin of somewhere, getting little insights into what makes a city or country tick.  Even going to the launderette - this morning's glamorous adventure - gives a little snapshot of a city going about its everyday life.

It does feel quite a thing, though, to be on the other side of the world. Coming face to face with the opera house yesterday was quite a moment; face to face with something I'd seen hundreds of times on TV and films. I've just booked a ticket for Tosca, (and will do my best not to fall asleep, as I did at the Met in New York) and can't wait to sweep up the steps (not in a street cleaner kind of way).  Here's a pic.  Happy Saturday.

Singapore in pictures

I'm not sure I've ever  been anywhere as sorely underestimated as Singapore. Bland, sterile, sanitised - it's regularly called all those things, and yet for me its a fascinating mix of futuristic business hub, colonial outpost, and an ethnic melange that means you can eat dim sum for breakfast, daal and chapati for lunch and meze for supper all within strolling distance of each other.

It's a truly crazy city; 5.5 million people squeezed into 760 square kilometres - just slightly more than twice the size of the Isle of Wight, with  85% of the population living in high rises.  Part Manhattan, part Asia, it's anything but bland.  But rather than me wittering on, better just to let the pictures do the talking.

First up, the city's spectacular $1 billion Gardens by the Bay.  They make the Eden Project look like my back garden.

Fabulous display for Chinese New Year ; 2015 is the year of the goat, thus the, er, flower clad goats...

Outside the Supertrees - 25-50 metre high vertical gardens are like something out of a sci-fi movie

and overlooking it all the mammoth 2,000 room Marina Bay Sands hotel complex.  Check out the boat-like level on top - home to a huge alfresco infinity pool, bar and restaurant - the right-hand end is the largest overhanging structure in the world.

Away from the futuristic bay area, different ethnic communities have their own areas of the city.  In Chinatown, the streets are gearing up for Chinese New Year (19th Feb)

while Little India feels like being in a completely different country

sadly I was too busy scoffing meze to take a pic in the Arab quarter.

Eating out is a huge part of Singaporean life; from hawker markets where dozens of different stalls offer ethnic food of every variety (Lau Pa Sat Below) to Blumenthalesque eateries serving up cheesecake pills and truffle polystyrene (yes, really).

And on every street corner, spilling from every building, are plants, flowers, trees, shrubs - lush greenery that softens the gleaming angles of the office buildings and apartment blocks.  It's not the polite-potted-plant version that dots English cities, but towering palms, rich clusters of banyan trees - you get the sense that if it wasn't controlled, the plants would quickly just take over the city, wrapping around buildings, draping the malls in layers of greenery.  A kind of tropical Day of the Triffids, only without everyone having to end up on the Isle of Wight.

For someone who loves gardens, flowers, plants and all forms of greenery, it's the dream city.  But check-in is calling and Sydney beckons.  Just time to add a last picture; of Singapore's national flower, the orchid.  Beautiful.