First things first: the sodding patronising, excruciatingly annoying, grrrrr!

Grudges aside, what a fine day has dawned upon big smoky Auckland! This weekend (and Monday) sees the city's lucky streak of fine weather, in fact the best I've seen since I arrived three weeks ago. Even if the morning breeze hit me with a vengence as I stepped through of threshold of my parents' house, seeing the sun and cloudless skies were encouragements to my adventurous spirit. And I knew it - it's going to be a great day for climbing a volcano (well, a dormant one)!

To get to Rangitoto itself required dragging my half-arsed body from my residence on the North Shore to the ferry terminal on Quay St, Central Auckland. Once the ticket was purchased from Fullers (ferry operator) ticket office - not from Pier 2 office as it was closed during winter weekday mornings - the waters separating me from the island were no obstacle.

But then the stomach churned and grumbled and I realised I should give my tunny, and palate, a treat. With the ferry departing at 10.30, and some 45 mins to spare, I followed my gut instincts (and recommendations thanks to my pre-dated Rough Guide) to Waterfront, a cafe perched on the docks and neighbour to the Maritime Museum. The location yielded some nostalgia as, some ten months ago, this was where I was picked up to perform a near-suicidal leap from Auckland Bridge. Once I found refuge inside the cafe, I gawked at a price list that was somewhat eye-watering, yet confirmed my guidebook as 'suspiciously low in price'. I could only shrug and order a eggs Benedict (minus the hangover) - even backpackers can use a bit of pampering at times! When the waiter returned and told me they've run out of hollandaise sauce, I was frankly a tad disappointed and opted for a French toast instead. It turned out delish - the grilled banana was a real delicate touch on both the eye and taste bud - and maple syrup simply satisfied my craving for sweet stuff. Sugar rush!

Said my reluctant goodbyes to the stunning views of my breakfast spot and on I boarded the 10.30 bound for Rangitoto. A wee commentary was going on as soon as we set sail, though the harbour's lacklustre setting (face it, cargo docklands are still cargo docklands) meant a mediocre one. Good on the guy though, for making an effort; in fact, his un-kiwiness (he spoke with an English accent) reminded me just how many of my compatriots have wound up down under to seek a more Sweet-as life.

I saw this girl wandering alone across the rampart soon after the ferry had dropped us off at Rangitoto pier. She seemed to know what she was doing, though her double-breast jacket - not too dissimilar to the one I own - gave me the impression that she wasn't a serious hiker. Never mind that, I decided to approach her and break the ice. And there it was, the spark, and a conversation that ignited would follow us for the entire day.

Fiadhnait the avid traveller, or Fi as she liked to be called, and I took the main track ascending towards the summit of the volcanic island; along the way on the foot of the hill consisted of fields littered with lumpy, jagged basaltic igneous rocks, a form of lava morphology called A'a (Hawiian in origin - guess what they say when they step over them sharp rocks?). These rocks, as I explained to Fi, are the remnants of viscous, fast-cooling basaltic lava that cooled uphill before being transported down on top of streams of runny lava. With the sheer amount of A'a sighted across the plains, I did think imagining the scale of the eruptions was a bit of a no-brainer. That is only if you can be present, with me, at the scene of the catastrophe grandioso.


But hey, it's not all about volcanics. After all, as I was mistaken before coming to Rangitoto, the island does not consist of one colossal lump of black rocks. The path soon led us into a forest of fern trees, and the Lord-of-the-Rings magical charm of NZ sprang to mind - it's a cliche in my personal vocabulary but still always accurate. We soon discovered the crater, almost unrecognisable and smeared with rife vegetation, but not before we hiked to the summit and took a water break in admiration of the view. Never had I seen Auckland in its best, panoramic beauty - I'd like to think that both Fi, and the South African bloke we met and spoke to on the peak, would agree with me.

(And by the way, once you've been to Rangitoto there's absolutely no point visiting Mt Eden for the volcanic crater...why go see the baby when you've paid the giant a visit?)

We descended and made the effort to locate the junction which led us to the 'Lava Caves', as my map would advertise. May as well, I thought. The discreet little sidetrack blended nicely behind a pretty wooden hut had managed to deceive us into neglecting it, but failed as we came down. 15 minutes were all it took for us to find the lava caves, which happened to be one straight tunnel we could literally crawl through. And, under the guidance of my semi-functioning torch, we burrowed into the dark and giggled our way out. The adventure may be short, it sure was fun.

After returning to the pier with an hour to spare the duo went trekking along the 'Coastal Track' and, having dodged a tractor and a few piss-takes on the Somerset accent, we found nothing 'coastal' about this route and headed back with our consciousness set on time. Surely we didn't want a sleepover in a primitive campsite on the other side of the island (a.k.a. refuge camp for people who miss the last ferry at 15.30)! We basked in the blissful sunshine, snacked and checked out more rocks (me, not Fi!) before boarding the ferry bound for Auckland Central.

But this wasn't going to be it. Remember that I mentioned something about Devonport? Well, this ferry ride made a pit stop at Devonport and, Fi wanting to check out the place after a little bit of persuasion, we hopped off and explored the district. We fancied a coffee stop and, a let-down by The Stone Oven later, ended up in Esquires for some truly-awesome coffee. To warm things down after a long down - and warm ourselves up as it got chillier - we scaled Mt Victoria which overlooked the more-than-familiar southbank city from the North Shore. Behind us, the volcano we'd just conquered slumbers on.


On the way to catch a ferry back to Quay St Pier we made a curious discovery: the photos should speak for itself. We each paid NZ$5 for one of the most bizarre five minutes of our lives - laid belly-down in the machine, a plastic sack filled with water would hammer your body from heel to neck in a massage phenomenon I can only describe as 'wow'. I chuckled as the sack travelled up and down by exhaused body and, by the third run, my nerves seemed to run along the pounding. Sensational.


Well, for that we nearly missed the ferry. But just. We were then back in the central hub. With her travel details sorted for her interview on the day after, Fi had a bus for Parnell to chase after and, with a brisk hug and goodbye, we parted ways.

And what did I do afterwards, half-dead with every bit of energy sapped and motivation undermined towards the dusk of a fantastic adventure? I went straight to fencing. Typical.