Wednesday 4 March 2026 – The Hapuku Lodge is such a wonderful environment that we both were powerfully tempted to spend the day relaxing. It would have been splendid had the weather been crap; then we wouldn’t have needed any further bidding to remain slothful. However, looking out of our bedroom window,
we could see it wasn’t. So we went for a walk. Obviously.
Kaikoura is set on a peninsula which juts out from the east coast just far enough to make walking round it a decent distance for the sort of hike we thought we could cope with.
It’s about 20km south of the lodge, so we retrieved our car and set off. The plan was to park at the point of the peninsula and walk round it until we got back to the car. However, lots of other people had the same idea and the small car park actually at the far end of the peninsula was full. It wasn’t a problem; we were still going to walk the same distance irrespective of where we started, so we found a spot a kilometre or so back and started from there instead. The peninsula is clearly a holiday hotspot, and I had a chuckle at one place’s marketing of an attraction for passing punters.
The recent snow that had settled on the mountains provided a great backdrop for photos of the very rocky seashore.
At the point of the peninsula, one can opt to walk along the rocks or take the path to the top of the cliffs; we opted to do the latter. It’s a well-presented path to start with, up a reasonably stiff climb of about 50m vertical.
The path then wends its way along the cliff top, past a small and unusually-sited lighthouse
which can only work to the north, since vegetation has grown up to obscure any light it shows in any other direction. The peninsula walk is a popular one; there were plenty of other walkers along it,
all presumably taking advantage of today being the first day of good weather for a while. As you might expect, the views along the way are excellent.
There’s a seal colony on the rocks to the south of the peninsula.
Those brown specks are actually fur seals,
which, as any fule kno, are not actually seals, but sealions. Using the dodgy end of the video capabilities of the phone, one can take slightly ropey video of them doing their sealiony things.
We could see the people who had decided to walk the lower path as they passed a wooden teepee on the shore.
I’m not quite sure why it’s special – there are any number of these things set up in the woods around Surrey, but there it is. Had we wanted to explore further, we could at that point have taken a path down to the shore, but
steps? I don’t think so. We’ve only just recovered from Tongariro.
As we went along, it rather looked as if there was going to be another stiff climb
which looked rather daunting. There’s someone working their way up it in this photo.
Yes, there is.
It frankly looked like bloody hard work, so having climbed a stile to get to it,
we were rather glad to note that one could go round as well as over.
We’d psyched ourselves up for the steep bit, honest, guv; but going round was a much more attractive prospect. The going was a little muddy in places – not seriously, but enough to give evidence of the wet weather that had preceded today’s lovely sunshine. The scenery continued to be wonderful, both looking towards the mountains
and southwards over the cliffs.
Eventually, the path reaches a settlement called South Bay
(I’d call it a town, but there’s no cafe, so civilisation hasn’t quite reached it yet). On the rocks outside South Bay there were several seabirds, which we saw were mainly shags. One, though, we thought was an egret,
and we were wrong. It was actually a spoonbill. Yes, it was.
and it was doing its spoonbilly things, again, captured at the far end of what’s possible with today’s phones.
At South Bay, the path turns back to cross the peninsula from south to north. We passed a house where the post box almost had a turf roof (lichens in actual fact of course)
and another which gave evidence of how windy it normally is round here.
The path led past some splendid agapanthus,
still in flower (most of the North Island agapanthus was over, so it was lovely to see this).
Leaving South Bay, the surroundings change quite significantly
as the path goes through a small pine forest.
Beside the path was today’s Mystery Object;
ramps which we couldn’t believe were a construct of nature. There were actually two of these double ramps and I wondered whether at some stage they were part of a mountain bike trail, creating some jumps for the deluded fools who go in for screaming down steep hills on narrow muddy paths.
We’ll never know.
At the top of the wood, one emerges into the outskirts of Kaikoura, taking “Tom’s Track” to get back through to the north coast of the peninsula.
This led us to a view over the Kaikoura Esplanade
and, blessedly, past a coffee shop, the Bee Box, where we had a small rest and a large flat white.
We were then on the road that runs along the north coast of the peninsula and simply had to walk along to where we’d started. The walk led past another tribute to Tom
and a striking wooden sculpture
back to the car.
So, that was the Kaikoura pensinsula
and a very pleasant 10km hike it was, too. We headed back to the Lodge and took it easy for the rest of the afternoon before another superb dinner in the restaurant there. The food really was extremely fine.
The original plan had been to take part in a star-gazing session as night fell. However, clear as the day had been, clouds came in to foil that plan. Nonetheless, the moon looked good as it rose in the evening.
That signalled the end of our time in Kaikoura and regretfully we have to leave the lovely Hapuku Lodge tomorrow, to head further south. Stay tuned to see where we go next, eh?
Sunday 22 February 2026 – Warning! Long Post Alert!
We left the Reef Resort in good order with nothing but a leisurely journey in front of us. Jane had mined Google Maps for some Things To See on the way and it was nice to be able to take our time at the various viewpoints (they’re called Lookouts over here).
The first one was at Hatepe Esplanade Reserve, which sounds grand but was really a tiny cul-de-sac off State Highway 1, down by the side of Lake Taupō. It offered a better view of Motutaiko Island, the Sacred Island that we’d glimpsed on yesterday’s cruise.
The reason it’s a sacred place to the Māori is that Rangituamatotoru, major chief of the Ngāti Tūwharetoa tribe during the 18th century, is buried here. A cave on the island is supposed to be the home of the taniwha Horomatangi, a supernatural being from Māori mythology.
As we wended our way southwards through the hills in the area, we exchanged one big lake for two smaller ones; Lake Rotopounamu is the smaller of the pair, but we never really got a sight of it. However next to it is Rotoaira, for which there was a lookout.
It’s the caldera of a volcano, as is the case with many of the lakes hereabouts, even Taupō. The primary event causing that huge lake was a massive super-eruption, the Ōruanui eruption, some 25,500 years ago. This was one of the two largest volcanic events on the the planet, spreading a blanket of ash and ignimbrite not only over New Zealand, but also over the Antarctic ice.
The State Highway had a few places to stop and gawp, many of which were formally signposted and provided with parking.
A valedictory lookout north to Lake Taupō over the Tongariro River
We also found lookouts that showed Mount Tongariro (more of which later)
and Ruapehu, the next one along, which is tall enough to have snow on it, even now (late summer/early autumn). Google Maps says that there is a skifield on it; the impression we got from skipper Jimmy is that skiing seasons are getting shorter and shorter on the North Island.
The Mahuia Rapids provided an attractive setting,
as did the Tawhai Falls.
The pool that the falls empty into is known as “Gollum’s Pool”, as it was used for the “Forbidden Pool” scene, in which Faramir and his archers are watching Gollum fish in “The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers”. It’s quite impressive.
Our accommodation was the Plateau Lodge, at Waimarino in the Tongariro National Park. We had one of their “King Pod” cabins, which are competently accoutred; not luxurious, but very well-organised.
They even have an external bath!
which we decided might well come in handy in due course. Stay with me for why.
The time was around 1pm by this stage, so we made the necessary phone call to confirm tomorrow’s activity and then went for a walk. Obviously. The main objective was to get to a local store to buy provisions for breakfast for the two mornings we’d be here; the secondary objective was to investigate eateries. Evelyn, the lovely lady who checked us in (having given us a bit of scare when at first she couldn’t find a booking for us), recommended the Schnapps Bar just down the road, so we headed that way, via a local store and a chat with the lady running an optimistically-named coffee stop
who dispensed coffee and some tips about our activity for the morrow.
The Schnapps Bar is just behind a rather dramatic sculpture of a kiwi
and, since it was open
we looked in and had a drink.
It looked like a decent place for a bite later, despite some of the less healthy items on the menu
and indeed we did call back a bit later. The food was very tasty and the portions gargantuan, but that set us up for a quiet evening to relax and prepare for the morrow.
For it was on the morrow (that’s yesterday, now, 21 Feb) that we had what was certainly the biggest adventure of the trip so far, and possibly of the whole thing, although we’re not going to know for another four weeks about that. The Adventure was a hike, but not just any old hike, in fact quite a chunky one. In the weeks leading up to our departure, Jane had persuaded herself that it was too ambitious for her and that she would seek something less arduous. For my part, I was gung-ho, sure that it would be something I could cope with.
Then, only about 24 hours before the scheduled start, our attitudes reversed; Jane decided that she would give it a go, whereas I was increasingly uncertain as to whether I would make a fool of myself. In the end, we decided that We Would Both Do It and to hell with uncertainty and cowardice.
The Camino is a multi-day or multi-week endeavour; the Tongariro crossing is done in a single day, but it’s quite a strenuous hike – 20km, 800m ascent, recommended time at least seven hours. We managed the Camino OK, but that was two and a half years ago, we were younger and had practiced in preparation. For today? Not so much. Also, my knees had been occasionally giving me gip and there is one section of the Tongariro Crossing called “The Devil’s Staircase” – a 300-metre ascent in just one km, with the bulk of the ascent being up actual steps; that was what was worrying me. Also, the weather had been looking a bit cloudy and windy, which would make the high section anything from unpleasant to downright perilous. In the end, the lovely Evelyn, who’d checked us in to Plateau Lodge, convinced us that the weather outlook was good and that we’d be OK, so reinforcing our decision to go for it.
We weren’t foolish enough to undertake such a potentially dangerous crossing by ourselves; we were booked on to a guided tour with Adrift Outdoors, who specialised in guiding mad, impetuous fools hikers on the route. So we checked in at their offices, which were just down the road from our accommodation.
Nice people were there to check us in, check our gear over and make sure that we signed our own death warrant a waiver form. These formalities had to be completed for us and the dozen others who would be part of our group: two other Brits, two Dutch, two Germans, two Americans, two Brazilians, an Iranian-born lady (called Paris – go figure) and an Indian chap. I would guess that we were the oldest and that the Indian chap, Ara, was the youngest. He was certainly the fittest, since he did lots of hiking around Zurich where he was currently living.
We all hopped in the bus to take us to the official start point of the crossing, about half an hour away. On the way over, we got a lovely clear view of Mount Ruapehu, Tongariro’s neighbour, the top of which had been obscured by cloud yesterday. Seeing this made us sanguine that perhaps the weather would indeed be clearer than yesterday.
The group had two guides: a lovely young lass called Cami, who briefed us by the entrance to the walk, in front of a pou whenua, a traditional Māori carved post representing Te Ririo, a guardian of those walking the crossing. She talked about the symbolic meaning of parts of the carving, which encourage respect on the part of people on the mountain.
Our other guide was Simon,
who looked every bit the part of a seasoned guide. Both of them were full of useful information about what we were seeing as we went along. Cami, particularly, was capable of talking non-stop while yomping up the steepest slope. Ah! What it is to be young and fit!
So, off we went.
Simon explained that it used to be 19.4km, but a volcanic eruption in 2012 destroyed a hut on the route and caused a diversion to be put in place, this making it a little longer. More of that later.
The first few kilometres of the hike are a gentle climb along a well-defined path.
After about 3km, one reaches the first toilet stop,
which inevitably has queues of people who should have gone back at the start when the loos were a bit more civilised. Beside the track, among the native grasses, is heather
introduced from Scotland, and now becoming, like so many introduced species, something of a pest, as it rather likes the conditions. Some of the initial track is boardwalk
and leads past Mount Ngauruhoe,
which has an illustrious film career, having starred as Mount Fiji in one of the Mission Impossible films, and as Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings series.
The easy part of the walk ends at a place called Soda Springs,
named for the water that wells out of the mountain at this point. This is about 5km in, and there are several toilets available, so it’s a convenient place for a breather.
There’s an interesting parallel with the Camino de Santiago here. On the Camino, it’s common to encounter the same people at many stages along the way; some people even develop a “Camino Family” of familiar faces as they go. The chap sitting front right in this photo was nothing to do with our group, but we encountered each other several times during the rest of the day. There were other hikers for whom this was also the case. A notice in the loo confirms that the easy part of the day is behind you.
Moving on, the next section is the start of the dreaded “Devil’s Staircase”.
After a short stretch of it, to give you a feel of what is to come, there’s a kind of decision point,
where common sense or formal guides might suggest, gently or otherwise depending on individuals, that going back is more sensible than going forward. Cami and Simon decided that we were all up for going forward, though I heard Simon quietly saying to Cami that it might be worth trying to get the Brazilian couple at the front to keep them up to speed, as they seemed to be hanging at the back of the group.
As warned by the signs, it got tougher,
with the compensation of some splendid views back along the track.
Eventually, we got to what looked like we might be within reach of the top.
The view of Mount Doom changes a bit – one can easily make out deposits of iron ore towards the summit.
There are more toilets at the top of the Devil’s Staircase,
which bear some bad news.
You’ve made it to South Crater, but your hard work is not over yet! You can see the next section of the climb in the distance.
If you look carefully, you can see some ants crawling up. They’re actually people.
Before you take this on, you have to cross the floor of South Crater, which looks like (and quite possibly is) a desert.
At the far side of the desert is another stern warning.
The next section is even tougher than the Devil’s Staircase, over rocky ground, exposed and with quite substantial gusts of wind. Even on a beautiful, clear day such as we were blessed with, care was needed, and Cami was at pains to suggest that we should keep an eye on the footing, rather than looking round for photos. By and large I followed her guidance, but I did sneak a couple of shots back over the South Crater desert.
So, you breast this slope triumphantly and….
guess what – there’s more to come! The view from this point is pretty sensational
and it was clear that the effort of the climb thus far caused Jane to take leave of her senses. She had a selfie!
We pressed on to what, really, was going to be the highest point of the hike. And…
Wow! The Red Crater. After all the effort to get there, seeing this makes a real impact. The view of it actually improves as you move on.
and at the very highest point, there’s a cairn,
which I christened “Yes, We Cairn”.
The route from this point is downhill. Really, really, downhill, down a steep slope of loose scree.
It’s actually very difficult to convey in a photograph what this section is like. Jane had been dreading it, as she is uncomfortable on scree when it is loose stones over rock and very skiddy. But here the loose stones were quite deep and it actually it turned out not to be quite as difficult as she’d feared. It’s steep, and you have to take it carefully and be prepared to skid a bit; and it’s the part of the hike where most accidents happen, unsurprisingly, but we all made it down OK. I saw a couple of people fall, but not seriously. Again, we were really lucky with the weather; doing this section in rain, high wind or cloud would have been a significantly more challenging proposition.
As you go down you get a fabulous view of the next landmark,
the Emerald Lakes. This was to be our lunch stop, so we had about 30 minutes resting here and eating the packed lunch that Plateau Lodge had prepared for us. Much of this was also spent waiting for the Brazilian couple who were annoying our guides by insisting on hanging back and taking loads of photos. The German couple, unimpressed by the delay, forged on ahead without telling our guides; we eventually met up with them much later along the route, but more time was wasted looking for them before we left Emerald Lakes!
Jane took a photo of the scree slope we’d just come down, in an attempt to convey what it was like.
It gives you some idea, and I also tried from a bit further away. This is photo from quite some way away.
If you look carefully, you can see that there are people going down the slope (actually, some idiots are going up as well!).
Now look even closer…
To get to the point where I took this photo was quite a straightforward walk along the track from the Emerald Lakes.
There’s a climb at the far end – not particularly welcome, it has to be said, but not too brutally steep – which takes you to a view over the Blue Lake
where there are some toilets, with their ever-useful summary of progress.
Halfway, then. The next part is downhill so it must be the easy bit, surely?
Erm, nope.
The track starts off a gentle downhill, and offers great views over Lakes Rotoairo and, in the distance, Taupō
and one can also see Lake Otamangakau.
The views are the only consolation for what turns into a horrendous drudgery of a walk down. It starts off as a gentle downhill gravel track and one thinks, “ah, this is fine”. But then comes what turns into the hardest part of the day: the downhill steps that punctuate the path at frequent intervals. It’s often said that the downhill part of the Tongariro crossing is the hardest, and people nod knowingly, because, yes, going down can be tough on thighs and knees. No-one mentioned the bloody steps! If it’s the Devil’s Staircase on the way up past Mount Doom, then it Sauron’s Revenge on the way down. The thing is that the descent is 1100 metres vertical, whereas the ascent is 800, so you’re going down far longer than you came up.
There’s a breakpoint by some toilets, near which one can see evidence of volcanic activity.
These toilets are new, and replace the last ones, which were destroyed by a boulder ejected from the last eruption, which was in 2012. Much of the ground is not safe to go near, hence rerouting the path, which is longer, more meandering and has more fucking steps in it.
There’s only one thing worse, after several kilometres of going downhill over loads of steps, and that is
reaching a stretch where there are some uphill steps as well. I found this (relatively short, it must be said) uphill stretch really, really hard. And then the downhill carried on, as the landscape changed and became increasingly foresty.
But still with the goddamn steps, both down
and up.
Jane found this final stretch really hard, and was genuinely worried that her knees were going to buckle under her. But we kept grinding on, and eventually – hurrah! – emerged at the end of the track,
where we found others in our group sitting in a kind of stunned silence, overcome with the enormity of the downhill torture.
And that was it – some nine hours after we started, we climbed into the Adrift bus to take us back to their offices.
I’m glad that our King Pod at Plateau Lodge was on the ground floor. I don’t think I could have managed a staircase, if my life had depended on it.
When I was trying to find out, a year ago as we were planning this trip, how tough the Tongariro crossing was, I sought to compare it with Day 1 of the Camino, which is, I think, the toughest day’s walking I’d experienced. The figures would have you believe that the Camino is tougher: 1,400 metres ascent for the Camino vs 800 for Tongariro; 25 kilometres vs 20; 2,900 calories expended vs 2,600; 39,000 steps vs 31,000. And I remember having trouble with the stairs at Roncesvalles on the Camino; but I think the extra 300 metres of descent down those benighted steps is what marks the Tongariro crossing out as being probably the most difficult day’s walking Jane and I have done.
However, did it we did! And we got the satisfaction of that, and the fantastic views as we went. We were incredibly lucky with the weather, which was perfect all day, and the nectar of the Gods has nothing on the mug of Twining’s Finest Earl Grey when we got back to our accommodation.
We had the one more night at Plateau Lodge and the next stage of our trip is to get to Napier, a journey and destination that we were looking forward to. Stay with these pages to find out how it went.
Sunday 28 September 2025 – It was a strangely cold morning. The actual temperature wasn’t as low as it had been the day before, when there was frost on the grass and ice making the painted wooden steps to our bedroom somewhat perilous; but it felt colder, and Madame had a wood burner going in the dining area,
which Roşie (Ginger) appreciated rather more than guard duties. The skies were cloudy, and the sun even peeped through from time to time during the day; but we wore jackets for the day’s hike.
The objective for the day was to visit – you guessed it – another monastery, Mănăstirea Humorului. So, Humor Monastery with a bit of Romanian post-appending of definite articles and so forth – officially a 17km walk. Our information had us starting from a town called Solca, some 20 minutes’ drive away and once again Gabriel was our chauffeur and Daniela his lookout because the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car. They actually dropped us some way beyond Solca towards our destination, thus saving us about 4km of walking along a tarmac road. We were able to start off on a dirt road, which made for a more pleasant walking environment,
at least for the stretch which led to tarmac.
After that, we were on tarmac roads, mainly without sidewalks, for the rest of the walk. To start with, we headed downhill, past a handsome (Catholic) church
and through a village with some idiosyncracies in the housing decor.
Gnomes were a popular decoration
I knew, from the GPS track we’d been provided with, that the route was up and down, with a fairly substantial up in the middle, but hoped that the gentler gradient on offer wouldn’t be too irksome.
Faint hope.
The gradient wasn’t very steep, but there was a 3km stretch where we had to climb 250 metres, which was a relentless and dull trudge. Round every bend, just when you thought “is this the top?”, the uphill road seemed to stretch eternally onwards. However, these things must pass if one simply keeps plodding on, and eventually we got to a point where neither geology or physics could maintain the uphill grind,
at a village called Plesa. It was certainly a plesa to stop and admire the view
and the prospect of sitting down for a bit of a rest. Before Jane allowed us that, though, she had found Something Of Interest for us to investigate, so we headed off down a rough track, which passed a chapel, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Just past the chapel, on the left, was a prominent rocky outcrop, topped by a cross.
The ladder there should give you the clue that not all was as it seems; this set of rocks was the basis for a set of artworks sculpted into the stone. They’re not immediately obvious – someone casually walking along the track might well have missed them.
However, courtesy of Jane’s research, we were In The Know, and so we spent some time investigating. Here’s the close up of the shot above, in which the sculptures are much clearer,
and clambering carefully around revealed several more.
Once back on the road we treated ourselves to a few minutes’ rest and a bite to eat before continuing our walk. We went through a couple of reasonably sizeable villages. One, Solonețu Nou, distinguished itself in two ways: an attractive architectural vernacular for the well housings;
and probably the noisiest selection of house dogs we’d yet experienced in this country.
To our British eyes, the Romanian habit of cooping up their dogs seems harsh; there are quite a few small enclosures with large dogs in them, with barely room to turn round, far less to get exercise. Many dogs are free in gardens, and we even found a handful in the road, who were noisy but didn’t do anything more than bark. I suppose that these are simply guard dogs, there to alert people to intruders, though I don’t know whether these would be human or animal; and in any case there seemed to be no-one home to be alerted (possibly in itself a reason for the dogs to be agitated). We only ever saw a dog being taken out and exercised a couple of times when we were here. Definitely Cultural Dissonance at work, in more ways than one.
We trudged on. Occasionally the view was good,
and the houses we passed engaging,
(this is a sculptor’s house and atelier – we wonder if he has something to do with the stone sculptures); but it was dull work and there was a reasonable amount of traffic to dodge. Eventually, though, we came to the turn off which led to our accommodation, which was called Maridor. The track to it led us through some kind of logging operation
out a kilometre or so to a small group of houses;
ours was the big yellow one.
It was open, but deserted, except for a young teenage lad who spoke enough English to show us our room and tell us that dinner would be available at 7pm, but who otherwise seemed (a) not to know any further details and (b) not to be very comfortable in his role. No matter; despite the walk only having been about 13km, I was very tired and in need of rest, so we took it easy for a bit before going for a walk. Obviously.
Humor Monastery was a good 2km away, and the exact way in was not obvious. There was a car park (with several coaches in it), surrounded by the usual keen-eyed entrpreneurial locals
but we eventually found out where we could buy tickets, and we followed the crowds in.
To a building site, sadly; most of the area was fenced off.
Actually, we were sort of lucky – pictures online from a few days earlier showed it covered in scaffolding (it looks as though they had been replacing the roof, judging from its light colour) so at least we were spared that, and could get some idea of the frescoes on the outside.
As with the Moldovița monastery, the frescoes on the windward side had faded sadly
but the external narthex ceiling was still in good shape
as were the frescoes on the entrance wall of the church.
Jane was particularly taken by the elephant
which we think is shown as part of the Noah’s Ark story.
Inside the church there was the usual prohibition against photography, but since people were flagrantly ignoring this and the nuns appeared not to mind, I took a few photos of the interior, which, like them all, is spectacular.
Having seen the monastery, we felt that an ice cream would be Just The Thing, so headed back to the kiosk in the retail-heavy car park, only to find it was closed. Well, Sunday, innit? So we decided to investigate the neighbouring church, which looked very impressive
but was closed. Well, Sunday, innit?
So we started the trudge back to Maridor. We passed some interesting railings outside one place, with representations of the signs of the zodiac;
and, just by our turn off into the boondocks there was a shop which appeared to be open. So we went in. The lady in charge didn’t seem too pleased to see us, but we sorted ourselves out with a couple of bananas, and an ice cream each and paid. As we left the shop, she locked up behind us and drove off! We were lucky to get there in the nick of time, which made up for the earlier ice cream disappointment and went some way to dispelling the sadness at the state of the monastery site; it was such a shame to see it so faded, and slightly irritating to have access so limited. We didn’t get a real sense of what the monastery really looked like (hence the title of this page).
Back at Mirador, all was quiet, and we were actually wondering whether we really would get a dinner. But we did. At 6.55, I went out and the only sign of life was the lad, whose name is Vilanel (he’s just socially awkward, not a psychopathic killer in search of Eve); he assured me that there would be dinner at 7, so we went down and joined Julia and Heather, the ladies we’d met at Casa Felicia, and who were basically a day ahead of us on the Natural Adventure itinerary. It was nice to chat to them again and it gave us a chance to find out some useful information, such as getting to and from the final monastery of this trip and also getting to the train back to Bucharest. Vilanel had been very helpful for them organising taxis and telling them what they needed to know. His parents, who run Maridor, didn’t have much English, but Vilanel’s was good – learned, apparently, more from social media than from school.
So, after a very tasty dinner, we established what would happen on the morrow for our monastery visit and also what the schedule would be for the next day. The weather prospects were dismal, which meant we decided on a variation to the suggested itinerary. Exactly what that was, you will be able to find out by coming back to these pages.
