Seafood in abundance, a six-berth campervan, sunburn and mineral springs – MARCUS HOBBS reports on the final leg of East Brunswick All Girls Choir’s recent tour of New Zealand. Part one here.

Day 11: Where Are All The Chicks, Penguins And Nuns?

On the drive from Christchurch to Dunedin we pulled into a truck stop for grub. Josh, unaware, had picked an egg and bacon pie which later coerced him into saying, “I would do anything for diarrhea.” The only reason he finished it was “because I had paid for it”. Harsh lessons.

We were on our way down to Chicks Hotel. A place run by an expat Englishman, Hector, who claimed to have invented the Crumpler bag. Chicks is located in a small shipping town called Port Chalmers. We had been there the year prior, yet on this occasion we found out about a double homicide that took place in the room we had occupied. I ain’t afraid of no ghost, I suppose. We took some time to climb a hill and visit an ancient graveyard, where we foun out about a guy who hung himself around there with piano wire. It inevitably cut through his neck and allowed his head to roll down the hill a small while.

On tonight's bill are Auckland’s Nevernudes, as well as Ouch my Face and a local band called TFF. TFF had a supporting father there telling them to check to make sure the microphone worked and smiling throughout the set. People had told me they were an awesome band I would enjoy. They were a bit wrong. I guess I used to listen to Limp Bizkit.

The show went on as it should and the locals waited until the door was lifted before they slammed into the bar. Rough guys, fat guys, shit guys. We drank until it was a chore.

Day 12: Baker's Dozen And A Gutfull Of Lead

This morning, Hector convinced us not to go to Queenstown but to instead stick around Port Chalmers and party. This worked out well. We took off for the spit in search of seals and other water beasts kissing roses. Into the town of Aramoana which I was told was home to a 13-victim massacre. The seals didn't seem too affected. It’s one of the prettiest places to lay eyes on and the beach is more or less yours to filth around in. In the evening we caught some small blue penguins coming in with their feeds and pissed off a bunch of photographers at the same time.

Back at Chicks, we played to about as many people that were on the beach but still managed to sweat out some demons. We spent our time out on the balcony always checking over our shoulder for ghouls. It's a creepy old pub and pranks were played.

Hector then took us on a tour below the pub where they used to hold Indian sailor slaves while docked, torture thieves, brothelise and essentially make do as an old prison. Although closed over now, there is a tunnel that runs from underneath the pub all the way out to the bay. They used to walk their Indian sailors out through there so we were none the wiser. The set of golf clubs and old beer kegs took away from the atmosphere slightly.

Day 13: Make it Rain

Before getting back in “The Wagon” we made sure we ate breakfast at a cafe across from Chicks. They served the meanest bagel I have ever slammed down.

Jimmy drove quickly back to Christchurch. We found out he had a date lined up so the foot was to the floor. I don't think it actually came through because we spent the night drinking beers together back in the empty house. On the trip, Josh left a note under the door of the cafe that had previously fucked his guts a week earlier. Tomorrow we pick up our six berth campervan.

Day 14: Skyrockets In Flight, Campervan Delight

Trekking out to the airport to pick up the campervan was more exciting than it should have been. A six berth beast we had managed to score for roughly $7 a week, provided we returned it to Auckland in one piece. We now had a kitchen, bathroom, bed and transport in one sweet sweet cookie. Having time to burn, we hooked it into Kaikoura to pick up fresh fish, lobster and an array of breakfast materials.

Driving this thing was fun as shit. We found a secluded stony beach to pull up and cook seafood by the sea. I don't recall ever having tried lobster but it has left me with a want for more, an $80-a-kilo want for more. Even Rob, the anti-fish man, got into the salt dwellers.

We learnt a quick lesson tonight about parking the van – try not to do it on a hill. Sleeping on hills is for dickheads and people attending Falls. So basically just dickheads.

Day 15: Brian Ferry Rides The Bat

If you play music on the inter-islander ferry you get a free ride across. We did this last year on the same weekend there was a Harley Davidson gathering in Wellington so fuck taking our chances on that again. By the end of the set we had bikie wives yelling at us and everyone howling like wolves. To be fair it was probably the best show we did.

On the trip across, Rob sighted some dolphins and we got stuck into some cheap double shot gins. A German man overheard Rob's dolphin sighting and hassled me for the location so I pointed off starboard and watched him stand in the cold wind aiming his camera at probably nothing.

Land ho, and we were off to Mighty Mighty. On arrival Sarah Chadwick from Batrider was already in position loading gear up the shitty steps and in pretty good spirits. It was just us and Batrider tonight. No time to check anything though, we had had a dinner date to catch. Our friend Dan Baitkin-Smith was cooking it for us in his huge house in Aro Valley. We weren't sure what to expect but he cooked some kind of gourmet nacho dish. Man alive, I am back on the nacho wagon. At this point our camera broke, for the best.

We all got a bit drunk this afternoon so heading back to Mighty Mighty for a series of free Castlepoint longnecks didn't help the cause. There were a few shows on in town tonight so we weren't sure how we would hold up, but the idiots rolled in. We went alright, impressed the bar girl and got no whisky for that. No point.

I am beginning to prefer Batrider’s new three-piece outfit over the old format. A lot slower, cruisier but just as filthy. Loud too. Well loud.

I held a DJ set afterwards till the placed closed, constantly being told by the bar owner the best way to do it. I got fed up and put on ‘Rock Lobster’ to which he danced across and said, “Now you're getting it.” Fuck’s sake. I then put on some heavy swag and some guy called me the worst DJ ever. Considering everyone was in the beer garden and not really wanting banging dance hits I chucked on Thai Pop Spectacular for this old hippie who was staring at me dancing slowly and made my way outside where these guys were tagging the walls. Shiiiiiiiit. I had ‘Brown Sugar’ lined up but had to abort because the only dark girl in the place got up to dance moments prior.

Later, on the hunt for food, we attempted to find these brutally good scallops sold out of a dive fish shop that stays open till 6am on Vivian Street. We all burnt our mouths on chips and parked the van by the beach in sight of the airport.

Day 16: Shut Up And Drive

That's what we did. We stayed in Napier this evening. I read Tales of The Unexpected to Rie and Josh in the bed in the back of the van while we drove. When I took over driving later in the evening, at some point in the hills between Taupo and Napier, I saw a black figure walking across the road with big strides. It was bed time.

Day 17: Jerry Hot Springer

When I woke up we were already where we needed to be. Down in Taupo you can go to a place called the “Hot Spot”, which is located on the edge of a river bank not far from Huka Falls. The hot spot is a thermal party where boiling hot water shoots into the side of a river with a series of rock pools each getting a bit cooler as you get closer to the centre of the river. It was brief. There was a show to get to.

We were back in Auckland. Mt Eden to be precise. We took a few moments to climb Mt Eden but were too tired at the top to enjoy it so much. At the base of the hill, a scout hall lay. This is where we tear strings tonight. Street Chant, Nevernudes, Ouch My Face and Batrider all semi-prepared to mess it up. We treated our van like a glorified backstage area and cooked up steaks to the dismay of others. All the bands were super loud, toilet-paper-in-your-ears loud. Dynamite. We kept our park outside the hall and stayed here. Playing some cards and sleeping with the rain hitting the roof.

Day 18: Hard-Coromandel

After some investigation we got the hot word. Head towards Opoutere Beach in Coromandel. As we had nothing to do for the next few days it was time to cruise. Acquiring some food, booze and a poker set we went about our way in the campervan. Slaying it through the hills. We pulled into Opoutere Beach to find it was just a giant swamp. Nothing happening. We thought we had been fucked. There was a few other cars there and as we climbed out of the van you could hear it. The crashing of waves, the stink of sand.

We ran through a pine forest emulating Where The Wild Things Are and crashed out onto a long white beach. Riddled with rips, surfers, some dogs and a few lowly towel dwellers. This looked too good.

As it was late in the afternoon we saved the swimming. Cooking some smooth fish and hid in the dark among the stars. This will do. Beware though, Pukaha he roams.

Day 19: Lobster Yo'self

Up and at them, up and at them. Towels in hand, sunscreen on all flakes. Go for it. The beach today was dynamite as shit. The water was almost warm. We body surfed, got in the way of surfers and drank sandy beers. In out in out of the water. Lathering, sunhats. Stinging bastard sun. After a few hours that was enough, salt in the bones. There were destinations unknown to discover and a place called “Hot Water Beach” we noted on the map.

We ran into an elderly couple after driving for a bit who told us to go to Cooks Point. It was at this point I felt the sting in my shoulders, the cringe of the skin and the heat of what was to be an asshole of a sunburn. It was worth it, although it made everything tricky. Coincidentally, we ended up at a winery which was run by the owners of a bar we were playing the next night. We got some good freebies. Feijoa liqueur.

Onwards to Hot Water Beach, which was essentially an onsen where the water flows up from underneath the sand. So you dig a pit and bask in the minerally goodness of some fucking hot-as-gambling water. This wasn't too much fun with sunburn so we gave it a brief stab then stubbed our toes on rocks. Bed time. Illegal camping and gambling.

Day 17: The Best Show Of The Holiday

Codeine for the sunburn, beer for the drive. Back to Auckland we needed to go to play a final show at The Wine Cellar with Polka Dot Dot Dot. We left the Coromandel early enough to be able to drop off the campervan in time and pick up a considerably smaller wagon.

Nothing happened during the day, so we ended up at the Wine Cellar. We were pushed towards a local pepper-infused vodka mixed with ginger beer and lime. Summer as fuck. This was the drug of choice.

A whole bunch came out on a Monday night for this show. We got rid of the drum kit and Josh stepped in on piano instead. It was the best show of the last three weeks. Proper singing and melodies were in order. There is a bootleg somewhere.

Polka Dot Dot Dot once again swooned the crowd into ear piercing applause and giggles. They have a vast array of tunes smashing them out on banjo and saw. Egad. All the music was finished. Local wines for the buds and a shifty drive home. All was well. This was clearly the best show of the holiday.

Day 18: Looking At Things Is Tiring

Our last full day in New Zealand we were going to spend with Jordan and Colleen of Polka Dot Dot Dot. We had arranged to meet at the museum on top of the hill. What a building. Jungle massive and appearing to be made of ivory. Looking at things was tiring so we evacuated to the park and sat down with our new feijoa liqueur. It ran out quickly alongside the mini picnic. We made arrangements to meet later in town.

Dinner on Queen Street. Downstairs at Tanuki's cave. Monstrous dishes, Sapporo. Momma mia.

After dinner we planned to meet at a cool bar, it wasn't so much cool as pretty lacklustre but apparently was full of cool people even though it was half empty. Man alive, taxi outta here. Say goodbye to Colleen and Jordan, we shall meet again. We caught a taxi with this mad bastard and left all our non-exchangeable coins with him. Happy tips. Right on.

Day 19: Orcland

Today we leave, we made it. Crisis averted. We said goodbye to our hosts Martin and Tom and hightailed to the airport without James. He was making his own way there, shuttle for the brain. It resulted in a close call for check-in.

All in all we had played a bunch of good, bad, fantastico and Blueprint-esque shows, suffered some severe sunburn, survived black Nazi shakedown Jetstar voodoo, smirked at wildlife, avoided massacres, saw no ghosts, ate awaited bagels, vomited, used four car hire companies, three airlines, one ferry, swam in hot springs and annoyed a bunch of people. We came out with $100 NZ.

This was a bad fucking idea all of this.

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