After the obligatory snaps and a celebratory waffle, I suddenly remembered that Mini-Europe was next door. What a perfect opportunity for ‘Ploob to visit (kind of) monuments from all across the continent (as well as a few Belgian sites he’d missed out on) in one go. I’m not sure we got all 27 EU member states, as my four-year-old daughter was along for the trip and needed occasional distraction, but we managed most of them, I think. I’d never been before, but I was quite impressed by the quality of some of the models. Most displays had a big blue button which played that country’s national anthem when pushed.

So, in no particular order…

Copenhagen harbour:

Dinant (Belgium):

Leuven (Belgium) town hall:

St. Patrick’s Rock, Ireland:

Bath, UK:

‘Ploob the Royal Guard:

Sacre Coeur, Paris:

Porto, Portugal:

Seville, Spain:

Mnajdra, Malta:

Pisa, Italy:

Vesuvius. Press the blue button and it “erupts”:

Brandenburg Gate, Berlin:

Apparently the most famous sight in Luxembourg is a bridge with some lorries on it:

Prague on the left, Bratislava on the right:

Bucharest:

Budapest:

Ljubljana:

Melk abbey, Austria:

The Acropolis, Greece:

So there you have it: a tour of (most of) Europe in less than an hour. A fitting way to end his stay in the Capital of Europe, I think you’ll agree.

Next up is a long weekend in Devon before moving on to the next destination…

First up was the Grand Place. Some say that this is one of the most beautiful squares in Europe. It was hard to tell that day, as about a quarter of it was covered in scaffolding for renovation work, and the centre was a mess of cranes and trucks and seating stands as preparations were made for the upcoming annual Ommegang event. Still, I managed to get shots of ‘Ploob in front of the town hall…

…the City Museum…

and a selection of guildhalls.

We turned the corner and paid homage to one of Brussels’ most famous residents, the Manneken Pis. He’s disappointingly small, and although he’s often dressed in some sort of costume, usually donated by visiting foreign dignitaries, on this day he was au naturel.

Personally I prefer the little girl version, Jeanneke Pis, to be found a few streets away in the crowded tourist restaurant district. At least she has a smile on her face (plus she’s life-sized).

A stop for lunch, and ‘Ploob insisted on trying some more Belgian beer. I opted for a Hoegaarden, which is popular during summer for its lightness and refreshing taste.

We shared a cornet of frites, and ‘Ploob ended up with a mayostache.

He then drained the rest of the beer. Despite his well-documented love of this type of beverage, ‘Ploob has a tragically low tolerance for alcohol, and after one glass of blanche he was telling me that I was his “besht mate”, and asking to borrow my mobile phone so that he could call up all his old girlfriends.

Well, when I say “visit”, of course I mean “stand outside”, as inside they’re a fairly uninspiring collection of offices and meeting rooms.

First up, the European Council, or “Justus Lipsius” building. This is where all the ministers of the Member States meet to reach their decisions. It’s also where, twice a year, the heads of state come for a summit. Later this week it’s where the new Irish Taoiseach will cower in a corner of the room while the other 26 countries glower at him.

The European Commission, on the other hand, is housed in dozens of buildings spread across Brussels, but the headquarters, home to the Commissioners themselves, is the Berlaymont building, handily located across the road from the Justus Lipsius. It used to be full of asbestos, but it’s safe now. Really, perfectly safe (cough).

A short walk away is the seat of European democracy - the European Parliament. At least, one of them. The other one’s in Strasbourg, and they shuttle back and forth between them once a month. (Yes, I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t see it changing any time soon). Anyway, in honour of our elected representatives, we stopped first for a little liquid lunch…

‘Ploob was hoping to meet some MEPs in order to lobby them about ‘Ploob rights, recognition as a distinct culture with its own traditions, and to demand that ‘Ploobese be granted status as an official EU language, but there was no-one around - they’re all in Strasbourg this week…

And of course, you bring BITWRATHPLOOB along with you. What could be more romantic than sharing your celebration of five years of wedded bliss with a ‘Ploob?

He tried to grab forty winks nestled under the GPS on the 1hr 15 mins drive north from Brussels.

Once we’d arrived, he was refreshed and ready to soak up the olde worlde charm of one of Belgium’s prime tourist attractions, the UNESCO World Heritage site of Brugge. We fought our way through the crowds of geriatric tour groups, taking sanctuary in an establishment selling one of Belgium’s most successful exports. ‘Ploob seemed to feel right at home here.

More wandering, with many a scenic view to stand in front of.

Scenic and “Tourist Tat Shops” are what Brugge does best, and personally I’ve always preferred Ghent, but we usually choose Brugge for its proximity to several world class restaurants, so once we’d done a tour of the centre, we unceremoniously dumped ‘Ploob in our room, leaving him to gaze forlornly out the window while we went off to feed our faces.

We made it up to him the following day, though. Once home in Brussels the sun decided to come out. Like any other Northern European, our instinctive reaction to the sight of the slightest amount of sunshine was “BARBECUUUUUUUUUUUUE!”, so out came the charcoal, tongs and skewers. ‘Ploob lent a helping hand…

…and was rewarded with liquid sustenance.

Afterwards he felt a little light-headed and had to retire, and our daughter gave him pride of place on the shelf next to various other beloved playthings.

Next up: a boozy night out (do we see a pattern emerging here?) in Brussels centre…

Monday afternoon. My wife called to let me know that she’d picked up the parcel from the post office, and that it wasn’t what we’d been expecting, but rather a tube from New Zealand.

It could only be one thing. The tube contained a ‘Ploob.

Scissors in one hand, moving with caution and deliberation, my wife occasionally mopping my sweaty brow, I extricated the passenger from its cardboard container.

As Frédérique’s note explained, he’d had to be slightly mutilated (head, nose and one foot amputated) in order to fit comfortably into his Ploob-tube, but these popped back into place relatively painlessly (at least, I heard no yelps of pain), and he was whole once more.

After perusing his impressive collection of fridge magnets, we sat down and discussed his itinerary for the coming weeks. Had he arrived a few weeks earlier he could have accompanied us to Japan, but I’m sure he’ll get another chance to do that in the future. Who knows how long he’ll be circling the globe? The road never ends…

What I did have was friends willing to take me, and the ‘Ploob, for a day-trip to Arthur’s Pass. We left early - 8am! - and headed to Darfield for our morning coffee, then we hit the road towards the mountains. The ‘Ploob spent most of the trip in Maddi’s company: 

The car started climbing the hills, then the hill turned into mountains, we were still climbing and our ears were beginning to pop. We were treated to some spectacular views, before finally arriving to our first stop: the Castle Hill rock formations.

The place is just stunning - those giant rocks sitting there, seemingly randomly scattered on the side of the hill.

Some scenes from the first movie The Chronicles of Narnia were filmed here, though I’m not sure in which part exactly. The place is also well known for bouldering, and we did get to admire a few climbers. You could say we were inspired (though perhaps less adventurous) and we climbed to the top of one of the bigger, more accessible rocks to take pictures of the ‘Ploob in front of this strange scenery:

The road between Castle Hill and the village of Arthur’s Pass keeps going up through the mountains. My favourite part of the drive, I think, are the incredibly large, flat riverbeds we cross here and there. During the thaw in spring they are probably full of water, but at this time of year (early autumn), they look like rivers of rocks. And somehow all the bridges - really long bridges! - have only one lane.

We arrived in Arthur’s Pass for lunch. We ate at the Wobbly Kea Café, then drove the short distance to the beginning of the Punchbowl Falls trail. Nothing like going up hundreds of steps to help with digestion!

The ‘Ploob managed to mess with my camera again…

…but nothing that couldn’t be fixed on the drive to Death Corner and the Otira Viaduct.

Years ago, the road used to be on the side of the mountain. Then the scree slope took over and the road disappeared. It was rebuilt, then washed down the hillside again. Not surprisingly, the zigzag-y bit leading to this portion of road was called Death’s Corner…  A few years ago (in the 1990s, I think), the viaduct was built - wider, larger angles, less at the mercy of tumbling mountain sides. Death’s Corner is now a viewpoint for the viaduct, a picnic spot for tourists, and the playground of the keas.

I had heard so many stories about those birds - they’re very clever, and so used to tourists that one only has to put down a picnic blanket for them to come out a beg/steal food, as well as hats, gloves, books, bottles and anything left unattended for a minute. I was really looking forward to photographing their encounter with the BTWRATHPLOOB. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. There were no keas there that day - not a single bird to be found.

Still, the day’s adventures weren’t over yet. We headed back to Christchurch on the same road we came in, stopping just before we reached Castle Hill again.

Cave Stream Reserve was another attraction I had heard about but had never seen myself. With the ‘Ploob in my pockets (that head that pops out is so handy for transport!), we started down the cliff trail, being mindful of the dangers.

Some people were obviously intent on exploring the cave, but the water was decidedly too cold for us.

When we walked back up, the moon was rising above the mountains. We drove home in the dark, exhausted by all the fresh air and walking, and those of us in the back seat slept most of the way.

A very warm thank you to the Dumbles: Helen, Darren and little Maddi, who took the ‘Ploob and I on this adventure through the alps and happily shared in the rock climbing and silly photo-taking.

The ‘Ploob and I didn’t have a house for our first week in Christchurch. We stayed with friends and their three-year-old daughter, Maddi. Maddi fell madly in love with the ‘Ploob. Until its head came off.

We put the head back on and things were better for a few hours, but we’d unwittingly started a traumatising game of guillotine for the poor little wood bear. I wonder if all kids who meet the ‘Ploob do that?

I felt guilty, so to lighten up - and stop the head-on, head-off, head-on, head-off game - we took the ‘Ploob for a true Christchurch Café experience. The people here loooooove their cappuccino/latte/flat-white, and so did the BITWRATHPLOOB:

Maddi abandoned her ‘fluffy’ after only 3 minutes and grabbed a hold of the ‘Ploob. There was no escaping her.

To avoid yet another beheading, we went out to watch the installation of the lanterns for the Chinese Lantern Festival. Our Wood Bear met all sorts of creatures, some less recognisable than others…

It even met some real ducks:

New Zealand is a very active place, volcanically speaking. This can be both dangerous – when Mt Ruapehu erupted last year, the ski field had to close for a couple days – and beneficial – there a number of geothermal areas where one can soak in the hot pools and let the worries melt away. In many cases however, the relaxation comes at a price. The mineral sources have been ‘harnessed’ and most are commercially operated.

Since the BITWRATHPLOOB is travelling on a budget, it was decided we’d head out to the West Coast and try the hot water beach at Kawhia (pronounced ka-fee-a). We’d have to bring a shovel and dig the wet sand ourselves, but the spa would be free – and such a better adventure than sitting in a concrete pool between four walls!

We started the trip with stop in Raglan. The ‘Ploob had been told about this place and wanted to see the surfing. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly inclement. It was cold and windy, with a dash of rain here and there, and swimming was prohibited along most of the beach.

He apparently caused a short-circuit in my digital camera. Too much BITWRATHPLOOB for the little machine?!?

We left Raglan under the rain and drove on toward the Bridal Veil Falls. The ‘Ploob didn’t like the walk in the rain so much – it messes up with his hair – but the dizzying view from the top of the 55m-high falls left him speechless (so to speak).

We walked all the way down to the pool at the base of the falls, and up again, before setting out on the tiny back roads of the Waikato countryside heading, we hoped, for Kawhia. The main road had been closed earlier in the year when a bridge collapsed, and the ‘detour’ signs were minimal – two, to be exact. So we started on the dirt road one of the signs seemed to point to, and hoped our map was out of date (since on it the road we were on didn’t really lead anywhere).

Without quite understanding how, a couple hours later we finally made it to Kawhia. We drove through the little town and away towards the sea, and parked at the end of the road. We grabbed our things – towels, food and a shovel – and climbed up over the dune. The Ploob had been in fine white sand before, but the fine black sand of the West Coast was a novelty.

Once over the dune and on the beach, the scenery was eerie. The clouds were low and the view was limited to about 100m each way, transforming the other people on the beach into vague silhouettes.

We knew the hot pools could be dug about two hours each side of the low tide, and we’d been told to dig near the water, just where we’d come down from the path on the dune. We walked straight toward the water, hoping to feel the warmth through the sand and know where to dig, but could not find anything. We walked north along the beach, still feeling the sand for a warm patch, thinking maybe ‘in front of the path’ may have been more of a suggestion. We dug holes, and the BITWRATHPLOOB jumped in one, but there was no hot water coming out of it.

We eventually ventured back to where we’d first come in and, lo and behold, there were people lounging in warm water holes! Right there, where we’d been 30 minutes earlier! Our lack of luck was just bad timing. We grabbed the shovel, borrowed a couple more from the family in the next hole, and started digging. It was hard work – we were but a few meters from the waves, so the sand was very wet and kept falling back into the hole. We kept digging. The hole kept filling up. We kept digging…

Still, it was pretty amazing, water at 40ºC-ish, the dark sand, the foggy sky, sitting on (or in) the beach:

As the tide arrived at its lowest point, my friend Angélique, the Ploob and I decided that digging was too much of an effort. The hot water was showing on the surface and all we had to do was lie down on the sand, shimmy a tiny little bit, and enjoy the warmth coming through the sand. As soon as it cooled, a two-second shimmy would bring the heat back by shifting the sand. It was lovely.

Once our skin turned red from the hot water and we were completely relaxed, we headed home, covered in salt and sand. The sun had finally come out from behind the clouds, and as we left Kawhia, we were treated to a beautiful sunset over the Kawhia Harbour.

It was a trip down memory lane. The Ploob reminisced about the UK in the English Garden.

…and hung out with stone lions again.

It got a chance to lounge in the sun by the pool in a ‘typical’ Modern American Garden.

…and revisit a little piece of Italy.

There was even another wedding to crash!

The day was interrupted by an incident involving the loss of yet another appendage – its head came off, as it does, and the fall to the ground sent its nose flying.

Thankfully, the nose was found, with the bonus addition of nostrils – all the better to smell the flowers!

* arguably, the BEST tourist destination is the statue of RiffRaff at the southern end of Victoria Street, the main drag (no pun intended) in town. Richard O’Brien, the strange mind behind the Rocky Horror Picture Show, lived in Hamilton when he wrote the play/film – a testimony to what this town can inspire? As the statue’s website puts it: “Hamilton led him to THIS”. Sadly, the Ploob wasn’t able to get a picture with the statue… or maybe not so sadly… it would have been a new level of horror…

The Ploob arrived in the best-wrapped parcel we’d seen in a long time, which might explain the meagre $1 it was insured for.

Fresh out of the box, the Ploob encountered the other creatures of the house and found himself (itself?) subjected to a thorough olfactory inspection.

Kloé the Labrador kept coming for more and we had to make sure the Ploob would stand well away from her reach - there’s something in that red hair she simply could not resist.

We introduced the Ploob to La P’tite Bête, a French…thing… also travelling the word, accompanied by my friends Virginien and Angélique. The Ploob had a laugh at their English-ified names - Virgin and Angel - but was quickly reminded its own name had to be filled out with vowels just to be pronounceable, and it really shouldn’t make fun of others.

The Ploob proved adaptable and seemed unfazed by the predominant use of French in our home and the reversal of seasons. Still, not wanting to leave it in completely new surroundings, we arranged for it to hang out with ‘friends’ met in the box-trip from China:

The next day we were off to see the wonders of Hamilton

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