10 best places to live for avoiding world conflict

by Elizabeth Seward on

Expatify.com asked the question, “Where would you be the safest if World War III broke out tomorrow?” The answers arrived in a post titled “10 Best Places to Live for Avoiding World Conflict.” Irrelevant as it may seem to you, the claws of conflict affect a revolving roster of nations. The knowledge of where not to go because of conflict, or better yet, where to go to avoid it, can be useful if you’re planning to live, or even just spend some time, abroad. According to this article, countries that make the safety cut are: Switzerland, Costa Rica, Papua New Guinea, Canada, Seychelles, Finland, Tuvalu, Iceland, Bhutan, and New Zealand. Most of these choices make sense to me, based on what I know, but the undeniably gorgeous Seychelles seems like a somewhat uncertain choice. News stories covering the Somali pirates swarming the Seychelles area are prevalent. To be fair, I’m not convinced Somali pirates are a current threat for World War III. What are your thoughts? Where would you move in order to be as far removed from world conflict as possible?

Explore More Options with These Art Maps for the Home

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Guide to the ultimate “man day” on New Zealand’s Coromandel peninsula

by Kyle Ellison on

Caution: In this article the author makes wildly general, mildly controversial, and borderline sexist remarks, none of which are meant to be offensive. Any abrasive remarks can be attributed to an obscene adrenaline rush derived from an extended period of time in the great outdoors. And maybe the feijoa juice.

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Don’t get me wrong, the Coromandel Peninsula on the North Island of New Zealand is a place that can be enjoyed equally by both sexes. Clear ocean waters rife with marine life, dense jungles dotted with waterfalls and swimming holes, rural towns with country stores set beside single lane roads; these are qualities of the Coromandel which can be appreciated by men and women alike.

Nonetheless, in scouring the Coromandel from the confines of the campervan, there are elements of the sparsely populated peninsula which speak to the curious, nearly-Neanderthalic urges of adventurous young males. Climbing mountains, digging big holes, these are things we enjoy. Throw in a little local alcohol just for fun, and the Coromandel can make a case for one of the world’s best outdoor playgrounds.

Planning on visiting the area? Here’s a three-step itinerary for piecing together a “man-day” on New Zealand’s Coromandel peninsula.1. Climb a mountain

Although the Coromandel doesn’t have any mountains taller than 3,000 ft, the dense, forested interior of the peninsula is covered in walking tracks ranging from 20 minute loops to multi-day tests of wilderness navigation. In the Kauaeranga Valley alone there are 21 marked hiking trails which offer sweeping views of the entire Coromandel range, many of which offer access to isolated watering holes where thundering waterfalls are your only companion.

While all of the tracks on the Coromandel are worth a wander, none of them offer views as famously stunning as the challenging Pinnacles track. Departing from the top of the Kauaeranga Valley, the 16 km long Pinnacles track passes through sopping wet jungle that was once home to loggers harvesting massive kauri trees. From the sides of the muddy trail it’s still possible to make out the campsites cleared for early loggers, as well as the stone steps in the pathway carved so that pack horses could gain a better foothold.

At the top of the three hour climb lies a set of metal stairs and hand rails which lead to the greatest view in all of the Coromandel. Clambering to the summit of The Pinnacles offers the hiker a 360 degree view full of vertical rock faces and densely forested jungle as far as the eye can see. The entire gaze to the horizon is completely devoid of humanity, and from the tip of the craggy summit it’s still possible to feel that just for a moment you may actually be the only person on Earth.

2. Drink

After completing such a conquest it’s fair game to have sudden urge for a drink. After all, nothing screams victory like a celebratory stein full of grog. Luckily for Coromandel visitors there are a handful of local wineries and distilleries scattered along the eastern side of the peninsula, all of which are within close enough proximity to hit a few different spots over the course of an afternoon.

At Purangi winery, a funky, curious establishment set discreetly off the side of the highway, the visionary winemakers have actually experimented with creating a liqueur derived from the extract of the feijoa fruit, a little known citrus fruit which flourishes in New Zealand and is sometimes known as “pineapple guava”.

“All Kiwis love their feijoa mate”, claims the bartender, who I reckon has already had a few glasses by mid-afternoon.

“Most don’t know you can freeze it though. Keeps it good all year. We just like to make liquor out of it.”

With the type of sip that inevitably leads to a full body shiver, the feijoa juice alarmingly goes down potent but smooth. It’s just one of the myriad drinking opportunities which occupy the rural coastline, and whether it’s wine, local craft beer from Whitianga, or a generous quaff of feijoa juice, an afternoon spent imbibing the local swill can be a Coromandel afternoon exceptionally well spent.

3. Dig a Hole

Yes, that’s right. Dig a hole. As evidenced by young children at the beach, particularly boys, there is a certain fascination with digging big, deep, maybe-I’ll-get-to-China types of holes. Now take that fascination and combine it with the possibility of striking an upwelling of volcanically charged hot springs, and the digging mission takes on an entirely new level of excitement.

At the Coromandel’s insanely popular Hot Water Beach, amateur diggers descend in droves onto the golden brown sands during low tide, and for two hours on either end of low tide it’s possible to dig a massive hole in the sand to create your own hot tub fueled by the 140°F upwellings rising from the volcanic Earth.

Admittedly a bit overplayed (nearly every store in town sells shovels, for example), creating natural hot tubs on the beach at sunset is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the entire Coromandel.

Regardless of its popularity, comfortably situated in a recliner made of sand and immersed in the tepid natural spring, I strike up a conversation with Angus, an affable Kiwi who has brought his family up from Wellington on vacation. We talk of the Pinnacles, the hot springs, the kauri forests, and of course, the feijoa, its distilled juices still swimming in my head.

“Sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure day”, he remarks. “That’s why we come up here from the city, to get back into the outdoors. This whole Peninsula is an incredible playground.”

Cracking a smile and shooting a quick glance at his two young boys digging happily in the steaming waters, Angus nails the Coromandel right on the head.

“It’s a great place to just be a boy again.”

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

The two worlds of Waiheke, New Zealand’s paradise island

by Kyle Ellison on

Sipping a succulent syrah inside of the beachfront tasting room at Man O’ War winery, a quick glance of the room is all it takes to confirm I’m out of my element.

To my left, a middle-aged man sporting crocodile shoes and hair of a dubious authenticity casually flashes a credit card for $500 of the vineyard’s finest vintage. To my right, a suntanned yachtie with a bushy white mustache gesticulates to an acquaintance about the strength of the new varnish recently applied to his helm station.

Then, sandwiched between the two socialites, is me, a wandering travel writer who temporarily lives in a van which was shipped to the island on a 45-minute ferry. Meekly performing a free wine tasting just trying to learn a little about Waiheke wines, the contrast is pretty black and white.

Luckily for all parties involved, however, Waiheke Island is more multi-dimensional than simply being a playground for the uber-rich. Sure, there are expensive rave-parties at vineyards, hidden beachfront mansions, and trendy, high-priced boutiques lining the island’s main thoroughfare, but there is an entire other side to Waiheke which can’t be invested in, can’t be corrupted, and definitely can’t be bought.

I am here to explore that side of Waiheke.”It’s paradise island!” claims my friend Barlow, a couldn’t-be-happier Waiheke Island resident.

“It’s like living in the 1970’s! Come stay for a year!”

A recent transplant to the island from Australia, Barlow is one of the few workers swimming upstream against the river of Kiwis “jumping the ditch” to Australia for a share of the booming mining business, an industry where average salaries hover around $124,000 U.S. dollars per year. Don’t believe me? Check out this chart.

Barlow, however, wants no part if it. Instead, he’s enamored with the antiquity of Waiheke and the pervasive sense of island calm. There are no malls on Waiheke, and there are no freeways. With a population of only 8,000 residents, Waiheke is the third most populated island in New Zealand, yet still retains a small town feel. He instructs me to park my van on the grass just off the side of the road.

“You can leave it there for a month” he claims. “And no need to lock it.”

Later in the afternoon we take a hike along a coastal trail accessible only at low-tide. Although the island is only 36 square miles and crawling in private boats over from Auckland, there are still a surprising amount of hidden coves with nary a person on them.

Confirming the notion there are still places to escape the “see-and-be-seen” areas of Waiheke, the first person we encounter on the two mile amble along the coast is a woman opting to sunbathe in the total nude. A turquoise t-shirt placed ever so delicately over her face, we decide to scamper further down the trail and allow her to erase her tan lines in peace.

Meandering around a few more empty points, we find a lone fisherman seated calmly on a rocky outcropping, a faded straw hat protecting his sun-shriveled neck. Though I notice no fishtails poking out of his white plastic bucket, he exudes the feeling he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Nice spot for fishing you’ve found out here” I acknowledge upon approach.

“Ah, the fish are just a bonus mate. I come out here to find myself. Have some time for my thoughts. Might dive for some kina when the tide backs out a bit.”

A local seafood delicacy, kina is a a type of sea urchin endemic to New Zealand waters where the bitter tasting roe can reach prices of $25/pound. Climbing a densely forested pathway away from the pensive fisherman, I reason that kina can, in a way, speak to the dichotomy of Waiheke. Some people on Waiheke prefer to buy their kina; others would rather dive for their own.

Treating myself to a glass of Te Whau syrah at the end of the hike, followed by a pint of Onetangi dark ale from Waiheke Island Brewery (what? I’m on vacation), I eventually find myself wandering Oneroa Beach beneath a sky painted pink by the setting Kiwi sun.

There on the beach is when it hits me.

This, I realize, does not cost any money. This soft white sand beneath my feet, the smell of salt wafting off the tranquil Hauraki Gulf, the easygoing atmosphere of the locals strolling the beach alongside me, this is all part of the Waiheke charm that doesn’t have a price tag dangling off the end.

So although Waiheke Island may boast a glitzy reputation, travelers to New Zealand should remember that Waiheke is still just an island, and as is often the case, the best parts of island life always comes free.

Hiking across Mordor in Tongariro National Park

by Kyle Ellison on

There aren’t many places where you feel the urge to wear your wedding ring around your neck and begin dodging fictional forces of evil.

New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park, however, is exactly one of those places.

As anyone who has been to a movie theater in the last ten years probably knows, New Zealand was the setting for the epically popular Lord of the Rings trilogy which introduced us to the adventures of Middle Earth.

Arguably one of the best known movie series of an entire generation, the movie saga has simultaneously done wonders for the New Zealand tourism economy by displaying the country’s enchanting and other worldly scenery to a global audience of millions. While Middle Earth tourism has sculpted out its own niche for diehard fans (my 2012 New Zealand road atlas, for example, points out where each scene was filmed), as a casual viewer there are only a few place names I actually recognize.

One of these, of course, is Mt. Doom, and as I set out from the campervan into the volcanic cinder of the Tongariro Crossing-one of New Zealand’s most heavily trafficked walks-I found myself standing directly beneath it.

So what exactly is Mt. Doom?

Well, to begin, its real name is Mt. Ngauruhoe, it is 7,516 ft. high, and from the best I could tell there aren’t any quivering, flaming black eyes located anywhere near it. While Mt. Ngauruhoe doubled as Mt. Doom, the surrounding bits of Tongariro National Park provided the scenery for Mordor, the fiery and terrifying volcanic wasteland that serves as the home of evil.

As it happens, Tongariro is actually pretty cold, even during the summer months. Lacing up my hiking boots at 6am with about 100 other trekkers, the morning dew had frozen and blanketed the campervan beneath a thin layer of frost.

“Weird”, I thought. “There’s not supposed to be snow in Mordor.”Actually, back here in reality, Tongariro is home to Whakapapa ski field, one of only two areas on the whole North Island of New Zealand which receives enough snowfall to warrant ski lifts and groomed runs. Though Mordor is colder in reality than in the movies, the threat of volcanic eruption is still very real.

Nearby Mt. Ruapehu is an active enough volcano that warning signs scattered around the park advise skiers what actions to take should the mountain decide to go all volcanic and bubbly during their mid-winter ski session. A legitimate concern, the mountain last experienced a major eruption in 1996, and volcanic lahars–essentially boiling rivers of mud–have been known to push their way down to within a few feet of chairlifts which regularly carry resort guests.

And, since Tongariro is still comprised of active volcanoes, it would make sense that there are hot springs, sulfuric lakes, and places where steam rises straight from the Earth.

As I enjoyed a lunch of sweet chili tuna (why don’t we have flavored tuna in the US?) above the turquoise (and toxic) Emerald Lakes, it wasn’t hard at all to see why the Lord of the Rings scouts chose this place. A sea of multicolored cinder, the entire landscape is bathed in that oxymoronic volcanic quality where new earth appears to be old; just because it isn’t covered in grass doesn’t make it old, but, in fact, too young for organisms such as grass to have taken root.

Though Tongariro gets pigeonholed nowadays into Mordor tourism there’s still much more to the park than volcanoes and moonscapes. Many places in the park are actually fairly green and lush, and on the trail out to Tama Lakes it’s possible to be surrounded by volcanic, sub-alpine shrub land and still sunbathe at the base of a cascading waterfall.

Or, if trekking across barren cinder flats isn’t quite classy enough, you can always retire to the historic and ultra-elegant Chateau Tongariro and listen to the tunes of the grand piano played next to a roaring fire. Constructed in 1929, the Chateau was originally a luxury outpost for outdoorsmen and adventure seekers aiming to explore the beauty of the island’s volcanic highlands. Today it’s still possible to book a room at the Chateau or simply call in for a glass of wine, an entrée of lamb, or, of course, a panoramic view of Mordor.

Though the silver screen has made this place famous as of late, Hollywood was far from the first organization to recognize the beauty of Tongariro. Wanting the land beneath these mountains to be preserved and maintained for eternity, it was the Maori chief Horonuku Te Heuheu Tukino who in 1887 first gifted this land to the New Zealand government to preserve and protect the sacred alpine ground for generations to come.

From Maori chiefs to mythical hobbits to active volcanoes to a wayward vagabond touring the country in a campervan, Tongariro National Park is a magical place to find yourself when given the freedom to roam.

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

Stand up paddling with stingrays in New Zealand’s Murderer’s Bay

by Kyle Ellison on

Though Captain James Cook was the first European to set foot on the islands of New Zealand in 1769, he was not the first European to “discover it”. That honor would belong to Dutch explorer Abel Tasman who sailed past the country while navigating the Southern Ocean for the Dutch east India Company in 1642.

Blown off course by a strong easterly wind, Abel Tasman first sighted the northwest reaches of the South Island of New Zealand and thought he may have stumbled upon the bottom part of Argentina. Confused but intrigued, Tasman decided to make the most of the discovery and arranged an expedition party to be sent ashore to gather fresh water.

Unfortunately, the expedition was met by a band of native Maori people curious of the tall ships which had suddenly appeared off their coast, and after a hostile skirmish which historians have attributed to multiple cultural misunderstandings, Tasman sailed from the area with four fewer men than he had arrived with. As a result of the incident, Tasman saw it fitting to label the area as “Murderer’s Bay”.

360 years later, I ruminated on this violent turn of events while stand-up paddling above a gray stingray languishing in the tidal shallows of Murderer’s Bay.

On a brilliantly sunny and calm morning in which it was possible to stare straight through the turquoise waters, I found myself paddling in nearly the exact same spot where Tasman’s men had met their fate so many centuries ago. No longer referred to as Murderer’s Bay, with the discovery of gold in the region in the 1850’s it was prosperously renamed Golden Bay, and the name has stuck ever since.

Located in the sunniest region of New Zealand, Golden Bay is still somewhat of a secret when compared to neighboring Abel Tasman National Park. Although the Tata Islands–rocks that sit just offshore of Golden Bay and are covered in fur seals–are technically still part of Abel Tasman National Park, Golden Bay offers the same South Pacific setting as it’s crowded counterpart, yet for some reason there is hardly anybody here.

Except, of course, for me and the stingrays.

%Gallery-146107%With my wife and I swapping between a stand up board and one man kayak, the peaceful sound of waves lapping gently across the rocks is a stark contrast to the bloody encounter which once took place here. Completely alone as we paddle beneath rock archways and haul our water craft onto empty white sand beaches, the nearest we have been to violence all morning was a nesting shag bird dive bombing me when I paddled too close to his rock.

A fur seal here, a stingray or shearwater there, I realize there is nothing about this place that makes me think of death at all. Just like Kaikoura, Golden Bay is alive.

With the afternoon breezes introducing an audience of whitecaps to the bay, it was time to head ashore and point the caravan towards the far reaches of Farwell Spit. A 26km stretch of constantly shifting sand which is a favorite of the packaged eco-tourist trips, we instead hopped into a friend’s white ute (pickup truck) and bounced our way over the well-graded dirt track to Wharariki Beach, an expanse of sand dunes and rock formations which technically lies on the island’s wild west coast.

It is difficult to convey just how other worldy and exactly how empty Wharariki Beach really is.

Sure, there are a handful of tourists scattered here and there meandering amongst the dunes and the caves, but from a distance, the red sweater or purple tank top they may be sporting look no different than colorful scraps of paper blowing along the base of towering rock faces.

My local Kiwi friend who has brought me here, Nick, occasionally will surf down at Wharariki when the wind and waves are right.

“You ever get anyone else out in the water here?” I breathlessly ask, still utterly in awe of the place.

“Nah, never mate. Nobody wants to drive out this far. That, and nobody knows about it.”

As I watch a solitary fur seal exit a cave set in one of Wharariki’s massive boulders, and with the sun perfectly illuminating the stone archway pointing out towards the tempestuous Tasman Sea, I question out loud why more travelers to New Zealand don’t come here.

It’s no longer Murderer’s Bay, you won’t get killed by local Maori, but amazingly, 360 years after having been “discovered”, the place still feels like a wayward cove etched on an early explorer’s map, still waiting for someone else to find it.

For 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.