Each week, Elisabeth Easther meets the people in the Kiwi tourism industry.
I was brought up north of Kaukapakapa in a place called Glorit - it's so small it's not even a village. Growing up on the family farm, I went to a typical country school and lived the whole farming lifestyle. It was a lot of hard work but every year, mum and dad would pack the car and for three weeks we'd go camping somewhere really remote.
One year we went to Taputaputa Bay near Cape Reinga. Every night we'd have dinner really early, then get in our tents and shut them up, because the mosquitoes were so horrific. It was pretty hardcore but we'd driven all that way, it would've taken about eight hours in the old Chrysler Valiant, towing a pop-up trailer camper, and mum would've said: "I'm not packing up so we're going to stick it out."
Probably the worst holiday, at least I thought it was at the time, was when I was about 16 and Mum and Dad decided to take us tramping to Waikaremoana. That first day is pretty much all uphill to get to the hut.
The last section is wooden steps, and because Cave Creek had just happened, DoC had shut the steps and we had to go the long way. So we take this detour, we're kids who've been tramping all day, we're carrying all our own gear, it's 5pm, the detour is not well marked, and it's starting to get dark. I'm losing the plot and dad, a farmer, just says, "get over it, we'll be fine, it's just over the hill". And it was raining. After that, the rest of the trip was absolutely fantastic, but if someone had come along that night with a helicopter, I'd have taken it.