There's a world to explore

By KATHRYN HUNT*

Just before sunset each evening in the dozens of anchorages around Vava'u, Tonga, there's a strange popping sound competing with the chirruping of roosting flying foxes. It's the sound of corn popping, as yachties work their way through the popcorn that won't be allowed into New Zealand.

More of the stuff is consumed in those waters than in all the cinemas in London's Leicester Square. The two small supermarkets in Neiafu are scoured for New Zealand-produced tinned meat, but the rice and honey stay firmly on the shelf.

Radio airwaves will be atwitter each morning, with cruisers asking for information from those sailors who've already made the 1930km crossing, and are safely anchored in New Zealand. What did they take? All quite unnecessary, as everyone has picked up from local bars the glossy, well-produced packs issued by the New Zealand Customs Service and MAF, the most informative we've seen so far in 13 countries and 28,970km of cruising.

That New Zealand protects its environment and agriculture, especially considering the sorry state of farming in my own country, can only be applauded. Eating popcorn every evening is a small price to pay.

When we left Britain in May 2000 - myself, my husband and two daughters, then aged 7 and 9 - we were heading for New Zealand as part of a world trip, which had been more than 10 years in the planning.

We sold our home in Weymouth, Dorset, jammed everything we could possibly need, and more, into our 30-year-old wooden ketch, Willy Bolton, and set sail.

Why New Zealand? There was some deep-seated sibling rivalry at work here: my brother-in-law married a New Zealander, and emigrated. An ex-ship's captain, he has, over the past 15 years or so, become increasingly enthusiastic about life in New Zealand.

Every time New Zealand beat Britain at rugby or cricket - let's face it, all too regularly - the phone would ring at an unearthly hour in the morning, so that brother-in-law could crow. Apparently, to judge by the length of his calls, on a special celebratory cheap rate.

What better way for his younger brother, my husband, to beat him at his own game than to sail out to visit him?

Throughout our 18-month voyage, we described our main goal, New Zealand, as "the land of milk and honey". The land of cheap but skilled refits for boats, the winner of the America's Cup when our own poor Royal Dorset Yacht Club couldn't even raise an entry. The land of kiwifruit and delicious crunchy apples with irritating little stickers. The land of Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, she of the mellifluous voice and that hat. The land of the kiwi cuddly toy and the clicking Buzzy Bee sent by auntie for Christmas. The land of tramping holidays and skiing jaunts, until now seen only on family videos. New Zealand had, for us, a lot to live up to.

And getting here was not without its pleasures. We've seen beautiful scenery: lush forested mountains in Madeira and white, palm-fringed beaches in the Caribbean. We've been astonished by feats of engineering, such as the Vasco da Gama suspension bridge in Portugal, which stretches an amazing 16km over the River Tagus. Best of all was our transit of another incredible piece of engineering, the Panama Canal.

We've admired elegant cities, Santander in northern Spain and Lisbon in Portugal being among our favourites. We've snorkelled over coral gardens, dived with turtles and swum with designer fish and magnificent manta rays. We've photographed fantastic and unbelievable wildlife in the Galapagos Archipelago. Jess was even invited to ride on a giant tortoise - there aren't many children in the world who've had that privilege.

In the beautiful Pacific Islands we visited - the Marquesas, French Polynesia and Samoa - we were entertained by traditional dancing and lively local music. We admired intricate woodcarvings and watched black pearls being farmed. Sadly, the jewellery was beyond our budget, but I contented myself with a necklace from the mother-of pearl oyster shell.

Best of all, we've met a parade of interesting and friendly people. Obviously, it helps to speak the same language, so we were at a distinct disadvantage in Spanish-speaking countries. But we got by surprisingly well in French Polynesia - the locals seemed to understand our school French, which made a refreshing change from the blank looks we used to receive in France. Possibly it was because we were all speaking a second language.

With communication in mind, we studied the glossary of our excellent Lonely Planet Guide to New Zealand, and practised one or two of the phrases with our Kiwi cruising friends. At least we have the advantage over some American cruisers - they're still trying to come to terms with a bonnet being a part of a car.

The sailing to Tonga hadn't been without its challenges, but the voyage from there to New Zealand is notoriously difficult, with its potentially adverse winds and quickly changing weather. Like most crews, we checked in daily with the indomitable Des of Russell Radio and gleaned every piece of weather information from every available source. We endured the one gale we couldn't avoid, and survived.

During the crossing, which took us 13 days, we ate our last banned supplies - I was sustained through lonely night watches by honey sandwiches while planning sightseeing trips.

When we finally arrived, we welcomed aboard the customs and MAF officials to inspect our empty, newly washed lockers. We then set off to the nearest supermarket, to replenish our stocks of, among other things, milk and honey - locally produced, of course. We still can't face popcorn.

* The Hunt family is touring the South Island and plans to sail to Fiji and Australia next year before returning to New Zealand to settle.