A mystery tour of New Zealand, guided only by recommendations on Twitter, took in everything from glow worms and active volcanoes to burgers and dirty piesIt is a quarter past midnight on a street 11,000 miles away and I have found myself leaning against a wall between a drunk Israeli student and a tramp. There is also a puppeteer called Ben, fiddling with his wallet.I am filled with optimism."I'm very much looking forward to this burger," I say to the Israeli guy, and he smiles, nods and says he is too.Because this burger is no ordinary burger. This burger is apparently quite out of the ordinary. It's a White Lady hamburger, sold from the side of a long, white single-decker bus down a half-dodgy street near a car park. It's a burger with a 60-year history, recommended to me by a man I don't know ? a man linked to me only by the internet ? but it's a burger that when I research it, seems to deserve its kudos.According to the Lonely Planet website, out of 180 things to do in Auckland, having a White Lady hamburger from a long, white single-decker bus down a half-dodgy street near a car park has been voted the number one thing to do. And not just that ? out of 870 recommended things to do in the entire country of New Zealand ? a country of indescribable beauty and incredible history, a country of rugby, and wine, and vista upon vista upon heart-squeezing vista ? this street/bus/burger experience comes in at number ?"Did you know this is the number one recommended thing to do in the whole of New Zealand?" I ask the drunk Israeli. He gives me a look that implies I've just asked to lick his chips, then his burger is ready, and he takes it and leaves.Mine's next. I bite into it.The burger is good.I have not travelled to New Zealand for the hamburgers. I am not boasting when I say I have ready access to hamburgers in London. But I have come here because it's just about as far away from home as you can get. And I'd wondered to myself one day ? what would you do, with no real plans, just about as far away from home as you could be, with no guidebooks or tour guides to rely on? Could you just ask people's advice? Rely on the experience, the kindness, the wisdom, of people just like you?That's the question I asked. And that's how you end up 11,000 miles away leaning against a wall between a drunk Israeli student and a tramp.My first tweet ? sent from the Air New Zealand lounge right before the flight ? simply said where I was going and asked for any tips, in 140 characters or less ?One of the first replies came from someone called @LADollhouse: "Auckland? White Lady hamburgers! Oh! How I yearn for her wares! Go, fall in love, then report back."It seemed poetic. It seemed personal. Filled with love and passion.And New Zealand seems to bring that out in people. I'd been once before, several years ago, when I'd spent a few months on the stunning, rough and windswept Great Barrier Island ? but the island was all I'd seen. The passionate recommendations for places to visit, epic landscapes to take in, were always there, always offered ? but I never managed any of it. So this, I'd decided, would be Twitter tourism. I'd rely on locals and visitors alike. If something sounded good, I'd go. If something sounded bad, I'd probably go too. As long as it was a personal recommendation and I could make it work, I was there. I would tweet in Auckland, and then I'd tweet my way south in a country known for adventure, until I reached my final tweeting destination: the top of a thousand-foot hill, in southern Hawke's Bay. A hill by the name of Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamatea haumaitawhitiurehaeaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhen uakitanatahu.Because even if you used its abbreviated nickname ("Taumatawha katangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuak itanatahu"), it's still a very long place name indeed ? the full version, at 105 letters, is the longest in the world ? and when it comes to tweeting, I rather like a challenge.Auckland. 11am. Jet-lagged, weary, I check my phone. My Twitter tourists ? my distant pocket oracles ? have come out in force, with advice that comes thick and fast, free and easy, courtesy of 70,000 helpers stuffed in my pocket."Walk up Mount Eden!" cries @Phoemail. "Great views of the city!""There's a pub called The Bog that does amazing Guinness!" says @brendanpwalsh."Once it's dark," says @Ninja_Lynneja, "go to the Birkenhead Ferry Terminal ? the city with all its lights looks so pretty from there!"It all sounds fun!"Get to a service station and have a dirty pie!" says @ScrambledBeks.Nearly all of it sounds fun.So I begin. I take a cab to Parnell for a pint of Guinness in The Bog, where I meet a man named Pat who tells me he likes Stephen King and volleyball. I take in the city from its highest peak; the top of Mount Eden, a towering, dormant volcano, accompanied now by that puppeteer called Ben who has seen my tweet and offers to keep me company as I climb. And later, after obeying tweets that introduce me to a local beer, an underground bar and a comedy club, I take Ben to a white single-decker bus down a half-dodgy street near a car park, where I have the Cheeseburger, he has the King Burger, and a drunk Israeli drops most of his Egg Burger near a bin as he stumbles away."Where are you off to next?" asks Ben.So I ask Twitter."You should stop in Paeroa for a photo by the giant L&P bottle!" suggests @bernie10 ? and maybe a dozen other people ? the next morning.I say I will. L&P is a soft drink made with lemon and mineral water from the small town of Paeroa. I decide Paeroa must be rather beautiful and wonder if I should stay the day there. And then I read very many tweets which tell me it isn't, so I won't.I've decided to drive as far as Tauranga today ? four hours south, on the coast. On my mind is an intriguing tweet from a @mrdavidwhitley, whose profile tells me he's a travel writer from Sheffield, which implies he both knows what he's talking about and might turn to violence if I don't obey. He suggests if I'm headed towards a place called Waitomo, I can paddle into huge dark caves by night, until the moon and the stars are hidden, and the only light is the light of a million glow worms ?I have never seen a glow worm. I have never paddled through a huge dark cave at night. This all sounds better than a dirty pie in a service station.So I Google it. Waitomo is not on my way. But Tauranga is ?I step out of my tiny rental car on the charmingly named Puke Road and stare up at the giant L&P bottle. Lemon & Paeroa's slogan is "World Famous in New Zealand" and the locals seem proud of it. Many of them sit in a cafe opposite, eating chips and drinking ? I would hope ? L&P.Someone called @westderby suggests I try the local food, "like Maori bread and feijoas!", and as I climb back in the car @babzzarella demands I drive to nearby Waihi beach. I haven't planned to. It's out of my way. But an hour or so later, there I am: sitting on a beach I would never have seen, drinking feijoa juice I would never have tried, with some hot, fried Maori bread in the car, cooling next to a bottle of L&P considerably smaller than the one on Puke Road.And once I've taken in the waves and the warm breeze and the cosy isolation of the beach, I head for the Bay of Plenty, towards the glow worms and the gentle, calming world of the night-time kayak."JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?""What?" shouts the man next to me, panicked.We are bobbing about on Lake McLaren, near Mount Maunganui, in the pitch black but with little lights strapped to our heads."Something just span through the air and thudded into me and span off again!" I yelp. "It was heavy!""Huhu grub," says Blair, my guide of the night, and a hardy Kiwi who doesn't scare easily. "Nasty little thing."Well, this is terrific, I think. Thank you so much, @mrdavidwhitley, for suggesting I kayak off into the darkness where there are huge and spinning nasty huhu grubs.But ? I am having the most amazing time. The temperature drops quickly on the lake, and the insects are large, confident and seemingly hungry, but the magic of the caves has me and my five fellow tourists on a high. Out across the still waters we've paddled, the moon high and bright, until all light has faded and the first few glow worms can be seen, their little bodies like curious eyes peeping out from the trees. Deeper in the caves, we've stopped in stunned silence and looked around us, the walls now lit up by a million tiny lights. It is like looking at a strange, bright planet from space; a satellite image that changes and moves with the moment.Sometimes the advice you can get from strangers can be about pies, or pints, I think. But sometimes ? whether it's a quiet lunchtime on a beach or a moment in a cave you'll never forget ? it can lead to something just a little bit spellbinding.The next morning, bright and early, I inform my advisers that I'm back in the car and heading for Napier, and wine country. But there is one thing to do on the way.I drive out to Tauranga airport, where a man named Ross is waiting for me. He's wearing shorts, and he has the wrists and watch of a proper man. You know what I'm talking about; he has trustworthy forearms. They're forearms you'd want nearby in a crisis. Which is just as well, because at the behest of Aucklander @benjaminjfrost, I'm about to get into a helicopter to fly to New Zealand's only active marine volcano, White Island.It's a 30-minute flight and after just moments I gasp as I spot sharks in the clear water below, too close to the people on Papamoa beach for my own comfort, never mind theirs.And then we see it. There, in the distance, like something from a film ? perfect and daunting on the horizon, pure white smoke billowing and trailing in the air. We fly closer, until it becomes impossibly big, and we round it once, before landing in a place as alien and strange and unwelcoming as can be.The first thing I realise, standing on this volcano, is how small I am. People say they feel that when they look at the stars, but all it can take is a rock here on Earth. I am tiny. A speck. Not one of us could have an impact on any aspect of this island. The smell is overpowering at times ? the sulphur weighing heavy in your throat ? and the noise and heat and terrifying power of the smoke that shoots from the rocks brings with it nothing but awe and a hard hat. Everything about this place is like a slight to humans: don't even think about it; this is no place for you.But it is stunning. It is horrible and it is beautiful. It is also a very unusual thing to do with my day.Four or five hours later, I get out of my car in Napier. I ask for advice once more. I decide that tonight I will watch the 64-year-old mayor of Invercargill do a 45-minute stand-up set in a pub by the beach, but for now ? the wineries. I hire a bike and visit a few ? I forget what happens after that.And the next day I drive to the place with the longest name in the world, and I meet a Maori lady who tells me its history and what it means to them. She says it means, "The place where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, who slid, climbed and swallowed mountains, known as Landeater, played his flute to his loved one."I climb on a quad bike and I'm driven to the top by a former pearl diver named Mark who once met Buzz Aldrin, and I look out at some of the prettiest countryside I've ever seen, while long, grey clouds play with and shift the light around us. I get my phone out."I'm in Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaun gahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu," I tweet, which takes bloody ages, and then I thank them for their help.And on the way back, I stop at a service station, and I try that dirty pie.? dannywallace.com/fotoblog; on Twitter: @misterwallaceAucklandNew ZealandAustralasiaTwitterDanny Wallaceguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2011 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
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