The Medlands arrive in New Zealand

We had little time to dwell on Christchurch and it's empty centre, as we were picked up by Med's parents who had come out to meet us. It was family holiday, round two. And we were excited.

In a blur of plump sheep, gorgeous views and wispy clouds, the four of us drove to the township of Akaroa. Located on Banks Peninsular, south east of Christchurch, Akoroa sits on pretty harbour inside the eroded crater of a huge, extinct volcano.

As well as its hills and seacapes, Akoroa's charm is all borrowed from France, with French names, quaint shops and delicious food. So, the Medlands, coming from Guernsey, were quite at home!

After a couple of days of luxury, dinners out and wind-kissed walks along the coast, we headed onwards to explore the South Island, stopping off at the infamous Sheffield Pie shop for a warm and tasty treat.

We drove along the high mountain pass on the main divide of the Southern Alps to the picturesque, alpine village of Arthur's Pass, passing through broad plains, braided rivers, dramatic gorges and majestic mountains.

We settled into our cosy home-stay at Arthur's Pass, where the high, tussock-covered slopes are carpeted with wild herbs and alpine flowers and the Southern Alps form a dazzling backdrop of serrated ridges, roaring waterfalls and suspended snowfields.

Here, we met the park’s most infamous resident: the kea. This pesky alpine parrot has a very inquisitive nature and likes to fossick leftover picnic tit bits and strip rubber fittings off cars. Even the flowers outside the local restaurant had to be guarded from the mischief makers by chicken wire.

After a hearty, home-made breakfast in our home-stay, we headed to Franz Josef, stopping off pan for gold in a river, once the scene of a gold mining sight. We didn't find our fortune there, but we did come away with a few gold flecks and a small, smooth jade stone from the gold panning organised by the information centre. Well, gold beggars can't be choosers.

Franz Josef, our final stop of the day, is a town of 300 souls that takes care of the hundreds of thousands of tourists who descend upon the region to explore the nearby glaciers.

We pulled into our hotel, with the mist-laced mountains of the Southern Alps looming overhead. We had surely stepped into the movie-set for King Kong, an ethereal wonderland of lush ferns and heavy clouds. As we ate dinner that evening, the snowy peaks unveiled before us and we felt a twinge of excitement for the next day.

That evening, the boys took themselves off into the bush to spot the world's rarest kiwi in the wild (and happily it was mission accomplished, 20 mosquito bites later), while Audrey and I relaxed in the thermal spa - three, hot pools nestled in native rainforest and fed with pure, glacier water.

The next morning we walked across glacial rocks ('morrain', for you geographers out there) to the foot of the Franz Josef glacier. The Maori people know Franz Josef as Ka Roimata o Hine Hukatere (Tears of the Avalanche Girl). Legends tells of a girl losing her lover who fell from the peaks, and her flood of tears freezing into the glacier.

They must have been some tears, the glacier is huge and extends for 12km, fed by a 20-square-kilometre snowfield. We squinted up at the vast, frozen river leading from the tops of the mountains to the valley below, with its striking, natural ice sculptures and jagged peaks. The morning sun slowly crept across it's crests, throwing light on it's blue, frosty surface.