Here I am, New Zealand! But totally at the wrong time. Winter has already begun, and we can feel it. I need five days to rest and build my bicycle up, until I finally decide to make my way to Akaroa, the only originally french settlement in the country. I make my way on a nice, flat land. The landscape is actually pretty amazing: The trail goes through swamps on little wooden briges, some black gooses are resting on the water. Still, I have to hurry up: The weather becomes bad, it starts to have a lot of wind, it rains. Even I wear a lot of goretex, the best material against rain, I manage to get wet. It's still 5 degrees, but I feel extremly cold. I add some layers and hope to come back to Akaroa, my destination of the day. The hope is vain: I knew I had to cross a little pass, but it actually is on 500 m, and the road to the top is ... extremly steep. The only comparison I had was in Laos, where roads went up to 15-20%, and it was hell to cross. Still, I make my way, after two months without sport. The sun goes down - already around 17 o clock!! - and I arrive at 19 o clock to my hostel. Dead tired, the mood was rarely so bad. I decide that I'll probably skip bicycle in this country, I shall return in summer. Winter is definitively not the season to stand here without shelter!