Like a bat out of hell

After milford, we headed down to Invercargill, which is the south coasts main town. It's midway along the coast, and we thought it might be a nice little place to stop off and spend some time.

We were wrong.

Invercargill is a bit like how I imagine somewhere like scunthorpe to be. It's a bit of a dead end town, it looks nice enough as you drive in, but soon reveals its true colours. We went straight to the visitors center to find out the best place to camp, and when given a choice between paying $25 each to stay out of town, or $8 a short walk from the center, the cheap option won.
Our campsite was a strange little affair, situated on an old race course, however the nearby walls covered with razor wire, did look a little odd. We soon discovered we were flanked on one side by the town prison, and on the other by some kind of half way house for the weirdos. When alexia's mum rang later in the evening we neglected to inform her of the camps wonderful neighbours, and instead focused on the lucicous grass we got to camp on (we guess due to all the horse poo over the years). Interestingly, the cheapest roadside deal we've seen for horse poo is 50 cents a bag for part rotten. If anyone needs some shipping over, just let us know.

After treating ourselves to a slap up dinner of bangers and mash, which made us both feel sick having not eaten that much 'real food' for the past 2 months, we turned in for an early night only to be kept awake by the symphony of boy racers screeching up and down the main road.

The next morning we left.