Before heading back to Argentina, we thought we'd spend a day in Colonia, a World Heritage Site described as a must-see day trip from Buenos Aires. It's a pretty little place, with cobblestone streets and lots of flowers, founded by the Portuguese in 1680 as a look-out to keep an eye on Spanish activities, and also to smuggle contraband across the water to the Argentine capital. So quite a chequered past. The main problem today is....there simply isn't that much to do. Even 24 hours is a stretch to fill – much like in Melaka in Malaysia, we spent most of our stay waiting for it to be time to leave again.

We did pay a visit to the lighthouse, which somewhat bizarrely is in the middle of town, attached to the ruined walls of an old convent. No explanation why. I like to think it was to catch escapee nuns, but I am sure the reality is based on geography, eroding rocks and whatnot. There was a nice view from the top, although not masses to see......The Lonely Planet talked glowingly about the city's 8 museums – we stuck our heads into a couple but they didn't look very good, so we decided to save our remaining pesos for nice coffee at “Colonia's best-kept secret,” a little cafe run by an Argentinian woman who had lived in Shepherds Bush for about 6 years during the economic crash in her homeland, returning a couple of years earlier. We reminisced about London and admired the enormous collection of English books lining her shelves (unfortunately not for swap or sale).

Our principle entertainment in Colonia came in the form of a couple of characters we met. The first was an American man called Robert, who judging by his appearance must have been travelling for some time: his dress sense seemed a little warped – lurid green wife-beater teamed with green shorts and a brightly coloured Peruvian-striped flat cap. He was also an environmental zealot, and proudly told us about the changes he'd made in his own lifestyle to minimise his carbon footprint – selling his car to use public transport and, more disturbingly, foregoing toilet paper for the old-fashioned “Indian method,” as he described it. That's hand and water, for you and me. Yuck. We resisted the urge to tell him that we were owners of an enormous carbon footprint, for fear of the consequences.....

Friendlier and better house-trained were the dogs we met in the centre of town. As those of you who've been following our travels will know, James has a bit of an affinity with dogs, and has made a fair few canine friends around the world. In Colonia it seems, stray dogs are more starved of attention (and food) than elsewhere. During breakfast we were befriended by one hungry mutt, who sat by our table the whole time, on the off-chance of receiving a titbit or two. James patted him on the head once, and that was it – friends for life. As we left, he followed us, and was quickly joined by a couple of others – a stately brown collie and a skinny black labrador. They followed us across town, making quite a grand procession walking alongside James, leader of the pack. I am not sure quite what the locals made of it, especially as at one point we were 5 dogs strong, walking down the busy mainstreet! The three loyal ones even waited outside for us whilst we went up the lighthouse, running off occasionally just to check we hadn't walked off without them. I don't think I've ever had such a friendly reception as I did when we returned – the black lab came scampering over, tail wagging frantically, and jumped right up on her back paws, front paws roughly on my chest, all the better to say hello. Very cute indeed.

As we were already pretty far north and had some time to spare, we decided to fill the tank and make a mad dash up the Aupouri Peninsula to Cape Reinga – where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean, and where Maori souls go when they die...

The Peninsula is around 100km long and 10-20km wide – a long spit pointing out from the mainland to the north-east. Its eastern coast has a few spectacular bays, mostly named by Mr Cook on his tour, and beyond the forests the western coast is lined by the unbroken sands of Ninety Mile Beach.

Most of the supposedly gorgeous scenery was hidden from us by heavy mists that floated in from the sea. As we drove further north the farmlands thinned to sheep-tended heath, and we left the mists behind as the road wound upwards towards the cliffs of the cape.

At the end of the Earth, there was a car park. We parked up. In the last ten minutes of our drive the temperature had suddenly dropped and more mist streamed across the clifftops from west to east. A suitably spooky setting for the entrance to the afterlife.

The Cape itself is marked by a lighthouse that watches over the merging of the Tasman and the Pacific like a referee. They don't play nice. Looking out over the water you can see slow giant whirlpools forming, white clashing waves and jagged zig zag tears where Sea and the Ocean meet.

Just to the east of the lighthouse is the most sacred site in Maoridom – an 800 year old pohutukawa tree growing out of a rocky outcrop. It is down through this tree's roots that Maori souls enter the afterlife. There were plenty of signs in the area asking us to refrain from eating, drinking or smoking whilst on the Cape out of respect for this sacred site. On the way back to the car park we met a group of young Maori guys who seemed pretty determined to flout as many of these rules as possible. Fags in one hand, Smirnoff Ice and Speight's in the other, they swaggered down the path towards the lighthouse in jeans and wife-beaters. One pointed out the tree to another with his beer; 'Yeah, so this is where our souls go when we die bro.'

On the way back down the coast we took a detour to get to the Ninety Mile Beach. It nearly proved to be a one way trip as the road gave way to muddy gravel, then sand. We parked the van before we got stuck, and walked out over the grassy dunes onto the beach. The sun was making a valiant effort to shine through the encroaching clouds, and the sand shone in the incoming tide.

After leaving the beach, we drove past a roadside stall selling Hangi in a Pie for $3.50.