J00sterJournal: Here comes the bride! And a herd of sheep...

In the native Maori language New Zealand is known as Aotearoa, which roughly translates to "the land of the long white cloud", much to the mirth of our sun-drenched neighbors across the ditch in Australia. Let's face it, not only do they have better weather, they're also better at the really, really important things in life. Like swatting a cherry-red ball over a rope with a stick of willow... for five days in a row. Or waltzing with what Wikipedia would call a "bag of goods slung over one's back, usually by a swagman". Or winning so many gold medals at the Olympics that every four years the IMF has to adjust their trade flow database to classify Australia as a net importer of gold bullion instead of an exporter. Heck, the only time you'll see an Aussie and bronze together is down at Bondi Beach when you're ogling another perfectly tanned Eastern Suburbs brat.

But you know what, you can keep your overpriced houses and your snazzy shopping malls. You can keep your low-slung Holdens and all those buckets of dirt that you ship off to China as fast as you can dig them out. Because on a day like this, there's no better place to be than a tiny slice of paradise called Mt. Maunganui, New Zealand.

What do you call a paradise within a paradise? Paradise Squared?

In a forgotten land, in a age of magic, there were three of them. Men of action they were. A grizzled fighter, from the misty border lands. An elusive elf, yearning for the forbidden adventures of the mortals. A resolute cleric whose holiness does not preclude the use of pointy daggers to augment his spell book. Men of epic deeds they were. Like making sure the pizza arrives hot at late night D&D session, no matter how foul the wintery Palmerston North weather.

Which way to the Dragon's Lair? Screw that, what's the number for Pizza Hut again?

Apparently it's ok to be weird Down Under. Punch lines are always funnier upside down. Except perhaps this one.

It's not hard to see why The Mount, as Mt. Maunganui is affectionately known, is one of New Zealand's favorite playgrounds. It's got it all. Great beaches. An extinct volcano to climb. Great fish and chips. Hot babes...

Do I spy a galleon of war out there me hearties? How about you turn that spyglass towards shore and spot us a fish and chips shop. After all, you do realize the chances of Kiera Knightly being on board are somewhat slim, seeing as there's a lack of gratuitously CGIed medusas lurking around.

The Mount in all her glory. No gollums on these volcanic slopes folks, just the verdant drapery of New Zealand's own Silver Fern.

All roads lead to the Mount. Preferably with a detour to the fish and chips shop.

Don't waste all your energy strutting the beach ladies, there's still a volcano to climb. And Rock may look a bit like Samwise Gangee in the girth department, but don't think for a second that means he's going to piggy back you all the way down.

It may not have a corner dairy churning out thick shakes, but the shade sure does feel good with the sun making mockery of that elusive long white cloud.

In most parts of the world, views like this come attached to million dollar condos. Out here if you can work out how to open a rustic gate with a sheep-proof latch then it's yours.

When you live in 800 square feet and everything under the sun can be delivered right to your door, it's easy to forget there's a whole wide world out there where a delivery means it's lambing season.

Nice digs. With sweeping views of the harbor and the Mount, there's no need for the TV. Which is a good thing; how can Kiwis live with less than 900 channels?

Time to get down to business. The real reason for the trip is the long awaited nuptials of Whitney and Captain Kirk.

Hate to break it to you gents, but the Secret Service isn't really required out here in little ol' NZ. The biggest threat in these parts are the sheep droppings that are doing their best to claim a coveted Axis of Evil membership card, via a well orchestrated campaign of terror against the bride's footwear.

Let's roll out team!

Three down, two to go. Who's next?

Which way is it again? There's more than one paddock out here.

Just follow the snazzy dresses folks. Actually on second thought, follow any snazzy dress but this one. If you can get lost in the Palmerston North Square, your chances on the slopes of a volcano aren't exactly crash hot.

At least no one will have to feel guilty tucking into the cake later; this could be the first wedding ever where guests actually lose weight.

Here at Team J00ster we've been lucky enough to travel the far corners of the world - from the jagged peaks of the Himalayas to the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean; from the towering skyline of Shanghai to the quaint villages of Bavaria. But across all those time-zones and over all those oceans, we can say with some authority that there's no better place to tie the knot than the grassy slopes of the Mount on a spectacular autumn day.

A long, hot climb comes to an end. If you thought it was bad, take pity on the bridal party; they're doing it in high heels!

Dodge uses his cunning game theory algorithms to compute the best way to minimize opportunities for inane small talk.

Some last minute words of advice from the father of the groom: "You'd better learn to tie your own tie mate, because despite what the movies suggest your wife ain't gonna do it for you".

The waiting begins. The tension mounts. And mounts. After all, climbing a volcano in a wedding dress isn't exactly a five minute job.

The bemused herd of onlooking sheep have never seen glamour like this before. And probably will never see again, short of the sheep drive up 5th Avenue.

Where's Dodge when you need someone to compute every possible permutation of family groupings?

Lucky they had a two for the price of one special on floral arrangements.

Captain Kirk to the bridge! Hang on, those pesky Romulans can wait, there's an incoming wife off the starboard bow.

Walking your daughter up the aisle is one of the proudest moments of any father's life; walking your daughter up a mountain has got to count for double.

Here comes the bride!

The ceremony is short and sweet, simple but elegant. The latter is not something you usually say about a sheep paddock, so well done to Kirkney for having the vision to see a wedding chapel where most would see a picnic patch.

It's official. You now have the legal right to nag each other for the rest of your lives.

The first steps of a new life together are special. Must be why they're keeping such a close eye out for sheep droppings.

It's a rare day that the Mount is upstaged, but today she has to play second fiddle to a stunning girl in blue.

It's been a long day, but that's still no excuse for eating the flowers.

A round of applause for Grandpa and Helen, who flew in all the way from Kansas City for the big event. And a second round of applause for their heroic efforts in making it up the mountain. No elevators out here folks.

Cool hat, very Don Draper-ish. Hang on, you just got married, don't get any ideas...

Big Oil money makes a rare appearance outside of the Houston country club circuit.

Five years ago to this day it was someone else's turn to tie the knot. How time flies, unless of course you're reading this blog, in which case the chances are you've got some to kill.

Which set of parents are breathing a bigger sigh of relief? It's a dead heat we suspect.

Spot the runaway bride.

Time for a quick refresher before the reception. Jared does his best to turn what is already an un-manly drink into something best saved for places like New York where certain types of "alternative" weddings are now legal.

The guest list is a who's who of international high society. From the penthouses of midtown Manhattan to the oil country mansions of Texas; how can Tauranga airport cope with so many private jets?