So I hope that with this, my third installment, I can finally finish recounting just the first four days in NZed. Now, where was I...?
We had one final stop before we reached our hotel for the next two nights. We hopped off our bus into the vaguely sulfuric air of Rotorua at Rainbow Springs, a kind of quasi tourist trap/micro zoo. We encountered a rather impressive number of birds and lizards. Among the animalia seen through glass, netting or fence: several kiwi birds, a kind of ultra-destructive parrot called a Kea, one of whom, named Jenny (thanks for remembering Browning), had to be kept by herself in her cage because she had killed the last two males that the staff had put in her cage, some trout, and a lizard called a tuatara that breaths about once a minute and lives on average around 300 years. While the cage where the tuatara were did have three lizard-looking animals, in the 5 minutes or so that I stood observing none of the three of them moved. I stipulate that they were dead, but our guide told us that sometimes they remain, unmoving, for several days at a time... sounds like a thrilling life style. Social gatherings of the tuatara might rival the dullness of Tolkien's Ents. Having passed through the maze of birds and beasts and arguably dead lizards, we boarded the buses for the last time that day.
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| swans. |
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| waterfall. |
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| a statue with striking similarity to the blogger. |
At last we arrived at the Sudima Hotel. With our rooms actually ready for us upon arrival, we took our bags to what could only be described as palatial suites in comparison to our accommodations from the night before. These luxurious crash pads that rival the best that Motel 6 has to offer would be our homes for the next two nights. Equipped with three beds, a double, and two singles (one with a mattress and one with what more closely resembled in terms of comfort a deck chair), our rooms reeked of the stench of the sulfuric lake not 200 yards away. Windows opened to encourage ventilation, I met up with my posse from the night before and we headed out on the town to find dinner. Coincidentally walking directly away from the odoriferous lake.
We located a restaurant/pub which offered agreeable choices, ordered at the bar, and took seats outside. It was here at this fairly average Rotoruan establishment that I had my first taste of New Zealand cider, a delicious and nutritious (not really) beverage would soon become my standard go-to at drink-serving institutions. For those of you unfamiliar with "cider," I would describe it as a mildly carbonated, only slightly apple tasting drink more like a sweet sparkling wine than the apple-derived drink we have in the States. In any case, I thought it was magnificent. Dinner was excellent. Now that we were all quite comfortable with each other, conversation was never a problem. With hunger satiated and thirst quenched, we headed off towards a non-pungent lake where we were told we could find a ice creamery with the local flavor hokie-pokie. Now it may stun several of you, particularly those who have seen me eat ONLY ice cream for a good 5+ consecutive meals at college and those aware of Will Lawson's 3 gallon challenge, to learn that of our little group I was the only one to resist the temptation of the sweet goodness of ice cream. Ice cream in hand, we headed down to the dock to gaze out and marvel at the incredibility of where we were. The scene itself, while undoubtedly beautiful, was not so much the topic of conversation as was our collective incredulity at the fact that we were in New Zealand. [Even as I write this, it still amazes me that I'm here.]
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| Sunny Sarah, Jono, Northern Leah, Young Oliver, and Southern Browning |
As the day drew to an end and the temperature began to drop we headed back to the Sudima Hotel... or so we thought. On our journey back the melodious tones of live music wafted out from the Plucked Pheasant, down the street, and into our ears. Unable to resist what we concurred later is one of the most undeniably enjoyable things in life, we were drawn in to a hole-in-the-wall venue for another cider, or three. After appreciating the jammings of a rather talented guitarist/vocalist and an excellent drummer for a couple hours we decided it was time we move on to another location. Curious to see who we had been rockin out to I took a glance at the poster outside. Much to my surprise, Michael Barker (ex John Butler Trio), comprised the drum half of the music duo Swamp Thing. (This might not mean anything to you, but if it does, be impressed.) At this time we gave up on our initial attempt to return to the Sudima for a change of clothes and instead began our search for the infamous Lava Bar. After a journey which could be called nothing but misguided, ambling, and lengthy, we happened upon Lava Bar. Although I will spare you the details of the rest of the evening for they are hard to recreate through words and most likely only appreciated by those who had the (mis)fortune of being there, I will assure all parties that we talked, we danced, we drank, we sang, we talked danced drank some more, and then we did it all once more again. A jubilant time was had by all and when it came time to walk back, we were none too enthused. And not only because of the round-about way we came to Lava meant that we had no idea how to get back to our hotel. Luckily, Young Oliver seemed to have a pretty firm grasp on the bearing of the Sudima, and we were more than willing to let him take command (slash have some one to berate when we inevitably got lost). Amazingly we took a more or less direct route back to our hotel and ended the night with a sit on the "beach" of the sulfur lake.
Day two in Rotorua began bright and early, not good things for someone with as much of a distaste for mornings as I. Awaking to not a wake-up call, but a phone call with Maroon 5 playing at the other end (not a good start), I put on my best "go" face and made my way to breakfast. Returning to our horseless chariots, we took off for Waiotapu Geothermal Wonderland and the Lady Knox Geyser. Words won't really describe either well, so all I will say is that the geyser was cool and Waiotapu was very strange. It did not feel like a place that belonged with the rest of the Earth... very extraterestrial/Star Trek kinda stuff. I definitely think that something very similar to this exists on Tatooine (ultranerd Star Wars reference). So yeah, just look at the pictures:
Back to the buses and the Sudima for lunch and group photos (yay!) and then, surprise!, back on the bus. While most of our experiences thus far could be classified as cultural, natural, or educational. What many had been looking forward to most fits into exactly none of these categories... they call it "Zorbing." for those who aren't familiar with this activity, imagine a grassy hill, no more than 150 or 200 yards long with a fairly steep grade -- enough that one would realize that he/she should probably go to the gym more often of one were to walk straight up it. Now imagine at the top of this hill a big clear ball, maybe 20 feet in diameter. Now imagine a smaller chamber of maybe 6 or 7 feet in diameter inside this ball. Now using your imagination, put some water in that chamber. Now, add to the mix three people in their togs (Kiwi for swim suit) who are about to become a lot more chummy. Lastly, give the ball a mean push. As one can imagine, the ball does in fact follow the suggestions of Dr. Newton and rolls down the hill, quite quickly actually. It sounds crazy, but its actually a lot of fun and the risk factor (Mom, you'll appreciate this) is next to none. Buses again.
Following a shower and freshening we headed off to the Tamaki Maori (pronounced in a way that it rhymes with now-ree. Not May-Or-I) Village, a recreated village in the hills around Rotorua. We experienced what is called a Hangi (similar to a Hawaiian Luau) and were told about many traditions and practices of the Maori people. The meal part of the hangi was phenominal. Cooked in an underground pit so that everything from the several kinds of meat, to the potatoes, to the vegetables had a vague hint of earthy smoke. Now quite dark the buses returned us to our hotel, but not before making all different nationalities on the bus sing a song (or several in the case of the Irish and Scottish) that represented some part of their native culture. Needless to say the aforementioned nations were big fans of pub songs, 'twas quite entertaining.
Excited for another night out on the town, but aware of the toll the previous night had taken on our wallets, several of us chose to invest in some surprisingly good, though awfully sweet, boxed wine. This was an excellent plan but for the miscommunication on who was buying the wine and how much was to be bought. Luckily it was not a deficit of wine that we experienced, but an excess. Reserves had to be called in in order to assist with the consumption. It struck me how college-y we were drinking our boxed wine when I noticed that of the 12 or so of us taking part, there were a grand total of two actual wine glasses. The rest of our crew was using an impressively ingenious mixture of nalgenes, tumblers, empty plastic bottles, and thermos tops. One might call this, "drinking on a budget." Ready and energized to head into town our group which by this time numbered well into the twenties took off. Gradually breaking down into several smaller groups who all thought they knew the best way to get back to our venue from the night before, our little ensemble actually did know the best way. This was both good and bad, bad because we arrived well in advance of the rest of our friends, but good because we ended up at a table with some Kiwis who were convinced, rather easily I might add, that Kiwi Justin was in fact a pretty famous American actor. The rest of the night was filled with laughter and dancing and a good time was had by all. On around 4 AM, Big Tim, the North/South ladies, and I realized that we were the only ones left at Lava Bar and that it was probably time to head back to the Sudima... just in time to get a hearty three hours of sleep before our 7:15 AM wake-up call. Saying a reluctant farewell and goodnight to Northern Leah and Southern Browning, for they were bound for Aukland the next day, Tim and I found our beds and zonked.
Sunday, February 18th. I don't remember much of what went on before about noon, (around the time we landed in Dunedin) mostly because it is hard to remember things when one has one's headphones on in order to drown out other people's noises and one's sunglasses cover one's eyes in order to mask that fact that they're sleeping. Exhausted from a night of dancing that -- for those of you familiar with Shrine Mont -- would make Paul Keister proud -- and for those of you familiar with Lower Elm or the Sawyer 6-man -- would make Timbo Slice proud, this pretty well described me for the first five hours of the day.
The luck we experienced in Aukland when all of our bags arrived safely from LAX was short lived. In fact, I was among only about ten of the 30 students going to Dunedin who actually received their bags from our connecting flight in Christchurch. The plane we had taken from Christchurch airport was in fact too small to be able to take the bags of the rest of our group; they would have to be delivered the next day. Outside the airport we were split into three groups depending on where in Dunedin we were going to be flatting, loaded into vans, and taken to our flats.
[As this concludes the orientation part of my NZed experience, I think I will draw this post to a close.]
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