Real Kiwi’s are not easy to see, ask any New Zealander and chances are they haven’t. So we gave up wandering through dark forests and went to the Kiwi breeding sanctuary in Rotorua. It was a smart choice as they had eggs, day old chicks, adults and all sizes in-between. Liz went a bit goey-eyed at them and implored me to smuggle a little one out, but I said “they probably just taste like chicken, why bother”? As you drive round Rotorua steam spirals up from vents all over the town, pools of boiling mud are all around and minor earthquakes a common event. The locals are oblivious and are very happy to take your silver coins and show you round their homesteads, some of which they accept fall into the smoking earth when hopefully they
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