Advertisement
Published: February 22nd 2009
Edit Blog Post
As if being situated just a few hundred meters above boiling lava wasn't hot enough, the day I rolled into Rotorua, temperatures hit a scorching 40C. Rotorua is the hot spot (literally) for thermal activity in New Zealand, emmiting that wonderful (gag) rotten egg sulfur smell, which I started to get wind of when I was still 16km away. Despite the smell, Rotorua offers every kind of bathing you can dream up; from theraputic mud baths to exploding geysers, cure-all lukewarms waters and mineral cooking holes.
This region of the bay has a longstanding Maori history. Mostly because the hot springs always made it a great place to live, tribes fought over the precious water which kept them warm in the winter and cooked their food. Today, the population of Rotorua is still comprised of 35% Maori peoples. Tourists flock here to visit fabricated 'Maori villages', where locals don traditional clothing, perform the haka and poi dances, and serve up traditional dinners consisting of hangi (steam cooked meat and veggies heated by buring hot stones in the sand). Seeing one of these performances is a 'must do' for someone visiting Rotorua, and after learning the haka when I was in Japan,
I felt the need to check out one of these uber-touristy places so I could see the real thing. I found one place, called
Te Puia, which seemed the most ethical to visit, because your heafty admission fee ($50) goes to fund a weaving and carving school for apprenticing Maoris. The performance involved a demonstration of what it would be like if you were to visit a Maori village in pre-colonial days. Visitors, while welcomed, were always treated at first as potential enemies, and so it was custom that when you visited a village, the natives would do the
haka, a kind of chanting and dancing that demonstrates the tribes' ferocity and strength. A sort of 'this is what we can do, so don't fuck with us' kind of dance. The haka is something you just need to see in person to really understand, as it involves a lot of slapping and floor stomping, and incorporates every muscle in the body, especially (and to the delight of the tourists) bulging the eyes and sticking the tongue out. After being sufficiently 'put in our places' by the performing men, the women emerged from the background and did a
poi dance, spinning
balls on strings in rhythm to the music, an exercise that demonstrates dexterity.
For as much as the culture gets a little exploited here by the tourism industry, I'm glad to see the core of it still lives on in the heart of most modern Maoris. Tattooing has always been a big part of their culture, particularly face tattoos, which convey rank, information about heritage, and local story telling. The face tattoo, called a
Moko, was traditionally applied in early adolescence with a chisel and ground black ink . I spotted my first moko on a girl at the grocery store. With blackened lips and drips of waves running down her chin, it looked as if she had just bit into the heart of a whale.
The weekend I arrived in Rotorua coincided with Waitangi day, the controversial 'national holiday' of New Zealand, which celebrates the signing of a treaty between the British and the Maori tribes. What is controversial about it is that the treaty effectively robbed tribal leaders of their authority and the Maoris of their land. This was because when the treaty was written. the Maoris received a differently worded translation from the British treaty to
sign. Since the British version was the one that was upheld, it gave the crown the authority to take and sell the Maoris' land up from under them.
Disputes about this still go on today, and just this Friday, two Maori protesters accosted the Prime Minister as he arrived to commence the celebrations, grabbing his arm and collar. He only had three bodyguards on him, all who, by comparison to the US secret service, looked like a bunch of boyscouts. To think that protesters were even allowed to get that close to the Prime Minister illustrates one of the differences between ways of life New Zealand and the US.
Because it was Waitangi weekend, when I did roll into Rotorua, I found that all the accommodation in the entire city was booked solid for
Raggamuffin, a huge reggae fest that had hit town. When I saw the lineup, I couldn't resist taking the opportunity to go check it out. So, with my girlie charm, I was able to coax a camping park to make a spot for me and my bike, and skipped away to the festival.
Arrested Development was just starting their set as I walked in the gates,
playing all the old favorites ( a ten minute long rendition of Tennessee) and threw in some Marley covers, like redemption song, probably for street cred.
Shaggy came up next, prancing around like a madman with a microphone in his pants. I never was really into Shaggy, but, I must say, he was taking the piss out of those New Zealanders- hilarious.
By far the best performance of the evening was by the legendary Eddy Grant. I danced until I could dance no' mo'! And just cuz you always need a little desert after a fine dinner, Ziggy Marley closed the night out with an hour long set, performing half his own and half his fathers songs. He's a splitting image of Bob Marley, and definitely keeps the spirit alive, although he borders on political a bit too much to enjoy dancing to it.
Most of the people at the festival were local Maoris, and I met some really cool Polynesian Rastas who liked to dance as much as I did. My impression so far of Maoris is that they all seem really kind, with sincere hearts, and very into strong family ties and traditions. Everyone seems to be everyone
else's cousin, the community forming one big family.
Despite the heavy tourism, Rotorua is thus far my favorite city in New Zealand; hip, relaxed, and with a Hawaiian flare.
The area around Rotorua is dotted with lakes and forestry fit to be right out of a Lord of the Rings box set. I spent my last day in Rotorua exploring the outskirts by bicycle. Within a twenty kilometer radius, I happened upon lakes of emerald and turquoise, a buried village from the latest volcano explosion, and even a forest of Californian Redwoods.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.187s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 12; qc: 40; dbt: 0.1211s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb