Day 71: Taupo to Rotorua

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I mustn't count my chickens. The place could suddenly start pulsing to the sound of a wild party, as the Criterion did. Or I could wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. Rotorua's air does bother me. I don't think it's going to bother me any more than city smog does, but I could be wrong.

But so far I really like Rotorua Central Backpackers. At first I thought it too had a bit of a traffic problem, though not as bad as Blackcurrant's, but then I realized that my bedroom window was open. I have a huge, acceptably-soft bed on the ground floor, and the place has steam heat. (Thinking about it further, of course the place has steam heat. What else would you have in a geothermally active area?)

Rotorua Central Backpackers also has a hot tub, which will definitely help my shoulder recuperate.
It's a very hot hot tub, and perhaps the other guests don't like a hot tub on what is to them, at 78, a hot day. At any rate I've been out twice and I haven't had to share it yet. It's three feet deep, and I astonished myself by being able to get out of it unassisted even though it had no interior step. It helps that the water level is almost up to the top of the sides; you can very nearly float out.

I spent the morning at Blackcurrant, huddled miserably first in the kitchen and then in the DVD lounge. Blackcurrant was a wonderful place and I recommend it to anyone who isn't hypersensitive to traffic noise, but after five days of Taupo's constant vibration my shoulder was red and swollen and stiff, and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and ride out the waves of pain. I'd had to take both codeine and ibuprofen to get to sleep last night; I don't like doubling them up.

At 1 p.m., I rolled my suitcase to the bus station, by the correct route, which was much shorter than the route I'd tried to take to get to Blackcurrant originally. I had an hour to wait. At first I tried to read Cherry-Garrard on my computer, but I was hurting too much to concentrate so I gave up and just sat there.

Two buses arrived at once, one an ordinary Intercity bus and the other a double-decker, like the red buses in London (though it was painted in Intercity colors). This was the first double-decker bus I'd seen in New Zealand. Mine was, however, the ordinary bus. The driver was kind enough to let me put my luggage on before the half-hour rest stop began, so I was free to wander about the station.

I got a good seat on the bus and the hour-long trip was not as bad as I'd expected. I was well braced and near the front of the bus, farthest from the engine. We drove past mountainous pastures filled with cattle, mostly Herefords from the look of them.

To my astonishment, Rotorua's visitors' center turned out to have a currency-exchange booth. There must be an astonishing number of tourists here. Nevertheless, when I went to the grocery store, a very kind woman gave me a ride back to Rotorua Central Backpackers when I asked her for directions. I had gotten turned around and I was about to set off down the wrong street entirely. I always find it harder to concentrate on things when my shoulder is hurting.

I suspect I'm not in a very good part of Rotorua. There's an escort service next door and a police station across the street. But at least, with a police station right across the street, I shouldn't think much could happen, especially in daylight, and I don't plan to be out at night.

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