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Rotorua Mud
It smells like what it looks like Awesome. Woke up with a hangover on my first morning of annual leave (why do I
always get drunk before I go on holidays? maybe it's a celebration thing.). Anyway, after spending seventy nine hours dropping james on and then trying to get off the shore... I was good to start packing. Except my washing machine broke. With half my potential luggage in it. Fine.
Off to St Lukes to hurriedly buy half a suitcase of cold weather gear whilst spending as little money as possible. After trying four or five places I -once again- found myself in Hallensteins. Why do I even bother looking at other stores? I know I'm going to just end up in there and I know I am going to end up walking out with the cheapest moo-moo/man-tent they have available. Today was no different. Some five year old blonde boy named Sam kept handing me the next size up/out/in until I finally goldilocked my way into a new pair of pants (which I will no doubt end up wearing to work). They're not exactly Jean Paul but hey... at least they'll match my Warehouse parka.
Mum's flight was delayed so I loitered in
The Scene of The Crime
Call that a sign? I have CLIENTS that send through better copy. the florist at the arrivals gate listening to my new Iriver. The fantastic thing about portable music is that you do not have to feel guilty about ignoring shopgirls. You can just pretend you didn't hear them talking over the music! That was $450 well-spent, right there.
The drive through the Waikato was exacty as you would expect. Drunken teenage mothers driving too fast on the wrong side of the road, utes with mullet drivers tailgating you as you overtake livestock trucks, endless roadworks, hysterical and absurb christian propaganda on home made billboards (I sure hope none of you have had an abortion while I was away. Otherwise I'll see you in Hell. Apparently my people are going to Hell. Which I guess means it has a really good interior design scheme.)
So we finally arrive. And let me just tell you my first -and lasting- impression of Rotorua. It has the worst food in the world. And I am including Abu Ghraib in that sweeping statement. We have only eaten in pubs because they are the only places that serve food that don't start with the words 'Kentucky Fried' or 'Novotel'. Which means all we have eaten
Polynesian Spa
Harnessing the healing properties of the smell of ass. are nachos, burgers and squirly fries made from frozen mashed potato.
Then next thing I want to complain about is the lack of lakeside drinking. Honestly... It is one of the two jewels in the crown of New Zealand Tourism and there is no where I can get a glass of pinot gris in view of the lake. In Queenstown the entire lake is made out of pinot gris! Lame. And I asked absolutely everybody... They were all really apologetic and then warned me not to take my own liquor to the lakeside because of the liquor ban ("sounds like a challenge to me!").
Oh yeah. And the whole town stinks of ass.
Here are the plus things...
This morning I dropped my mother at the Polynesian Spa and went off driving/taking photos until I came across a cafe named 'Frodo's'. I don't need to tell you how much I enjoyed that.
So I picked mother up after her ass-mud replenishing wrap and we drove off to ass-valley. (Yes. I know what that sentence looks like if you take it literally.) Te Puia was actually mildly interesting the second time around... If only because I
Te Puia
The Maori version of Francis from Malcolm In The Middle. Seriously. Identical. But Maori. can't smoke anywhere in the thermal valley. God forbid my cigarette smoke offend someone as they inhale freshly steamed ass... Or god forbid I set fire to something on the thinnest piece of the earth's crust found anywhere above sea level, making it among the most volcanic places on the planet.
After Te Puia, mum apparently had a brief mid-life crisis and we headed out to the Agrodome so she could get in that massive swoop thing and do the freefall simulator. It was here that the real shame began. My mother -who has broken every limb, suffers from arthritis and currently has a pinned and plated ankle- was so much better than me at the freefall simulator that the oddly attractive operator felt the need to point this out to me several times. But whatever... It was expensive fun and I wasn't paying.
We ate dinner at The Pig and Whistle -which the concierge assured me was where all the corporate types hang out- and followed this up with some drinks at Fuze... Where some drunk woman from More FM mistook me for a woman and gave me a half-price 'ladies night' drink coupon. (I blame the
Thermal Valley
Mum pretends it doesn't smell like what happened to the nachos. man bag. Mum bought me a hand made man bag in Krakow and gave it to me the other night. I blame that. I definitely don't blame the rapid weight gain in all the appropriate female places.)
And tomorrow we are off to Wellington where I will hopefully find some food that is not cooked and served in a pub. I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: "But a dangerously underweight individual such as yourself shouldn't have to think about these things." Sue me. I do. And if I don't get a chance to head to Starbucks (free wireless internet) then the next post won't be until the glaciers.
But enjoy! I partially miss some of you.
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