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Published: December 15th 2014
Lady Knox Geyser
Spewing into the wind. Some gasp at the smell.
"Rotten eggs," the say, spewing their words with such distain as if the acidity lingered on their very tongues.
"Who let off a sulfur bomb?" I heard an American say, languishing on a park bench. I pictured him gasping for air on a school bus of unruly teens, suffocating in the stench as he tried to put down one of those unruly windows.
This odoriferous city for me however sparks endless memories of my youth.
It's watering the vegetable garden in the dead heat of a Tennessee summer while the humidity drips down my temples. I take the hose and douse it over my curly brown ponytail for a euphoric release.
It's washing my parents cars in the driveway, Joy dish soap foaming over the sides of the bucket, and a hint of lemon in the air. I had to wash BOTH vehicles to earn five dollars to go to the roller skating rink Friday night.
It's running through a sprinkler in the backyard, trying to avoid the puddles caked with pine needles and cones. It's a water fight that usually ends with my brother Matthew wheeling the hose on
his siblings after one of us dumps an entire buck of water over his head. No one heard him say that he wasn't playing nor cared that he was fully clothed. It's washing Buck our golden labrador retriever after he's rolled in and attempted to eat a dead animal. The odor of our backyard well was a relief compared to the smell of wet dog fur caked with skunk.
I wouldn't say that I love the smell of sulfur, but it has a warmth and a friendliness to it.
Being a geothermal hotspot, the streets of Rotorua, New Zealand are wafting with a sulfuric aroma. In Kuirau Park, there was a maze of steaming water pools and mud baths that were literally boiling. The city made use of this natural energy and created an area of benches where visitors can take off their shoes and soak their feet in warm pools or walk around in them. A majority of the seeping crevices were fenced off with appropriate "Danger" warnings, their boarders lush and inviting, the brush thriving on both the moisture and the heat.
Meandering through the park was just a tease. I am a sucker for
hot tubs despite them being cesspools of bacteria and chemicals. Seeing the steam rise from the water into the cool air made me want to dunk more than just my feet in. I was soon headed across town to the Polynesian Spa to do just that.
This facility boasts being the only spa with access to the Priest Spa. The spring got its name from a priest, Father Mahoney, who claimed to have been cured from arthritis after soaking in its waters back in the 1800's. I paid $27 for a day pass to the adult pools. In this area there are seven pools fed by two different hot springs including the Priest Spa. Some pools are more acidic than others, each steaming with minerals said to have therapeutic qualities, and ranging in temperatures from 101 to 107 degrees. My favorite pool overlooked Lake Rotorua, with steam bellowing on the surface, blending into the rolling hillside draped like a curtain in the backdrop.
After a few hours at the spa, the sky started to trickle. I made my way to a cafe. I ordered a french press and settled into a comfy chair, outdoors, under the awning. The
View from the Pool
Soaking in a hot spring, the view was perfect. rain rolled over the ledge like a wall, falling onto the hard concrete a few feet from where I sat. The air had a bite to it, but my body temperature was still soaring from my hours of soaking. Huddled up with my fleece coat across my legs, I had my hands cupped around my steaming beverage. The rain was soothing, and I spent the next hour writing in my journal and filling out postcards. Once the weather cleared I walked around the city, past another park, across streets oozing with tourists in ponchos, and even past a rugby bar which brought me more joy than I can say.
In my travels ... I have found that the unexpected adventures and unplanned detours are the most rewarding.
Having been on the road alone, I was ready for the company of fellow travelers. As I passed through Hobbiton, I called ahead and booked two nights at a hostel in Rototrua. Having nothing to go on, I chose the Funky Green Voyager simply because it was the top pick from the 2010 North Island Lonely Planet guide book I had. The Funky Green was a little out of the city center which I found refreshing. The environment was warm and relaxed. Backpackers, travelers, and seasonal workers gathered
around the large dinning table in the cozy communal area. They shared hummus, chocolate cake, and stories of adventure and travel. I was invited to join in as if they had known me from weeks before.
I was impressed with how laid back and organized the Funky Green was. There was obviously a lot of thought put into the functionality of the kitchen, managing waste, and meeting the needs of each guest. They had a composting bucket for food scraps that went to feed pigs; they had a take-a-book leave-a-book shelf; the internet was decently priced; and there was an adorable courtyard with a pavillian and picnic tables. The dorm beds were clean and comfy, and they provided coin lockers, though I never felt like I needed to lock anything up. The kitchen was equipped with all of the cooking necessities. They even sold eggs for 40 cents each and beers for a few bucks, and right across the street was a grocery store where you could buy fresh produce and other necessities. The people who worked there were extremely friendly as well. They were very helpful in setting me up with discounts and directions to the places I
Green Waters
Lake at the end of our hike through the reserve. wanted to visit.
It ended up raining both nights, and the cost was only a few dollars more than staying at a campsite. Over all I was very glad that I stayed at the Funky Green and would recommend it to anyone passing through.
On my way out of town I had to stop in Wai-O-Tapu, home of the Lady Knox Geyser. It was a 20 minute drive, and I left about 30 minutes before the estimated eruption time. As I weaved around the 5 motorway, I noticed that I was surrounded by a redwood forest. Baffled, my eyes rushed over the young giants. I had heard some of the backpackers talking about going mountain biking in the redwoods, but my mind was to overloaded to absorb the realty of the conversation. Having grown up under the canopy of redwood trees in northern California, I felt a sense of belonging.
I turned into the carpark of the visitor center with 10 minutes to spare. I rushed to buy a ticket so I could get back in my car and drive to the actual location of the geyser, about five minutes up the road. When I got to
the end of the narrow road, the carpark was full. I had another 5 minute walk to the actual site and saw that I was not the only one running late. A herd of tourists with large cameras bouncing around their necks was also making a run for the trail.
Seeing the geyser is a "must" according to Rotorua visitors and a copious number of brochures. Having never actually seen one in my life, I decided it was a worthy venture. Now I don't want my photos of the geyser to be misleading. Romantic and singular is the last thing this experience actually was. As I skipped down the dirt trail under the canopy of brush, I pictured the glade opening into a solid base of stones, grass, or
something natural. I imagined I would be standing face to face with the spout of the geyser as it spewed like a water gun, erupting from the earth and into the heavens.
But, no. My whimsical hopes couldn't be any further from the truth. As the path ended the clearing opened into a massive area with arena like seating. Over a hundred tourists sat and stood on the wooden
Anke and I
Soaking in the two streams that collided outside the reserve. benches stacked like rows in a stadium. In front of the staircase of seats, was a lone mound barricaded off by a wooden fence, as if on display at a museum. It looked like a volcano a middle schooler would make for a science project constructed out of paper mache, standing three feet high and white from a hundred baking soda and vineager eruptions. The audience silently huddled up with their SLRs, GoPros, and camera phones aimed at the geyser as if it were about to spew at any second. Ten minutes passed and nothing happened. The low murmuring of the crowd was broken by an occasional tourist scolding another for blocking their view by standing on the bench in front of them, or wearing a tall hat, or breathing to deeply.
As civil unrest was about to embark, a park ranger emerged onto the stage. Microphone in hand, he shared a humorous little story about the history of the geyser and the founding of the park. Then he poured soap into the top of the crevice to spark the eruption. He continued to address the crowd for another few minutes while the geyser began to bubble over. It
Champagne Pool
Love the contrasting colors. took about five more minutes for the geyser to hit its max height.
At this point, the restless tourists oohed and awed. Cameras flashed as if we were at a red carpet event and Bilbo Baggins had just emerged from a limo. Then, as soon as the geyser began to settle the flashing stopped. Immediately a mass majority of the people flooded from the arena. Though not at it's full height, the geyser was
still spouting into the air. As they headed to the trail and out to the carpark, I wondered if they had spent anytime actually looking at the geyser, not through a camera lens, but with their own eyes.
Moral of the story: If you are late, take your time. There is no hurry and you really won't miss much. Once everyone leaves, you will have all the time you want to take photos and stand in the falling mist of the spewing geyser.
I made my way through the dwindling crowd and to the fence line. The geyser was now only a few meters high, bubbling at the base with water flailing angrily in the wind. Knowing that it should be a natural
wonder, the whole experience seemed so uncomfortably unnatural: the arena, the restless tourists, the waiting, the ranger, the story, the soap, etc. I stood watching the water gurgle and spew as the remaining people crowded about me taking selfies. I wanted to be inspired, to feel empowered, and to be in awe of nature, but my soul could not muster it.
As I turned to leave, my heart was feeling slightly heavy and out of sorts. It was then that I saw Anke, a German girl who had also stayed at the Funky Green. We had not connected at the hostel but we both recognized each other at the base of the geyser.
Anke was also traveling alone and we were both thrilled to have a companion to explore the thermal reserve with. We hiked every inch of the trails, passing bubbling mud baths, looking into the frothy champagne pool and staring in wonder at the lime green pool on the way out.
It turns out that there is a not so well known soaking place just outside of the thermal reserve where a river of hot water collides with a river of cold water. Anke had
Hidden treasures
Soaking in our secluded hot zone heard about it from some locals, and was meeting a few others from the hostel there. She invited me to come along.
We parked on the side of the narrow road just after the bridge. Then we following a small trail that went down a wooden stairway that went down to the edge of the water. To my surprise, only a few people were in the water. I dipped my toe into the stream; it was soothing like the luke warm of murky bathwater. We stripped to our swimsuits and meandered between the two rivers to find the perfect temperature. Brush rose like a canopy above us, making the experience quite secluded and private. Shortly after, the others joined us and we braved the warmer side of the pool. The stillness and solace was exactly what I had hoped to find here.
In my travels, I plan to visit certain destinations and explore specific places, but I have found that the unexpected adventures and unplanned detours are the most rewarding.
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El Eterno Caminante
Greg
Simply...
Stunning beauty! Great blog and pics! Keep it up!