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Published: February 28th 2018
Maori Lodge
Little sleeping occurred hereSam graciously dropped me off at the local train station so I could ride back downtown. After I mistakenly grabbed a Canadian $5 bill out of my wallet, the ticket counter man asked if the Canadian dollar was actually called the Loonie. I tried to explain that it was only the one dollar coin but I’m not sure he believed me. Perhaps we should start a petition to have “dollar” changed to “loonie”, same as the movement in Australia to change their currency to the “dollar-y-doo”.
My tour was set to start just outside of a hotel by the wharf. I had about two and a half hours to kill once the train arrived so I was rather disappointed to hear that the hotel didn’t offer a bag check service unless you had stayed there the night before; not even for a nominal fee. I of course thought of several snide remarks I could have made after dragging my suitcase out of the lobby. But you all know me. I’m too much of a chicken shit to say anything rude like that to someone’s face. No, I’ll just write about the experience later all passive-aggressive like. Take THAT hotel desk
lady, with your stupid… uh, uniform. BURN! But it was I who was burned since I had to wander around the wharf looking like a dork with my suit case trailing behind me.
After breakfast I moseyed back to the hotel to find the tour bus. Time to meet new friends. As people filed onto the bus it became more and more difficult to remember the slew of names flying around. I don’t think anyone on this green earth is good with names. Every time it’s the same; in one ear out the other. “Hello, I’m Mike.” “Hello Mark, I’m Tyler, nice to meet you.” “Likewise Trevor, the pleasure is all mine.” But having the benefit of the last 24 hours to be re-introduced to people several times, I can tell you I’ve met a BMW salesman from Denmark, a police officer from Adelaide, and a high school graduate from California but living in France. We’ve taken to calling ourselves “the United Nations.” I’ve also met people from Calgary, Ottawa, San Francisco, Chicago, Singapore, the Philippines, and Germany. We would all be learning a lot about each other, especially the first evening. Allow me to explain.
The first
night we would be taking in some Maori culture in the city of Rotorua, located in a geothermal hotspot which subsequently smells of sulphur all the time. Upon arrival, we would partake in a traditional ceremony to welcome us into the tribal “family”. The ceremony involves the hosts singing to our group to which we are required to respond in song. That is why we spent the bus ride from Auckland learning the “Friend’s” theme song off by heart. Coincidentally I have now used up my lifetime’s tolerance for this song. Our rousing choral performance was followed by the Hongi, essentially a Maori handshake where you briefly touch noses. Thankfully everyone smelled acceptable and I don’t think I breathed out on anyone too awkwardly. We also got to learn how to do the Haka, a Maori war dance, after dinner. At the end of the night we all got to sleep together in a giant lodge, summer camp style. And of course there were some trucks downshifting, er, I mean, snoring, emanating from the darkness. I had ear plugs which kind of helped but others weren’t so lucky. Our group awoke to find someone asleep outside on the front porch.
Post Waterfall
I'm the one choking in the middle above the raft Thankfully the north island isn’t very buggy.
In the morning we began our daily activities. A large contingency elected to go white water rafting on a river which included a 7 metre water fall. Out of 6 boats, 5 capsized while going over. I think the guides were doing this on purpose. They sort of prepare you for this, with the seemingly the appropriate “brace” positions. But when I went over I let go of the boat and I have to admit that for a second while swirling around underwater I was scared. “Where’s the air?” I began to think. I made it though, with some minor coughing. I lost my paddle and one of the standard issue water shoes, but they both somehow made it back into our raft once we got upright. All in all… it was awesome.
Next it was off to Hobbiton. If I’m honest, I’ve never been much for the fantasy genre but I figured this was a pretty unique to New Zealand kind of experience. I was surprised to learn that the movie set for the original trilogy was made of temporary materials and was more or less completely demolished at the
Hobbit Hole
Feet might be hairy enough but I think I'm too tall to be a hobbit end of filming. Despite only having a few remnant pieces of the set left, the area become a place of pilgrimage for fans of the series. So when Hobbiton was to be rebuilt for the Hobbit trilogy, they decided to make it out of more permanent materials so people could enjoy it long after filming had wrapped. The attention to detail in some cases was obscene. There was a fake oak tree with over 250 000 hand painted leaves. Many are surprised to find out that there is no interior to these hobbit holes but at the end of the day this place was a movie set, not a model village. The tour finishes off with a complementary beer or cider at “The Green Dragon” and a run through the gift shop. Best item for sale: a doormat which says “You shall not pass”.
The United Nations reconvened for dinner downtown at a Thai restaurant, and then most of us went back to the hotel relatively early. It had been a long day preceded by a sleepless night. Despite being a tropical country the hotel didn’t have A/C, so we had to settle for leaving the door to the
Bee
Bzzzzzz porch open all night. The sulphur puts right to sleep. Or at least that what the hotel pamphlets should say. My feet dangled off the end of the bed so sleeping was… challenging. But if I all I wanted to do was sleep I’d have stayed home.
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