Heading south from Manakau, we cruised down a lovely open, flat, straight motorway that was literally dotted with dozens of accident sites. The sites were marked with white crosses, and we estimated we saw just under 100 of them, on what appeared to us to be a perfectly safe road. There were a few crosses located on bends in the road that perhaps could have been dangerous at high speeds, but many of them were located on sections where it was straight and open viewing for a kilometre in either direction.

We drove into Hamilton and bought some lunch there, eating it in a park. While we were sitting there, a fellow came out of one of the offices and started to preach (read : yell at passersby) the good word of the Lord and hand out leaflets. There was an old man (about 80yo) near him and when the suit-clad 40yo finished his preaching, the old fellow took over and tried to hand out leaflets. After a while though, he was forced to give up as a large group of freakishly dressed people representing the McGillicuddy Party arrived and blasted trumpets, and banged on drums and sang some weird song. We’re not exactly sure what the McGillicuddy Party is, but since it was election time in NZ, we assume they are a joke party set up for the express purpose of getting down to parks at lunchtime on stilts, dressed like clowns, in order to play the trumpet…

We departed just as they really got going, and continued our southward travel for a short distance. Just south of Hamilton though, Trav spotted some large cartoon cows standing in a field beside the road and so we had to stop and get a picture of them.

Another stretch of driving brought us to the township of Otorohanga, which is the home of the Otorohanga Kiwi House. We decided to stop and have a look, since we saw no other way to get up close and personal to the well-known icon of New Zealand, other than wriggling through dense undergrowth in the middle of the night, without making a sound. We paid our money to go in ($8 each), and Di’s eyes lit up at the sight of a small basket containing duck food for $0.25 per bag. Obviously there were ducks somewhere out there in the remainder of the bird house, so we had to get some duck food as well.

Luckily one of the three kiwis was right up the front of the enclosure, because the other two up the back were nearly invisible against the dark brown background of the walls. The enclosure was set up as a nocturnal house, and brown birds on brown leaf litter against brown walls are not easy to see through tinted windows.

Once out of the kiwi house and back into the light, we made our way to the pond where we found the ducks would eat the food if we placed it in the palms of our hands. There were a couple of ducks that would frantically try to get as much of the food as possible, and if fingers got in the road, so be it. Fortunately, ducks don’t have a mouth full of teeth, so it was more of a surprise to get a nip than actual pain. Di later admitted that she was glad the kiwi was first because the ducks were better value.

There were several other birds in the park, such as falcons, harriers, owls, wekas, keas (large parrot), and kakas (looked almost the same as keas) which had been injured and brought to the park for medical aid. Ultimately, most birds in the park were destined to be released back into the wild, so the entry fees were going to a worthy cause, in our view.

At the Waitomo Caves, we found our first really good Kiwi accent with the guide showing us through the place, and secretly giggled each time she pronounced “cave” as “cuv”. There are many stalagtites and stalagmites within the cave, but the main reason they are famous is for the resident glowworms. These glowworms use bioluminescence to create a light source at the end of their tail, which attracts other insects toward them, mistaking it for daylight and a possible exit. Below each glowworm are a series of sticky threads that catch these flying insects and provide food for the glowworms.

After wandering through the cave formations, we boarded a boat on the stream that flows through the cave, and moved slowly under thousands of little glowworms on the roof and walls around us. We were told at the beginning of the ride that glowworms may go duller as a result of noise and light, so we had to be very quiet. Naturally, not all members of the population could understand this, and it was here that we found our SPOTD.

Actually, it was an entire family of two adults and two children that chattered the whole way through the boat ride and back. While everyone else in the boat was dead silent, as the guide quietly pulled the boat along using ropes (no motor because of the noise), these people did not shut up from the start to the end of the ride, spoiling the natural silence for everyone else. Dirty looks from ourselves and other members of the tour group failed to shut them up, so SPOTD rights were awarded to them.

The original plan was to stay at Waitomo for the night and then head off to Rotorua the following morning, but there were several hours of daylight remaining, so we changed plans and decided to move on this evening. We had been warned about the smell of Rotorua, due to the thermal activity, and we were expecting the worst. However, it was not until we were within the 60kph town speed zone that we could detect any odour. The smell also did not pervade the entire town, and we wondered why it was that the town was not moved 500 metres to the north, as there seemed to be steam and heat, but no hydrogen sulfide smell.

We set up camp quickly at the Cosy Cottage Holiday Park, although we chose not to take the option of the unique heated tent sites. Basically, the ground is so warm that grass will not grow on the surface, so these sites are easy to tell. The other technique for determining whether it is a heated site or not is to stick a tent peg in the ground for two minutes. When you pull it out, it should feel hot to the touch. Our peg was sort of warm, but it was good enough for us, and we pitched the tent.

We had decided to go and see one of the Maori concerts held each night, and we headed for Tamaki Tours because they’d been recommended by the Lonely Planet guidebook. This group has set up a pre-settlement Maori village which you walk through to get to the other buildings. Due to poor signage at the place, we missed the first five minutes of the tour, where there is a “challenge” (basically a bunch of Maori people screaming at you in a welcoming way), which officially makes you visitors to the village, and you are allowed to enter.

When we arrived, we went straight in to the village and followed the crowd as they wandered around the most cringe-worthy, god-awful excuse for entertainment we’ve seen in a long, long time. Basically the village was full of little huts, and in front of each hut were one or two Maori people, doing something traditional, such as doing a dance, or making spears, or singing. With a couple of hundred people (predominantly American and German bus tour groups) walking around, pointing and taking pictures of them, it felt like a sick zoo, where they lost their status as humans, and were regarded as animals. Perhaps if each component had been explained in some way, it might have been better, but as it was, it caused us to really wince in sorrow for the spectacle they were treated as.

After about 15 minutes, they stopped what they were doing, and headed down to a larger hut where one of them welcomed us officially in Maori, there was a bit of a concert, and some explanation of the weapons used in traditional Maori warfare. This was far more interesting than the previous component, as each one was described in detail. There was a small club, looking like a ping-pong bat that would at first glance seem relatively harmless, but was used by slamming it into your opponent’s temple and removing the crown of their head, in close hand-to-hand combat. Another spear was not thrown, but was instead used to deflect incoming thrusts of other spears and clubs, and when the chance arose, to disembowel your opponent. Charming…

From this part of the night, we moved on into the main hall where we were able to load our plates full with meat and vegetables cooked underground in a hangi. With potatoes, carrots, lamb, sweet potatoes, chicken, and fish, we were more than sated, and that was before the delicious pudding for dessert.

While talking to people working at the Tamaki village, we worked out there were two shows per night, and in the high season, there were four shows per night. A quick count of heads resulted in an estimate of 250 people in our group, and not all seats were filled. Even so, assuming 4 shows per night, 7 nights per week, with 250 people per show, each paying $58, that works out to a total of $58,000 per night, or just over $400,000 per week. We seriously doubt that the costs for running a show like that can really be anywhere near that figure, so it’s quite obvious the tourists are being milked for all they’re worth…

Back at the caravan park, we went for a walk down to the nearby lake and dug a hole in the sand about two feet from the water’s edge. About a foot down, the water that collected in the hole was too hot to touch, and the sand was very hot, yet the water in the lake was cool. Obviously the volumes involved were quite different, but it was still odd to have such ground warmth so close to the surface.

Onward to Taupo tomorrow…

Categories: NZ 1999, Travel