It wasn't me
October 16, 2005Rotorua, New Zealand
7:20am
Yes after many Onemanas in a row, I am finally writing from somewhere different. No, I did not kidney punch Carol after her ninth drop in and drive off manically bobbing my bulbous noggin to Crazy Frog by Axel F (my new most hated song ever, I very much hope it did not become as popular back home as it did here in NZ), we are on a weekend road trip, and I am in a hotel room.
Rotorua, for those who look at a map, this means you Michele, is in centre of the north island, about two hundred kilometers south of the Coromandel Peninsula, south of our town of Onemana. The entire town sits on an abundance of geothermal activity, including explosive geysers, mud pools, fumaroles and hot springs. But truly to me, the best part about this town so far is it smells like one big fart. Steam escapes from cracks in the earth all over the city, releasing relatively harmless sulpheric gas into the air, making it smell like bad eggs, or really potent eggy farts. The smell is constant, but every now and then suddenly gets stronger, and it smacks you in the face like a drunken parent. It is gross, but very cool.
The other benefit of this constant smell of farts is that you can just let your own fly without fear of getting blame. I know I am not the only person to think of this. People walking down the grocery store aisle, from sexy yummy mummy, to sweaty construction worker, can let a squeaker out without fear of someone being behind them holding their nose and scolding them. I, of course, have been releasing gas with wild abandon, shrugging my shoulders when Steph looks at me accusingly, and simply saying….Rotorua.
The drive took about three hours with a stop in Katikati for a coffee and hot chocolate. We went directly to the information centre to see if there were any package deals we could get. The nice lady at the counter recommended some and we concluded to see the Maori performance at out hotel, which includes dinner, and we get entrance to the spa for free.
So it was off to the Polynesian Spa, a cheesy name for a bunch of thermally heated mineral pools, and one big freshwater pool with a slide for Hud to go down. We soaked and swam for just about an hour, feeling relaxed and refreshed from the mineral pools. After we located our hotel, which I booked online, and checked in with no hassle and relaxed in the room, trying to give Hud some down time before the show and dinner started later on in the evening.
At 6:45, a massive Maori man came into the lobby where we waiting with others, announcing his presence with a booming cry. His face was covered in ceremonial tattoos, it they were real, I have no idea, not that kind of dude you go and up and ask, and he was easily 350lbs, dressed in only a loin cloth, an outfit I can’t pull off anymore. He led us into the dining area, where we were seated with two other couples of the octogenarian sect, and offered white and wheat bread as appetizers. Yes I am a food snob.
The show began right away, and it was great. From beautiful Maori love songs to the really aggressive war dance Haka, made famous by the New Zealand All Blacks rugby team, it was very entertaining. Another entertaining part of the show was when they pulled lovely Stephanie on stage to participate in one of the dances.
She was great, following their instructions, shaking her hips and playing with her balls, the balls on a string that Maori women dance with. When they came into the audience looking for men to participate in the Haka, I quickly diverted my eyes and pretended to talk to Hud in avoidance of being volunteered. When they passed me up, I immediately regretted it, suddenly wanting to try the Haka, and mad at myself for being shy or chicken or whatever. I did the same thing at an ice show when I was like 7. It was amazing how familiar the feeling was.
The show came to an end with a resounding round of applause but not before the same huge Maori man announced there was a birthday in the audience and invited a woman up on stage to be recognized. She was maybe turning 50, and I think a group of them came from Hawaii to celebrate. After the happy birthday song, a larger Hawaiian woman was invited on stage to sing a song for this woman, accompanied by yet another woman who would dance a long to the song. Now, the first thing I thought when I saw the birthday girl, who seemed kind of drunk, and much to willing to accept this kind of attention, was, cougar. She had the look. And when the friend, the dancer came on stage, looking a bit like sea hag from the Popeye cartoons, but dressed very provocatively, it confirmed my assumption. They both were cougars. Hawaiian cougars. A rare breed indeed.
Anyway, the big Hawaiian played the guitar while the other woman danced. Well. She danced in I am sure traditional hula way, with no grass skirt, but it was just a smidge less than a feature show at a strip club. She swayed and grinded her calypigous bum until every man was pulling the shirt from his neck and women were wondering when they entered a brothel. It was pretty funny, even if I am probably exaggerating a little bit.
Today we are going to a geothermal park to see live geysers and mud pools. On the way back we are doing a circuit walk near waterfalls. I will post all about it later.
Kia ora!
Google it.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 12:38 PM
<< Home