Sulphur City

I wasn’t really sure what to expect in Taupo, whether it would be a tourist heavy town with lots to do, or a chill jumping off point for other adventure, but I set off anyway on the 18^th, sticking out the thumb while again practicing my skills at walking backwards with a 20kg bag. I got a ride relatively quickly with an ex-rugby player (missing a finger to prove it!) who acted macho for the hitchhiker, but the assortment of baby toys in the back of his SUV gave away his softer side. He dropped me off at the edge of town where I learned that the main road to Taupo was unfortunately already up to 100km/hr and there were no alternative spots. I got my music out right away, now quite able to predict when a good wait is ahead, and stuck out my thumb, smiling pretty for the passing cars and mumbling immature things at bumpers receding into the distance. It took about an hour before a car of similarly aged backpackers stopped and let me in. They were passing through Taupo and offered me a ride the whole way. The four of them were Peace Corps members taking time off from their posting in Fiji. Hearing some of their experiences in Fiji made me want to visit, but that will have to wait for another trip. They explained that while it was nice to have the modern amenities of the developed world, not even New Zealand felt like a vacation after the laid back atmosphere of Fiji. We stopped off at a winery well off the beaten track and met a man who singlehandedly is running his own wine business and living a slightly alternative lifestyle, delighting in the simpler things in life such as building his own complex – his current project is a bell tower which will be over 10m tall upon completion. He was a Canadian (although for the life of me I cannot remember from where) who studied wine in university in Germany before moving to New Zealand in his late 20’s to open his own winery which he has tended to for the past 30 years; a fascinating story from a fascinating individual. I could have stayed all day and talked, but my drivers had a deadline to keep, and after all, they’re the ones with the keys!

We arrived in Taupo in the early afternoon and I checked into the Tiki Lodge before setting off to discover the town. As it turned out, Taupo is one of the latter categories of towns, a jumping off point for adventure – adventure which requires a generous budget. Finding nothing to do in town, I found a lovely cafe and restaurant on the waterfront and got out my computer, content to spend the day keeping in touch with family and friends back home while working on my blog. The restaurant, Dixie Brown’s, turned out to be a great place to stop and I enjoyed dinner here as well. Internet was free with purchase and I didn’t feel too much like an intrusion as I sat there literally all afternoon and into the evening, packing up around 8 and heading back to the hostel. The Tiki Lodge bills itself online as more of an experience than a hostel; run by Maori and featuring cultural touches. In reality, the Tiki Lodge is your average New Zealand hostel for around 100 people with average amenities and average hosts; albeit with an impressive Tiki statue on the front lawn. But, as they say, it’s a place to rest the head.

My next stop was Rotorua, famed as the centre of Maori cultural experiences and formerly home to the 8^th natural wonder of the world. Walking out of Taupo, I was quickly picked up by a Dane heading all the way to Rotorua. In his late 20’s, he was in New Zealand to hunt deer, a sport greatly endorsed by the Kiwi government for its positive effects on wildlife in the fragile ecosystem which has been invaded by four legged bull dozers. He had no trouble at all obtaining permission to hunt from the DOC, and had only to inform the proper authorities where he wished to hunt and receive a temporary permit for that area. The previous evening he had found himself lost in the bush as the sun set, and he pushed his way through the darkness, shielding his face with his hands which this morning bore the wounds of such a perilous expedition. After a quick lunch break on a lookout over Taupo, we were off and had some hilarious conversation the way up to Rotorua, a relatively short distance. I traded the usual stories of my travels for his entertaining tales of hunting.

I planned to stay only one night in Rotorua at the Crank Backpackers, and after checking in, saw the town at the required breakneck pace, getting in as many sights before closing time in the evening. First off, I should say this; Rotorua stinks! Surrounded by hot springs and thermal vents, Rotorua is permeated with the stench of sulphur, completely inescapable no matter where one tries to hide. Tours depart from Rotorua to geysers and thermal hotspots, some sporting fancy spas or cheap pools, but the absolutely budget option lies within Rotorua, their free-entry Thermal Park. Here I was able to witness the thermal activity which makes Rotorua famous. Wandering around the park for a while, I spotted bubbling mud, steaming sinkholes, and boiling water, all completely repulsive to the nose. Having had enough of the intense stench, I moved on to my next budget attraction. From Rotorua (and also Taupo) busses can take the curious to Maori settlements to experience Maori culture. Certain tours include dinner as well as performances, while others are limited to a walkthrough of typical Maori settlements. While these tours cost an arm and a leg, Rotorua is fortunate enough to have its very own settlement within the town, called Ohinemutu. While the settlement is modern and the inhabitants are dressed similarly rather than the flashy traditional dress of other locations, for a gold coin donation ($1-2) the curious can have a gander at a modern interpretation of the Maori meeting house, a Christian church with a uniquely Maori flair, and talk with some genuinely amicable Maori who are more than happy to discuss their history, culture, and politics – both past and present with a generally balanced perspective. Next, I wandered to Government Park, 55 hectares of land gifted by local Maori, and kept as the region’s best example of Victorian gardening. The crowning jewel of the park is the magnificent Victorian styled Bath House. Taking advantage of the local hot springs, the facility opened in the early 1900’s, featuring treatments to heal all manner of ailments. Whether dry skin, arthritis or anything else imaginable, they had a cure, and the wealthy and bourgeois flocked from around the world for the miraculous treatments. While the validity of the treatments remains dubious, the spa was used in both WWI and WWII, playing an important part in New Zealand for the treatment of the war wounded. Thousands of soldiers owe their speedy physical recoveries to the doctors, both conventional and therapeutic, who worked at this facility during that time. Seeing a decrease in use through the 50’s and 60’s, it was soon shut down and fell into disrepair, until rejuvenation as a  tourist attraction in the 80’s. It remains today a reminder of Rotorua’s history as a resort destination, and is used to showcase the building’s history, and to house the Rotorua Museum, telling the history of Rotorua. Early settlers discovered the most miraculous series of pink and white terraces descending towards a lake, each fed by the hot springs, forming the most amazing of baths and once considered the 8^th natural wonder of the world. Before the local Maori knew it, the area was flooded by all sorts of tourists (sort of like today), from the wealthy seeking medical benefits, to the poor who sought the money of the wealthy (one way or another). All this came to an abrupt end with a volcanic eruption which destroyed the unique plateaus and erased Rotorua from the map as a spa destination until the foundation of the Bath House.

Having had my history lesson for the day, I settled in at the Pig and Whistle, an English style pub, offering English pub fare and live bands every night. I tucked in a chowder and pint before heading back to the hostel for a relaxing evening. I had planned to leave the next day, but after talking to the manager for a bit, I was convinced to stay an extra day to check out the mountain biking scene. Apparently world class, I would find out the next day, setting off to ride some trails and experience the legend myself.

All day bike rental from the hostel was $40, and I set off around 11am for the trails, happy to once again be at the handle bars of a mountain bike. Some of New Zealand’s best mountain biking is here at the Red Wood Forest, and I intended to ride as much trail as possible, aiming to push myself and get a good workout while enjoying the world class trails. There was a national mountain biking tournament taking place (lending credence to the claim of “world class” trails) during my visit, and at times I found myself being drastically outpaced by extremely fit bikers. Luckily I was sticking to the easy and intermediate trails and the instances where I was completely shown up by people who had been biking for three times as long as me that day was kept to a minimum. The trails were indeed amazing, and while there were some well run trails, most were rough enough to maintain the true rugged spirit of mountain biking. Unfortunately, I found myself peddling up enough hills to tire myself out after a mere three hours, and I headed back early, not wanting to give myself an inconvenient injury such as the hot spots I felt forming on my palms (the early beginnings of blisters). The good folk at the hostel were kind enough to grant me credit for the time I didn’t use on the bike, having paid for a full day and only using three hours; I got some free internet time and some beers from the bar, an entirely unnecessary but fully appreciated gesture. I spent the rest of the day enjoying my internet time and blog writing (it takes a while, a few hours per blog depending on distractions!) before bed where I passed out from the fatigue of three hours of the most intense peddling I have ever done.

My mom had spoken of Rotorua as a small town with strong roots in Maori culture, smelling strongly of sulphur but an enjoyable stop nonetheless on my parent’s trip around the world in their own youth. She mentioned how surprised she was to see more recent photos from a relative’s visit a decade back, and was curious about its recent state. Development wise, Rotorua has gone the same way as most other New Zealand towns. The usual suspects have moved into town, offering experiences for those with the money to spend, taking tourists to the sights they read about from home. It’s hard to find a quiet and un-commercialised Rotorua under the bustling tourist trade, but there are glimpses to be had, beyond the cookie cutter main street, through the tour pamphlets, and past the glitzy hotels. In the peaceful waterfront Ohinemutu Maori settlement, sitting and enjoying the erupting thermal springs of Thermal Park, enjoying the sun in Government Park, taking a day trip by bike in the Red Wood Forest; the old Rotorua is still there and open for discovery. How you see a location is entirely in your own hands. The touristy route can be taken, often the most enjoyable way to see attractions as an experienced guide dishes out information laced with enough humour to keep it interesting. But sometimes, the cheap option pays off and you discover something more past the facade. So yes, mom, the old Rotorua is still there, but to get to it you have to get off the mainstream and see the town on a different path – the route would recommend to all.