Kia Ora!

Rotorua, as well as being a central location for several Maori cultural experiences, is also a hotbed of geothermal activity. What this basically means is that the town smells of eggs because of the sulphuric content of the hot pools, geysers and mud pools around. The entire place smells like egg sandwiches. Sometimes it's a strong whiff, others just a slight trace but believe me when I say the smell is there. The Maori name for it, which I can't remember, translated as evil smell. They knew the crack those Maori.

I'd been recommended by about a zillion people to go on the Tamaki traditional hangi and cultural evening so Sam, a girl from the bus I'd spent a couple of days with in Taupo, and I booked on for the evening of our arrival. We had a few hours before pick up so I decided to try out the hot pool at the hostel. Yes, I said hot pool. A naturally heated geothermal hot pool. Luckily I dipped my toes in first rather than leaping in as I was tempted to since it was absolutely scorching.Once I'd adjusted to the heat, which I'd liken to a bath when you've forgotten to turn the cold tap on, it was absolute bliss. Whilst a peculiar sensation being in toasty warm water and the warm sun shining down as well, it was so relaxing, not to mention soothing my tired muscles after the Ruahepu walk and generally making me want a nap. I can safely say hot pools are my new favourite thing. At least of that day!

So lets fast forward to the Tamaki evening; it didn't start out particularly promising as Sam and I weren't on the drivers list of passengers, I don't seem to be able to do anything like that without some sort of fuss. Once that was all sorted out though the evening could start proper and we had to pick a 'Chief' for the bus: this was Dylan, a random Kiwi guy who volunteered. As 'Manuhiri', or visitors, when we got to the Maori village there was a 'challenge of peace' sent out by the Maoris - lots of shouting, sticking out tongues, opening eyes really wide and facial tattoos. I could imagine it being pretty intimidating when it was a real thing 800 years or so ago. Once we were inside the village we could go around different huts which showed traditional Maori skills and traditions, such as tattooing, weaving, weapons usage, poi twirling and warrior agility training. The poi twirling was very impressive and judging by the attempts of a couple of volunteers a lot harder than it looked! One of the funnier parts of the evening was watching some of the men attempt a Haka, I have never seen so many uncoordinated people in one place!

Wharenui - or 'The big house' - was our home for the next 40 minutes as we were treated to a display of songs, chants, stories, dances, haka and weaponry displays. There was one particular man on the stage (my skinny brother as one of the others jokingly referred to him as) who was well into it and looked slightly crazy, but at least he was getting thoroughly into his role. The entertainment over and it was, for me, time for the highlight, the traditional hangi meal, which is cooked underground in earth ovens using hot rocks to cook the food. Having pretty much lived off tuna, sweetcorn and pasta the last week or so I had been daydreaming about the buffet all day, and it didn't disappoint; although I don't know what the carrots had done to the cook to be murdered so horrifically. There was some amazing soda bread, chicken, fish, beetroot, roasted kumara, stuffing, gravy…mmmmm. For a change I overate and only just left room for my three portions of sponge pudding - telling myself the small slices were only equal to one of Dad's portions when I was younger. There was also a pavlova, apparently a Kiwi invention in honour of Anna Pavlova the ballerina, but this was very different to any I've had before, all the inside was really light and fluffy and the meringue was only just cooked rather than being hard and layered with cream. Was still yummy though. By the end of it I was ready to be rolled to the bus in the style of Violet Beauregarde. The driver had kept the funniest part of the evening until last though. He was an awesome guy, quite short with a shaved head, but had the best memory, managing to remember the names of everyone on the bus and where they were being dropped off without a cheat sheet. That impressive feat over it was time for a singsong for the journey back to Rotorua. Each country had to sing a song relevant to their home - the English contingent decided on Hey Jude, the Aussies Waltzing Matilda, The Scots you cannae throw your granny off a bus (brilliant), The Spanish sang the Macarena which was good, a Chilean girl sang La Bamba, and I can't remember the couple of others there were. That over a rousing rendition of she'll be coming round the mountain was sung very loudly, and it took about 5 seconds for me to realise that the driver was driving round and round a roundabout, causing a lot of laughter on the bus. It was OK, the driver's cousin was the police round there…apparently. After flouting several traffic laws the driver decided to round off the trip with the wheels on the bus, replete with horn beeping, wipers going and passengers waving their hands and standing up and down. All in all pretty sweet as far as bus journeys go, and a real high note to finish with.

Becca