After white water rafting at Rotorua, we had a lovely day learning a bit more about Maori culture at Te Puia. We learnt that they have a geyser which shoots up to 15m, how to make uncomfortable dresses out of flax and that twenty-something Maori men don't enjoy performing love songs as much as they enjoy performing the Hakka. It was a good day!
And then we came to white island. I was really looking forward to this one as it's a boat ride out to an active volcano off the northern end of North Island. So cool and awesome all in one day!
Unfortunately the swell was quite high and Si and I with our stomachs of steel spent a full hour or so staring fixedly at the horizon. Si ultimately fed the fish a bit and I got through almost all the songs and poems I could think of to take mind off things and managed not to throw up (score!).
Eventually we arrived at the island and were given gas masks and helmets (you know it's going to be interesting when that happens), then we all trotted off into the volcanic crater. What this meant unfortunately was that we swapped one type of uncomfortable for another. Now the smell of sulphur was so strong it made you cough and Si got little specks of pain in his eyes.
The island WAS really unique though, there were some very pretty - and staggeringly smelly - sulphur chimneys as well as a whole lake of bubbling mud, steamy bits and lots and lots of pretty rocks. Our guide heightened our adrenaline levels a bit too by telling us what to do in the case of an eruption ("hide, hang tight, and we'll come looking for survivors").
And there were some impressive dolphins and much calmer seas on the way home, so it was a pretty good day really.
The next day - Saturday - we changed from desperate survival mode (well, sort of) into fun mode and went to the world famous hot water beach.
Now the name gives a lot away, but I should probably explain that the hot water on the beach comes from a little hot stream (geothermality at work again) which runs out to the sea at this beach. When the tide is out tourists from as far away as Reading and Tilehurst come here to dig little pools and sit in personal hot water baths in the sand.
Some of the pools were only fed from the stream and hadn't mixed with cold seawater at all, which meant they were scorching hot. This lead to much hilarity for everyone who knew about them as they watched the various reactions of everyone who didn't. It also could be a reason for the beach's nickname: "burnt bum beach".
As we're both basically 10 yr olds at heart, the most fun we had was trying to keep the walls of the pool intact as the sea came in. Si was most into this, I think he was transported back to some happy childhood times on beaches as he fortified our little pool against the inevitable tide and told me off for digging in the wrong place as this would "undermine the walls!!". We were laughing at the big waves with a family who were in the pool next to ours and the father was directing his daughters on where they should pile up more sand. So maybe it's just man thing...
Anyway, in the end there was only one winner - the sea.