Rotorua – Eggy
Rotorua is famous for a few things throughout New Zealand. It has one of the highest concentrated Maori populations, and so is a good place to find out some more about Maori history, culture and traditions; it has lots and lots of thermal pools and geysers; and it is the home of zorbing.
As I´ve mentioned on an earlier blog, one of the things Andy and I did before we went our separate ways was to give each other loads of information about what was not to be missed. According to Mr Jones, zorbing fell firmly into that category. To quote him, “Go ZORBING – best fun you´ll have, and go wet!” To those of you now sitting reading this with knitted brows, I shall explain. Somehow, a landowner in New Zealand figured that if you get two large rubber balls, put one inside the other, fill the gap between the two with air, you could get foolish innocent tourists vistors to get inside the middle ball, have a couple of buckets of (thankfully warm) water chucked in there with them, and push the ball down a hill, like a gigantic hamster wheel.
Yep, this is Andy´s idea of fun. No matter how many times I tried to explain that my idea of ´fun´usually contained at least one of the following elements: wine, shoes, chocolate, shopping (or, in an ideal world, all of the above), he was pretty insistent I try it. Any one who either knows me or has read even a tiny portion of this blog will know as well how very, very easy I find it to injure myself, and I was convinced I would hobble away with a broken ankle or something, but hey, even I´d find it hard to injure myself zipped into a big rubber ball, right?
So, on my first full morning in Rotorua, I went along to the zorbing site, on a kind of extreme adventure park on the outskirts of town. I´d gone along there with one of my dorm mates, a lovely lass from Inverness, Debbie, who, in a moment of madness, had bought a ticket for bungee jumping and some kind of turbo jet as well. These I shied away from, as I was getting nervous enough just about the zorbing. And watching Debbie´s bungee swoop thing at such a close range convinced me that I was never, EVER going to do one.
One of the things that amused me most before I came away was how many people said to me “gosh, you´re so brave”. Well, let this be a lesson to you all; I am the most cowardly person on the face of the earth! Even cowards can leave home.
So, time for the zorb. We all got in a jeep and were clanged up a hill, literally holding on for dear life. After one couple, I was next up. Apparently, the best way to get into the zorb is to dive through the hole. Not the most flattering way though, especially not when you get your feet stuck outside. I had to stand up to get the zorb started down the hill, but after that, there was no chance of staying upright. There was no chance of staying ANY way up – you literally slip your way downhill, completely disorientated. I started to feel a bit pukey as I couldn´t tell which way was up (once more my legendary motion seasickness is a joy), and it felt much, much longer than it actually is – a couple of minutes at the most. I had two goes, and I got a t-shirt. And… yes, you´ve guessed it, I managed to injure myself. Not seriously, but I cut my finger, it got caught in the zip. So I was doing my “I told you so” dance in Andy´s direction.
The best fun I´ve ever had? Erm, probably not. For shame, I imagine that sentence for me, if answered honestly, would end in the words “Jimmy Choos”. But, if you´re in the area and fancy seeing how it feels to be a giant, wet, upside down hamster, yeah, give it a go!
The afternoon was far more my kind of thing, and one I´d definitely describe as ´fun´. Debbie and I headed on down to the thermal pools. Overlooking Lake Rotorua, the spas and pools are the culprits of the famously sulphuric and eggy-smelling air in Rotorua. Once you get over this, though, it´s a good way to spend an afternoon. There are four public pools in all, the first one is the size of a swimming pool and is lovely and warm. The other three, open air, are smaller and get progressively hotter and hotter. Despite the chilly air outside, we could only stay in the last one (about 41 degrees) for a few minutes at a time. Getting out, we got an inappropriate fit of the giggles when we walked into the changing room and were met with the lovely sight of about 50 Chinese women, completely starkers. Of all ages. Believe me, nobody needs to see that. We were evah so British and snuck into the loos to get changed.
The next morning was a supremely early start, even by my standards. I was getting up at 4am to watch England play the All Blacks back at Twickenham. To my amazement, Debbie agreed to come with me, despite being both Scottish and not a real rugby fan. It was actually quite a fun thing to do, huddled at that time in the morning with other rugby fans (to my dismay, though, most seemed to be Kiwis, not at all fun when we lost). And no, I couldn´t get back to sleep later.
Instead, that afternoon we walked out to a thermal geyser park. I´m never sure how to pronounce geyser – is it gee-zer or gay-ser (or something else? guy-ser?) The earth´s crust is at its thinnest here, and it´s amazing to feel how warm the earth beneath your feet gets. So we sat for a while (quite a long while, actually, we were beginning to get bored) and waited for the world´s most reliable geyser. It was, admittedly, impressive, and quite scary to feel the earth rumble and feel the power of Mother Nature at first hand. We also saw kiwis there in a special enclosure (up till then I´d not seen any; either they were a myth, or very shy, like the haggis). They were huge! I thought they´d be, well, bird-sized, but they were like big ducks. And before you say it yes, I know that ducks are birds as well. Hmmm… maybe they were big ducks in kiwi suits.
Our final ´to do´in Rotorua was to go to a Maori night. We did this on our last night there (after not much sleep). I made the fatal mistake of having a power nap in the afternoon, which just made me grouchy and snarly. The Maori night would have to be pretty special to wake me up. And it was actually really good fun. Touristy, yes, cheesy, yes, but still, nothing wrong with that in moderation. It started off with showing us how they´d cook our food, then we all traipsed off through the woods to see the show of traditional Maori skills, songs and dances, which were very slick and professionally done. Then the food… mmmmm…. good, and lots of it. We stuffed ourselves silly. Finally, a walk through the woods to spot glowworms which was, to be honest, a bit dull, so Debbie and I entertained ourselves with amusing photos
Back to the hostel, ready for an early start the next day… my last stop in New Zealand, and one where I´d meet yet another lovely friendly face.
Tags: New Zealand, Travel
Suzanne
How strange that a self admitted coward quite happily volunteers to go and sit at a point “where the earth’s crust is at its thinnest”. To me that sounds like the equivalent to “having a picnic on a motorway central reservation”.
I think you like this extreme sport stuff more than you let on.
Michael
Suze, Zorbing (sounds Greek?) is something, given the opportunity, I would have been attracted to but I can just imagine your face as you zorbed down the hill. You must clearly have left your HR hat behind when you set out on your travels – together with all those health and safety policies! Delighted you survived to tell the tale – with just a cut finger – nothing I’m sure to do with the actural Zorbing.
Good to see you blogging again.
Miss and love you lots.
Mum
I’m glad you enjoyed the Zorbing, I’ve bought one for you for Christmas. I’ll also throw in a bicycle pump as a brucie bonus.