Mud pools, geysers, glow worms, hot spa's and the Maori cultural centre of NZ - of course i wanted to come here. Coming here takes us through jaw dropping scenery that makes me realise England is just a little bit green, but not very much really. The downside is that Rotarua stinks. It's amazing how long fart jokes can last between two adults.
Our careful planning over a pint has led us to turn-up and hope for the best. The best is not quite what we get, but by my ever dropping standards it is fantastic. A little self-contained studio with a kitchen. We've no intention of using it, but at least it has a fridge for the essentials like beer and milk. Yes milk, I'd forgotten Tony has an obsession with it (many times in Tibet I'd hear "i could murder a pint of milk"). He goes shopping while i stay in bed (cough, splutter, make excuses - well this is before 8am), and then brings back several pints of milk and no beers. I'm not sure it's even physically possible to drink so much in the time we have a fridge!
The town is well spread out up to the shores of Lake Rotarua, with lots of cafes, restaurants and 'cultural experiences'. I decide to choose the most traditional, non-touristy one i can find. Hangi cooked food, Maori 'dancing', a haka, a bit of history, a guided walk through a forest, a sacred pool, glow worms, a bottle of wine and lots of chocolate cake. It sounds OK right?, well Tony will never forgive me for it. This tour was the definition of touristy with a kitsh cherry on top. It belonged in a Butlins holiday camp for the QVC addicted. Imagine 150 people, all thoroughly enjoying themselves, attempting the haka, singing, chanting, and looking fiercely demented in front of a nearly naked, thigh slapping, weapon waving, face pulling gang of Maori warriors. Tony and i just look at each other as if to say "what the ****". This experience was not exactly a traditional, cultural insight. Fortunately i never expected that - so needless to say i thoroughly enjoyed myself and ate til i burst.
