A Spirited Lens

The sulphurous scent wafted through the air like hard boiled eggs on a crowded tour bus – unwelcome, yet familiar.

The day began well enough – it was a brisk one, so a hot soak sounded appealing on this wintery New Zealand day. The geothermal Polynesian Pools in Rotorua offered just the ticket, and came with a bonus: the stench of rotten eggs - sure to impress friends.

I ventured past the imposing turnstile, likely installed to deter patron escapees. Once the horrifying scent registered in primitive lobes I realized how otherworldly this place was - pumice rimmed pools descended to a volcanic lake strewn with random boulders. I half-expected to emerge from the deep end looking like a pickled dinosaur egg – hot pink on the outside with bright yellow interior. A fresh water shower after my leisurely dip did nothing to shed this vivid thought, despite gobs of fine lavender soap.

Yet an afternoon spent shopping left me yearning for more primal elements. The night sky would soon reveal the queen of super moons, predicted to produce outrageous king tides destined to saturate high plains. In the end, my strategy was to join the flood rather than retreat from it, my day pool pass supporting this illogical move. The thought of soaking in primitive salts with a lakeside view of the super moon cresting distant mountains was simply too much to resist. ???

Returning that evening, I found myself surrounded by large parties of 'pakeha'. Blending in was out of the question, despite my pasty exterior, so I shifted into mermaid mode, gliding through steamy waters like Esther Williams in an Ed Wood film.

?Needless to say, a chatty dairy farmer from Dunedin singled me out, sidling over to my quiet corner when his friends departed for cooler climes. Seemingly oblivious to the near-boiling sulphurous puddle, he proceeded to embark on an hour-long diatribe that masterfully blended the war in Afghanistan with NZ farming policy and Hokey Pokey ice cream. Meanwhile, I managed to avoid lobster syndrome by slithering to the teak sitting wall with each shift in subject. Perhaps this was his plan all along (which would explain the increasingly rapid subject changes). Or, was he hoping to woo me with words in this romantic setting as minerals seeped through my pores, cementing me in place? We'll never know. Departing with the age-old "meeting a friend" excuse, I slipped right out of his hands.
??
After all, there's no hokey pokey allowed in the Polynesian Pools.