You Can't Make an Omelette...

Hours on winding Kiwi country roads, jerkily manoeuvring the little red Go Kart I'd hired, were taking their toll: I had come down from my Hobbit-y high from the Lord of the Rings set at Matamata the day before and needed a new adventure as a little travel pick-me-up. Thankfully, I was almost there; somewhat unfortunately, Rotorua doesn't make the most fetching first impression. Long before you arrive, you can smell the place. The reason being that this remote New Zealand town is noted for its geothermic activity - that is, hot springs. And with hot springs comes sulphur, the smell of which bears a striking resemblance to rotten eggs.

After checking in to my Irish-themed hostel, complete with queen-size bunkbeds, I decided to take the edge off the backpacking fatigue with a quick refreshment (read: Guinness) in the neighbouring pub before hitting the springs. Armed with my pint, I headed out to the beer garden to enjoy it in the sunshine and sat down next to a tattooed gentleman, who was quick to strike up conversation.

"Is it the springs you're headed to? Oh, don't go there! It's $22 a pop," he cried, shaking his head. Grabbing a napkin, he unearthed a pen from the pocket of his leathers and proceeded to draw me a rough map. "Out this road for 13km, then 2km down this forest track and off to the right. You'll see".

Intrigued (and ever eager to save $22), I set off that afternoon, makeshift map in hand. 13km... then 2km to a grassy verge against which several cars were parked.... and off to the right down a footpath by what looked to be a hot stream, judging by the steam rising all around me. Gradually, I emerged into a clearing and what looked like Utopia: a few locals lounged in a sunken pool in the stream, complete with steaming waterfall. The sunlight filtering through the trees gave the whole scene an other-worldly feel, peppered only with quiet conversation and bird calls. I had come armed with my bathing suit and was quick to undress and clamber down a rock face into the tepid water. Having found myself a nook to lean in, I must have looked a bit odd, lying back, shaking my head in disbelief that anywhere could be so peaceful. Not $22, not a tourist trap but completely natural, wholly authentic and totally free. Always talk to strangers, kids!

As for the smell of rotten eggs, I can't say I ever got used to it over the few days I spent in town but the outcome's worth holding your nose for. 'You can't make an omelette' and all that jazz.