Road Trip and Fallen Stars…

[Sorry... Missed one out... Here it is!]

07/03/09

We get up early this morning to go on a coach trip… Well, sort of a coach trip – we’ve tweaked it so that we get the benefits of travelling in comfort with someone else doing the driving, but we also won’t be doing too much ‘Maaa! Moo… *all look left, all look right, click, flash, snap*’-ing. We are dropped off at the rather grey coach station by Mike and Penny, who have been lovely hosts, and we are sorry to leave! However, our coach is soon here and we bundle our belongings on board to set off to Rotorua with ‘Great Sights’. First stop will be the Waitomo Caves – not really on the way but as close as you’re going to get in this sprawly, green, mountainous country! The driver is friendly and welcoming, and ticks us off on his little list before we get on.
Once settled in and driving, he lowers his voice a notch or two (he must have had advice or coaching on that!) into the sexy radio-presenter register, and tells us about the things we are passing…
A forest of Kahuta Paua, the New Zealand Christmas tree.
Grafton Bridge
A bright orange house owned by Ton Cruise
We all look left, look right, maaa, mooo…
;)
Apparently Auckland is built on 48 volcanoes… I knew it was on a fault line but that’s excessive!
We follow a train line which spirals down the island from Auckland to Wellington – we see it cross numerous times.
Tip Top ice cream factory.
He also tells us interesting things about the culture we are passing through. Apparently the Rugby World cup will be coming to NZ in 2011; that could be an exciting time to be here!
I stare out of the window and muse that New Zealand is delicate and green, rather like Cornwall in places and the countryside is far less brash than that of much of Australia (with the possible exception of Tasmania!).
We pass a fishing boat out on the lake we are circumnavigating – it is called ‘Prawn Star’.
Andrew asks, ‘What do dirty shrimps watch at night?’
‘Soft prawn…’
: )
We pass road trains and more lake, glittering in the sun.
We pass through the Bombay Hills on a pretty, flower-bedecked highway. Apparently, these lovely little American wildflowers were put into the central reservation some years ago to calm people and reduce accidents. This was impressively successful. People were calmer and happier along this stretch of road. This worked well for a while until people began to think, ‘Ooh, maybe Auntie Maude would like some flowers when we go to tea, I’ll just stop and pick a few’. This of course, started the road range and irritation once again so now the local authority have sadly started spraying them with herbicide! But a few still emerge, orange and purple, delicate and pretty, to smile and wave at people passing by.
The Indian names which seem to abound in this area, the Bombay Hills, come not from an influx of Indians to the area, but because the ships that first brought essential items to the colonials in NZ were all owned by the East India Shipping Company, so they took their names from Indian towns and ships.
There are, apparently, 40 million sheep in New Zealand… That’s practically a small flock per person… And most of it is shipped, tasty and succulent, to England and the USA.
Cambridge, which we pass, is famous for its racehorses (not for eating… and not, presumably, therefore shipped to the USA or England…). There are four main industries in New Zealand, and Andrew and I are currently contributing quite heavily to the biggest! The others are dairy farming, logging and sheep, not necessarily in that order…

Mist marches over the hilltops and peeps through the mountains, creeping around corners and slinking over trees. It feels damp everywhere…
We make a stop. The coach driver clearly knows the best places to stop, and their clientele, as we pull up at a little bucolic English tea room. It smells of tea, coffee and freshly fried breakfasts. But for the decorative Maori head on the wall instead of a Green Man and a brightly flowering bush instead of geraniums, one might almost be in a little tea room on the way to the coast on a misty day in Cornwall!
I buy ginger beer and we sit down and stretch our legs a bit.
However, we are soon off again, for another few hours drive. There is plenty to look a though, and our driver is interesting without pestering us or overloading us with information.

Low clouds prance over everything and I snooze in the light drizzle… We pass through a place called Hudley, where Tiger Woods sometimes visits, because his caddy is from here and apparently he comes to tea and joins in with people at the local golf club, which may or may not be true, but it is nice to think so… ;)
As we pass through, the driver points out the Central Business District… It amuses me that even the smallest town here has an area labelled the CBD – even if that area does consist merely of a shop, a garage and a place selling lawnmowers and sheep nuts!

We pass through Taupiri, which has a burial ground, resplendent on a hill. It is a Maori burial ground and the hill lends itself to the system which the Maori use for burial according to social rank. The highest hilltops would be reserved for the most elaborate tombs, for the highest-ranking local chieftains, whereas a humble bus driver, like ours, he says, would only expect to have a small, crowded space at the bottom of a hill. Nonetheless, this socially-ordered cemetery has a charm and peace to it, which is felt, even from here.
The driver adds to my growing but still patchy knowledge of Maori culture [I shall no doubt be adding errata and addenda before too long – thanks to people who’ve already spotted glaring mistakes!] and tells us that the only people who can actually welcome visitors onto the site of a marae are the women, and then only after the men’s challenge has been made and accepted. I like Maori culture; it seems eminently sensible and courteous as well as justifiably proud of itself.
Near here, in Raglan, lives yet another celebrity. I have to say I can see why they might choose this as a country retreat. The writer of the Rocky Horror Picture Show! I think it’s Richard O’Brien… I’ll be checking that one.
;)

We hit a fairly dull stretch and the driver decides to tell us the story of New Zealand’s Creation. Forgive me if I relate it a little crookedly, I am still learning!
The Gods in New Zealand were a family of brothers. Maui, the youngest brother was not allowed to go out fishing with his brothers. But one day he took a waka (canoe) and went out into the sea anyway. He dropped his anchor stone, but had forgotten any bait for the fish. He thought for a while and pulled out a magic fishhook made from the jawbone of his grandmother and baited it with blood from his own nose.
He got a bite!
However, the sea monster he dragged from the depths was too strong for him and it overturned his canoe.
His brothers, meanwhile, on their return from their own fishing trip, saw that Maui and one of the wakas was missing. They went out to look for him and saw Maui’s sea creature, which they killed, and found Maui who they took back to land with them.
The gigantic fish that was killed became the North Island; the South Island is the remains of Maui’s unfortunate canoe…

We are getting closer to the Waitomo Caves now, on Waitomo Valley Road, and the driver tells us a little about the Caves, though he says he doesn’t want to spoil it for us…
Wai means water, and Tomo means hole or shaft… So it’s very descriptive really!
He also spots a Pukeko (a local wading, parrot-type bird, which was introduced centuries ago and has done well), though I miss it. Pukeko are apparently sweet little things. Their name means ‘purple chicken’ and if one of their number is injured or left lying in a road, the others will bring it food until it is either dead or well enough to walk.

We enter the limestone caves, this little wonderland of stalactites and stalagmites, one set looks like a small family, another like a dripping elephant… so many sculptures and much imagination… These limestone caves are at a constant humidity and temperature, which has enabled the glow worms to flourish here, in the darkness. We are led through to a smaller cave and the lights are dimmed a little – as our eyes adjust I spot a small blob out of the corner of my eye. A little dot shines bravely in the dank darkness… My eyes become more accustomed to the low light and I see another, and another, dotting off into the darkness like strange little guiding beacons. But these are only the hardy few who have come out so far into the brighter lights. Our guide shows us, ducking down low, how each little lantern is the lure for a long, sticky fishing line, with which the glowworms catch their prey – mosquitoes mainly, but also their own parents, should they fly too close in their enthusiasm to leave. The adults only live like a mayfly, having no mouthparts, but existing to reproduce and make more of these little glowing creatures. What an interesting thing, to live your life as a shining grub but to have one brief moment of winged, ephemeral glory in this eerie radiance.
We are asked to turn off anything with a light on it – even the focus beam from a camera can upset them and make them switch off, as can loud noises, so we proceed in a hushed huddle. A few little dots shine even here in the light though, ‘I’m hungry, I’m randy and I’m blooming well going to glow!’.

The Caves have recently flooded, so our route is slightly different from the usual one. However, we walk carefully down the dank concrete steps to the very dimly-lit waiting area where there will be boats for us to visit the glow-worms properly. As if we haven’t already been entranced! I suppress a gasp of delight, looking down towards what ought to have been the exit. The steps are submerged under a glassy, clear, impassable surface and the faint glow of the electric light is fainter still just here. I look out into the dark distance and see twinkling dots. Twinkling dots that resolve themselves into great glittering organic constellations, reflected perfectly in the still, clear water.
But there’s more!
Our guide helps us into the light tin boat and my mind is lost in the beauty of the Aranui Cave.
…
…
…
Mouths open in wonderment as we are pulled slowly and silently into Titania’s underworld. This is almost unbelievable. There is barely an inch of space between each living light and the next – from high on the ceiling to low on the walls, these little creatures have turned a dripping cave into a place of fantasy, a place of delicacy and wonderment, a realm of magic, bathed in a pale turquoise glimmer. I write frantically by their ethereal twinkling, scarcely daring to breathe in this hallowed cave. We turn in a slow circle in the centre of the cavern, glimpsing another, turquoise-lit, rugged-roofed cave beyond. The only sounds are the gentle ripples of our passing and the slow drips of the cave itself. I stare above, transfixed and watch as I see stalactites, faintly outlined in 3D by the little creatures who call this home. Our guide, pulling the boat, is a blacker silhouette in the darkness against this inner sky. Their blue-green hordes are bright and the reflection in the still water scintillates silently beneath. The water, faintly disturbed by our passing, is a darker pattern of subterranean constellations. These peaceful little cannibals make a light show to rival any chandler’s art and their thin, cold glimmer fills the huge cavern and beyond, also filling the cool water like fallen floating stars. These are depths of mystery and myth, perhaps only a few feet deep, but in this light, could contain anything from a sea monster to the eggs of some beauteous wingéd beast… It would be a long time before my imagination ran out down here, yet there would be no terror in this darkness should I be left...
This may not be a shrine to any denomination or religion, but it feels holy. This place is older and wiser than we who look…

As we head back into the harsh electric light, a drip lands on my shoulder – these are lucky I gather. It could be water but I secretly hope it’s glow-worm poo!

Drunk with the watery delights below, we emerge slowly into the daylight. It is bright and harsh, but pleasantly warm. We collect our bags from the information centre, who have kindly looked after them for us and trot towards the main centre to find our bus and a spot of lunch. We have a snack of fruit and cookies on a rickety bench outside a funny little bar in the sun. It turns out that that bar has karaoke and we wonder how much we would have to pay them to get them to turn it off! There is some truly awful yowling emerging, though thankfully it soon stops. It turns out that the bar also has wi-fi so we pass time ‘netting before we find our bus. It’s a very small bus, and a little rickety too, but there aren’t many people who want to go this way. It is called the Waitomo Wanderer and has ample space for its half dozen passengers and their luggage. The girl driving it is friendly and from up north in the UK.
The Waitomo Wanderer bus goes to Rotorua via Taupo and takes routes the coaches can’t as it’s a little smaller so we get to see little country roads with big bumps and wiggles, and pretty views. Our driver has clearly been doing this long enough to get confident on some of these little roads! Eek.
The sun was out earlier, but now the clouds are tumbling down the hills and blanketing the mountains in grey. The hills themselves are scarcely believable, piling up in front of one another like a child’s drawing, deep green in front, fading to purple hazy grey in the background. Something rural-smelling makes its way in through the open window... :)
Pukeatui has more big blue hills and as we continue onward, we pas a deep gorge and a dam. There is a school-trip spirit emerging on the bus and we all enjoy a song the driver likes, called ‘Get Shaky’ by a New Zealand group. The sun is warm through the windows. We turn off down Old Taupo Road, which is heading directly for some rolling purple clouds. There is a little conical hill off to one side, which must be volcanic. This entire island must once have been like a boiling pot of rich stew!

Soon we enter Rotorua. As the guidebook promises, there is a subtle and pervasive enveloping smell of sulphur… Welcome to Rotorua!
My pen has run out… That’s the second pen and I’m on the third notebook…
We arrive at the Youth Hostel, Treks, and unload out baggage with the help of our lovely driver, whose name I have shamefully forgotten… We ask one of the sweet and chirpy girls on the front desk where she would go for dinner and she recommends the Pig and Whistle pub a few minutes walk away. We take her advice and head down the roads in the faintly pongy peacefulness. We have a good dinner and even manage to catch some of the first set of the live band playing that night – they’re pretty good. A few renditions of soft rock songs and a bit of Crowded House.
However, we soon head back to the YHA to sleep and prepare for tomorrow… We have a few days here, and so many things we could do –the possibilities are endless!
Orakei Koreku, Wai-O-Tapu, boiling mud, flights, a spa, 4x4 trips on the volcano, luging, zorbing…?
Like a banquet spread out in front of you, there are many things to be tasted and a few to be scoffed and digested.
Now to sleep!

;)