On Through New Zealand

Sorry for such a long post, but internet access is very limited; must do it when I can.

 The next morning we flew to Rotorua which is south of Auckland where we began.  Rotorua is an old spa town which sits on a bed of thermal springs.   From the air you can see the steam rising from the ground and thermal pools of brilliant colors of yellow and orange.  Rotorua is a town of 72,000, 1/3 of whom are Maori.  So far we haven't gotten as much information as I would have liked about the Maori but apparently the reason so many of them are concentrated in the Rotorua area is because they traditionally used the geo-thermal activity of the area for everything from cooking to heating their homes and still do till this day.  The town is built on a fault line creating up to 1,000 earthquakes a year, most of them minor, but no one knows when the big one will come.

We were met at the airport by a lovely gentleman named Gary who drove us directly to the Rotorua Museum, a beautiful old timbered building which has been completely restored and houses much of the original baths in addition to many artifacts of the period when people came to “take the cure”.   Before touring the building we were treated to a 20-minute film which Gary promised would be full of surprises. Housed in a small theatre, the film was about the original settling of the area by the Maoris, how they utilized the warmth of the thermal springs and the arrival of the Europeans in search of cures for their numerous ailments.  It showed people being taken into private rooms where they would be soaked in tubs made of Royal Doulton china and in mud baths to ease the stiffness of their joints.  Apparently the effect was so miraculous that people would return to their homes believing they had been cured, only to find that the symptoms would return and the cure was only temporary.

Of course, then as now, earthquakes were always a threat and suddenly our chairs started to move—no they started to quake!—all the while the screen showing scenes of devastation, buildings collapsing, people buried under the rubble and the fear in everyone’s eyes.  Then the quaking would stop for a few seconds and then begin again, actually becoming quite intense.  It was very realistic and extremely well done.  When the short film was finished we left the theatre feeling we had had a taste of what it would be like to experience a real earthquake.

The highly enthusiastic Gary then showed us around the museum to the actual rooms where the baths were, the basement which housed the pipes which pumped the water and the mud into the baths, and some of the displays.  When we left to go to lunch it was already after one.  On to the Caf said Gary.  We stopped along the way for a brief look at some giant redwoods which had been imported from California some hundred years ago, strictly for their timber, but it was found that they grew so quickly in the fertile soil that when they were harvested the wood was too soft to be of much use.  The redwood forest was similar to what would be seen in northern California.

By now some of us were getting a bit hungry, but Gary insisted on one more stop, for what he wouldn’t say.  Jeannie said she’d stay in the van but Virginia said no you must come!  There must be a cage of the elusive kiwis we thought—that national nocturnal bird which is so difficult to spot.  So we dutifully traipsed through the woods again not quite knowing what to expect.  Then we entered a clearing where we were greeted by a gentleman holding a tray of champagne!  In the middle of the forest!  Just down the clearing was a table set with white tablecloth, full china and crystal place settings, where a chef in chef coat was presiding over a buffet table bursting with delicious looking food.   Rare roast beef sliced au table, salmon with hollandaise, a variety of salads, fish, cheese, roasted veggies and more that I can’t remember.  So lovely and such a surprise.  The food was out of this world, especially the salmon, cooked perfectly and with that lovely sauce.  Any kind of wine was available following the champagne and dessert was an array of amazing sweets—Pavlovas which I must add to my repertoire, fruit tarts, miniature chocolate tortes, chocolate dipped strawberries and pineapple and more.   A Pavlova is a popular dessert which we would call a meringue, filled with sweetened whipped cream and sitting on a fruit sauce.  Totally decadent.  How in the world did you manage to transport all this lovely stuff into the woods we asked!  Tucked back in the woods in the opposite direction from which we had walked was the catering van.  Sneaky devils!  It was truly a couple of hours we will always remember.  And the weather was perfect.  I shudder to think we would have missed it had it been raining or too windy.

But there was still more to come.  After lunch Gary drove us to the thermal springs, reminiscent of Yellowstone, steam rising everywhere, boiling ponds and a very strong sulphur smell.  Poor Jeannie was completely grossed out by the smell but unfortunately for her there was no escape.  I will post some pictures because it’s was truly other-worldly and beyond my ability to describe.

Several days have passed since I’ve been able to catch up with these meanderings.  Our time in Marlborough country was spent learning and tasting the various wines of the region culminating with a six course tasting dinner at an exclusive winery called Hans Herzog, started some years ago by a German gentleman of the same name.  Earlier, we also went to an aviation museum that housed originals and replicas of World War I planes in beautifully realistic settings complete with life size mannequins of Admiral Richthoven and his contemporaries.  I had the poor taste to ask our (I later found out) 93-year old guide why the planes had bulls’ eyes painted on them and he answered in horror, “Why that’s not a bulls’ eye, it’s the insignia of the Royal Airforce!” (you stupid fool).  Sorry…  That’s what I get for not doing my homework.

The next day in Marlborough country we drove to a Maori art gallery where we saw an exhibit of Maori carvings, traditional furniture, feather capes and other memorabilia with a commentary given by the Maori chief’s wife and young daughter.  Preserving their heritage is their life’s work and it seems to be a difficult calling.

Afterwards, we boarded a lovely catamaran called the Odyssea, beautifully outfitted and captained by a young man named Ryan, whose family had started the mussel farming industry in the Marlborough Sounds.  There was a lovely lunch of green shelled mussels cooked in various ways and plates of meats and cheeses—and wine—before we sailed down the sound to see a mussel farm and have a demonstration by Ryan about how the mussels are farmed.  Row after row of floats keep hemp ropes in place; the mussels cling to the ropes and the “mussel men” hoist the very heavy ropes aboard their vessels and knock the mussels off.  Backbreaking work from the sound of it.  Ryan’s Dad, uncle and two others started the mussel trade some 30-40 years ago and today the area produces 80% of the world’s supply of green shelled mussels.  They are the large ones we see in restaurants which I never order because I prefer the small moules or Prince Edward Island mussels that are more common in the states.  After the demo, Ryan’s mate Graeme served freshly steamed mussels and yet another glass of Pinot Gris and now I am a green shelled believer.  Ryan was truly a joy to watch and listen to and I had to tell him how impressed I was to see a man who loves his life and his work with such a passion. 

After two days in Marlborough we again boarded our Cessna and flew over the Southern Alps, reminiscent of our beloved Colorado Rockies or even the Swiss Alps, snowy peaks with rocky or forested hillsides.  The crystal blue Lake Tekapo was a stark contrast to the white mountains.  Warrick landed the plane in an airstrip that was literally in the middle of nowhere—at first I didn’t think there was even a building, but there was a small one to handle the operations.  I wondered if we were the only people in the area, but after being picked up by our new Nepali driver named Phrenji, we were delivered to an enormous hotel, aptly named the Hermitage—and like the airstrip, smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  We were directed to our rooms—a good distance from the lobby—and I will post pictures of the view from the room.  A huge picture window overlooks the famous Mt. Cook, where Sir Edmund Hillary trained before conquering Mt. Everest in 1953.  And we weren’t the only people there—there were quite a few people staying at the Hermitage and it isn’t even high season.

A quick break and we were whisked off in a van to a waystation where we boarded a four-wheel drive jeep type vehicle driven by Phrenji.

Shades of the Tiger’s Nest in Bhutan

We were driven by van for ten minutes or so and then crammed into the back of the four-wheel drive for a ride up a narrow rocky path high up into the mountain with Tasman Lake below, icy blue and dotted with cubes of broken glacier.  Although the shores of the lake looked like ordinary ground, they were actually the solid ice walls of the glacier descending several hundred meters below the surface of the lake.  With Phrenji, who is actually a Nepali Sherpa, at the wheel, we drove for miles over bone-jarring, neck-snapping, teeth-chattering rocky road, holding on for dear life until we finally reached the first stop.  Warrick was with us and he ran straight up the steep rocky hill to the top ledge and stood perched there looking over the other side.  I thought “my my, how nice to be young and able to do that and to stand on top of the world.”  And with that Phrenji said, “come along now and follow me,” and we started up the hill.  It wasn’t as far as the Tiger’s Nest, but just as treacherous and one false move would have meant a nasty fall and a tumble over the rocks until a flat resting place could be reached. Jeannie made it about half way and said she’d wait there and was I ever tempted to do the same!  But no…Phrenji grabbed my hand and said up you go and up we went.  The top was truly a ledge overlooking a steep precipice which looked over the lake in the distance, snow covered Mt. Cook and all the other snowy peaks surrounding it. 

Now, my experience tells me that going down is often more difficult than going up and that proved true in this case.  Just as sweet Tchering had held my hand over the rough spots on the way to the Tiger’s Nest, Phrenji held my hand all the way up and down this treacherous terrain.  I think I may have crushed a few bones in his hand I was clutching it so tightly.  But I am here to tell the tale, though still wondering why I did it.  The view from the top was truly breathtaking, and that is why.

But wait there’s more.  We piled back into the four-wheel and continued on for another spine-shattering couple of miles and again we were ushered out and told to follow Phrenji.  We walked along a narrow path, safe enough in itself but on either side was a sheer drop which produced that stomach-churning sensation that is not especially pleasant. Don’t look down, don’t look down, DON’T LOOK DOWN…

 At the top of the incline there was a large rock where we each in turn had our pictures taken, another beautiful vista behind.  On the way down, with Tom behind me, I heard an oops and just as I looked around I saw Tom slightly trip and then catch himself, but only after a split second of wobble.  NO false moves are allowed on this ledge.  I did my involuntary audible gasp and between the two of us we scared the bejeezus out of Phrenji and all others within earshot.  Tom swears he was never in danger but I am not convinced and I would hate to lose him before our fiftieth anniversary has even occurred. I can still conjure up the rising panic I felt at that stumble.  It’s hard to believe they don’t lose the odd tourist on this particular adventure.

On the way back, as a reward for a job well done, we were treated to another picnic en plein air, not quite as elegant as the redwood forest one had been, but lovely just the same with smoked salmon and salad and fresh fruit.  No wine this time—believe me, just as well.

Sleeping in our lovely room with Mt. Cook in the light of the full moon was a lovely end to a most unusual day.  The next morning our whole group, except for David and Virginia, decided to pass on the glacier boat tour in favor of a whole morning to savor this special hotel and relax a bit before our next flight scheduled for after lunch.  Tom and Jeannie and I watched an excellent movie in the Edmund Hillary museum which told the story of Hillary’s life and how he came to be the first man, a bone fide New Zealander, to scale Mt. Everest.