When the Kiwi Calls

What do you do when you are 63 and about to lose your job? Well, to put it bluntly, that’s a tough one. The timing couldn’t be worse. Where to find a new employer at that stage of life? Not even to mention a satisfying challenging job. But when the dust settles and you start thinking – a wonderful thing happens. You suddenly realize you’re free! No longer do you need to do what you’ve done for thirty, forty years, day after day. The nine-to-five bonds have been shattered, and the possibilities are endless.

That's what happened to my husband and me a few years ago. (He lost the job; I work as a freelancer.) We looked at one another and we immediately knew: This was it. This was the time to make our dream of traveling to New Zealand come true. For nearly forty years we had nursed a vision of New Zealand – towering snow-capped mountains; crystal-clear rushing streams. Nature at its awesome best. But it had never been possible to visit – New Zealand was so far away; holiday time was always too short.

But now it had come: the opportunity we had been waiting for. We started making plans. With one thing and another, our trip grew to an unbelievable 4.5 months away from home. (Highly recommended, by the way, if and when you lose your job.) In New Zealand we planned to spend 6.5 weeks. We surfed the Internet extensively for information and also picked up lots of tips from friends and fellow travelers. Our route in New Zealand gradually took shape. We would land at Christchurch airport, pick up a rental car, and first tour the South Island. Then we would ferry across and travel in the North Island, and drop off the car at Auckland airport on departure. The only booking we made ahead of time was the car rental and the car ferry crossing from the South to the North Island (which of course we changed once we started traveling). We had decided we would overnight at backpacker hostels and didn’t want to reserve in advance. We wanted to be free to make decisions as we went along - to stay one night here, a few nights there.

Staying at backpacker hostels was a great idea. They suited us perfectly. We are informal folk, who love to meet fellow travelers as we go along. We also like to prepare our own meals, so having the use of a kitchen was perfect. New Zealand backpacker hostels are a type of accommodations we had not encountered previously in years of travel in Europe, the USA and South Africa. Even though they share some similarities with youth hostels, I would say they are most akin to guesthouses. They are ideal for independent open-minded travelers, for people of all ages.

What can I say? We had a blast – we went places, met people, and simply got drunk on the incredible views. In fact, our journey in New Zealand was so amazing that I wrote a book about it. The book is called "When the Kiwi Calls: A New Zealand Travel Tale". You can find more details at http://thekiwicalls.com/. But in the meantime I’ll give you a glimpse between the pages and tell you of some of our experiences.

Rotorua was a fun place. The name of our BBH hostel alone lifted one’s mood – Funky Green Voyager. It had large ensuite rooms coming off a grassy backyard, a new kitchen (in fact, the manageress was a little put out we forgot to switch on the air extractor), and onsite parking for cars. Funky Green Voyager was a great place to stay, and we booked in for two nights. The company was good, the staff especially caring, and the surroundings green and relaxing. In fact, Funky Green Voyager was special, with a special sign on the gate: “Feel the Spirit”. They may have meant the spirit of Rotorua. For, if Rotorua could be identified by one word, “spirit” was it. There was a palpable energy in the town. A ripeness of history, tradition, culture, earth forces. Everything came together, and we felt as if we were at the very heart of New Zealand.

We began by visiting The New Zealand Maori Arts & Crafts Institute. It was brilliant. In that one place we found a world uniquely Maori, with exhibits on display and works in progress – wood carvings, woven flax clothing, intricate handmade pounamu jewelry. We saw early houses and war canoes and cultural artifacts. But most of all, we spent time chatting to the local Maori guides and craftspeople. They were eager to talk about their culture and lifestyle, their attitude towards elders and ancestors, their integration into modern-day New Zealand. We also had the opportunity to witness a Maori song and dance performance. For this we joined the crowd of visitors piling into the exquisite hand-carved wharenui.∗ A group of visitors from Tahiti was in the audience that day, and they wanted to thank their hosts by performing some of their own songs. So we had the good fortune to witness a multiple performance! It was interesting that the Maoris and the Polynesian visitors understood one another’s language, even after more than a thousand years of separate development.

The Te Whakarewarewa (pronounced Fa-ka-re-wa-re-wa in Maori) thermal reserve adjoins the Institute. This was another spaced-out, hissing, steam-filled valley with boiling mud pools, this time boasting the Pohutu Geyser as well. Pohutu explodes 10-20 times a day, spewing streams of hot smoky water 20-30 meters into the air. A few smaller geysers close by spew too, adding to the overall ghostlike effect. We were astounded at the nonchalant attitude of the local people to the heaving underground thermal activity. Wherever we went in Rotorua, hot steam hissed out of holes and air vents. It was as if the entire town was sitting on an agitated volcano, about to explode. “On the contrary,” we were told, “it is a good thing the air is escaping. There would be far greater cause for concern if the effects of all that activity had nowhere to go.”

The most remarkable building in town is the famous Bath House. Set amidst meticulous bowling greens in the Government Gardens, this architectural icon is still a show-stopper. It is said to be the most photographed building in New Zealand. The Bath House is a marvelous Tudor-style structure, its vast entrance hall with carved staircase and wood ceiling unbelievably grand. Opened in 1908 when “taking the cure” was a popular activity, the luxury spa resort attracted the richest people from all over the world. James Cowan reported to the local Tourism Department in 1903 that, As a spa, Rotorua has no superior in the world. These living waters are responsible for many a wonderful cure.

Today the Bath House is the excellent Rotorua Museum. We spent many hours poring over the interesting exhibits, recording the devastation of the Mount Tarawera eruption in June 1886 that created havoc and altered the entire landscape; the period during which the building was a world-famous spa; and finally, the amazing exploits of the 28 Maori Battalion during the Second World War. Throughout their history, Maori warriors have been noted for extreme bravery and fearlessness. And so it was as well during the two World Wars. Continuing the tradition of the Pioneer Battalion of WWI, the 28 Maori Battalion of WWII remains a tremendous source of pride in the community. Their legendary exploits on the side of the British are the stuff of many tales. They were also a unit that suffered a much higher than average rate of casualties. Films and commentaries of the fierce fighting far from home vividly illustrate the history. And then we recognized him! The survivor of the 28 Maori Battalion interviewed in the movie. He was sitting at a table having lunch with a group of fellow Rotoruan veterans. It happened thus: We were walking into town from the Bath House and passed a building named “RSA”. A billboard on the pavement advertised an upstairs cafeteria. Not sure what RSA stood for, we nevertheless decided to give it a try – it was definitely time to eat. We took the elevator to the first floor and walked out into a nice airy dining room that didn’t quite look like your regular public restaurant. We suddenly realized why. Every single person in the room was a silver-haired veteran, and they all knew one another! We had stumbled into a gathering of the Returned Services Association, and we stuck out like the young strangers that we were. Nonetheless, we were very well received, and the fish ‘n chips were scrumptious.

The Blue Baths near the Bath House in Government Gardens have been beautifully restored. This Spanish mission-style building was opened in 1933 and served as the local swimming pool for nearly fifty years. It simply reeked of early Rotoruan history. An imaginative display and movie brought the early days to life and kept us entertained for nearly an hour. We took our time wandering around. The pool had again been filled with water, and the building functioned as a party venue. On the day we visited, three or four ladies were rushing around preparing for a wedding. It was going to be stunning. On a table in the corner of the lobby lay a large pile of pebbles, artistically arranged on blue satin. I went up to take a closer look – the pebbles were the place settings! Each pebble was inscribed in silver with a guest’s name. The sign above the table read: Please collect your pebble and sit anywhere at your allocated table. Tip: Table number on bottom of pebble.

We had a real-life encounter with present-day Maori culture in the village of Ohinemutu on the shores of Lake Rotorua. We were on our way to see the historic Anglican Church and meeting house. The traffic was unusually heavy and we wondered why. Within sight of the famous buildings, we were stopped by two burly police officers. “No visitors allowed.” “But people are streaming in,” we said. “Yes, they are invited guests,” was the reply. A revered chief had passed on, and, as was the Maori custom, the body was lying in state in the whare for three days to allow people to pay their respects. We considered making a detour to the Bay of Plenty to visit White Island, New Zealand’s most active volcano. It spews and bubbles 50 kilometers off the coast. Streams of visitors sail out to the island to take a walk on the shaky soil. It is said to be an unforgettable experience. But we felt that we had seen about as much of a restless churning earth as we could calmly accept. We left Rotorua, and followed the signs to Auckland.

From the book 'When the Kiwi Calls' by Denise Kirsch - www.thekiwicalls.com