Next weekend I'm leaving New Zealand for the first time since I arrived in late July 2015. Rest assured it's not a permanent departure. But it has been eight months since I've stepped on Kiwi soil, and flying away from it feels monumental somehow. My sojourn over the next month will include a week in Sydney, two weeks back in the States, and a week in Singapore - a real jet-setting lifestyle. My basic plan is to let the west to east jet lag be offset by drinking and eating and the eventual east to west jet lag. "If I never sleep I can't get jet-lagged," the man with one pupil more dilated than the other screamed into at own reflection.
Before I embark on that trip, which I will dutifully write about here, I wanted to make sure that I equally diligently wrote about three of the weekend trips I've taken (that is, Rhiannon and I have taken) in the last couple of months. All locations are on New Zealand's North Island, all are drive-able (kind of) from Auckland, yet the three are distinctly independent, giving wholly different appreciations of NZ culture and history and geography.
* * *
First up is Rotorua, a 2.5 hour drive south of Auckland. Chronologically it makes sense to describe this trip first (since it happened in mid-February); from a journalistic perspective it's also a good place to start, because things can only improve relative to Rotorua. Imagine the boiling mud pools and steam that stinks of rotten eggs and weirdly colored stream beds indicative of Yellowstone National Park (admittedly very cool and eye/ear/nose-catching). Now imagine that geothermal stew mixed with the utter kitschy-ness and money-grubbing over-priced merchandise and all-this-tourism-is-just-a-facade-covering-up-rampant-violence-and-poverty feeling that, say, Niagara Falls or the Vegas Strip, evokes. At some point in the recent past the local council decided to make the sacred Maori locale of Rotorua a tourist haven (read: trap) where one can pay out the ass to get some 'authentic' cultural Maori experiences. That's all I have to say about Rotorua.
Here's some boiling mud:
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| Everyone come sample Rotorua's stomach-churning primordial soup. |
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| For some reason this makes me think of the movie Congo. |
But it wasn't all bad. There was a decent grocery store in town with cheap wine and pummelos (look and smell delicious, but overall underwhelming in flavor), and it supplied our camping excursion outside of town. In fact, leaving Rotorua in any direction brings you to a number of lovely places, such as the adjacent Blue and Green Lakes:
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| Didn't capture them at their greenest (left) or bluest (right), but you get the idea. Note my fancy unintended J.J. Abrams lens flare. |
Or to relaxing hot pools fed by naturally boiling water tucked into a remote valley:
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| Boiling spring water, instant pore-opener. |
Ultimately the camping at one of the nearby tucked away lakes made the weekend worth it. But I definitely do not recommend Rotorua as a destination for tourists, not when there are countless free and more interesting/beautiful places to see nearby.
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| Not a bad view from the tent door. Hobbit feet. |
* * *
Next up is Wellington, New Zealand's capital city, located at the southern tip of the North Island. And for a special treat here is Rhiannon's guest telling of it:
"Wellington - You can't beat it on a good day". The city's unofficial catch phrase is spoken in various tones, depending on whether or not the speaker believes that the 30 days of good weather Wellington receives per year allow it to reign superior as a place to live. Fortunately for Eric and I, we were there for one good evening, a full good day, and a following good morning.
Wellington is widely regarded to be the cultural capital (as well as the regular capital) of New Zealand. There are cool bars, cafes, shows and markets. A larger-than-usual percentage of the local population wear fashionable hats (which is an impressive practical feat given the high wind speeds). We found our way to one of these cool bars on our first evening. The Library bar, situated off one of the main streets, is set up like the inside of a boldly decorated 1970s home - if that home were to comprise only of a series of living rooms. Sipping on cocktails (their specialty) we pondered the purpose of the presence of a bathtub in the middle of one of the lounges. No conclusion was reached.
On our second evening, we trailed Yelp and Google (how great is technology) around the city in our quest to hit up the trendiest and most interesting spots. Highlights include an Asian night market, a very confusing, unstructured experience at a brewery tasting, a bar with great beer (though I'm pretty sure the bartender made up the ingredients; "grapefruit and, umm...lemongrass?") and a cafe with a string jazz quartet which transported us to a world of sophistication and relaxation. In contrast, the evening ended in a tiny underground bar that smelt strongly like garlic butter, packed with hip people listening and dancing dangerously to a Russian Gypsy Jazz trio.
After a day of eating and drinking everything in sight, it was necessary to partake in some exercise on the final morning. Now, as you will know from watching LOTR, every walk in New Zealand must be accompanied by epic music. It was therefore only appropriate that as we started our march up Mount Victoria, a local brass band set the mood by playing the national anthem, followed by a series of other of grand brass pieces. This reassured us that our walk up the hill was important and for the greater good of Middle Earth as we know it.
Bravo, Rhiannon. Wellington also has a free national museum, Te Papa, where medals vaguely reminiscent of 'participation awards' are on display:
Maybe most importantly, Peter Jackson's special effects studio, The Weta Cave, is tucked into a sleepy neighborhood near the Wellington airport. All of your favorites from the LOTR are on display:
Too wordy? Says a lot without really saying anything? If you said yes to both of those questions then I did my job perfectly.
Cheers!
Bonus: Here's a picture (back and front) of a hedgehog that got stuck running away from us in a driveway. Adorable. I can't recall if we just left it there to die or pushed it through.
Wellington is widely regarded to be the cultural capital (as well as the regular capital) of New Zealand. There are cool bars, cafes, shows and markets. A larger-than-usual percentage of the local population wear fashionable hats (which is an impressive practical feat given the high wind speeds). We found our way to one of these cool bars on our first evening. The Library bar, situated off one of the main streets, is set up like the inside of a boldly decorated 1970s home - if that home were to comprise only of a series of living rooms. Sipping on cocktails (their specialty) we pondered the purpose of the presence of a bathtub in the middle of one of the lounges. No conclusion was reached.
On our second evening, we trailed Yelp and Google (how great is technology) around the city in our quest to hit up the trendiest and most interesting spots. Highlights include an Asian night market, a very confusing, unstructured experience at a brewery tasting, a bar with great beer (though I'm pretty sure the bartender made up the ingredients; "grapefruit and, umm...lemongrass?") and a cafe with a string jazz quartet which transported us to a world of sophistication and relaxation. In contrast, the evening ended in a tiny underground bar that smelt strongly like garlic butter, packed with hip people listening and dancing dangerously to a Russian Gypsy Jazz trio.
After a day of eating and drinking everything in sight, it was necessary to partake in some exercise on the final morning. Now, as you will know from watching LOTR, every walk in New Zealand must be accompanied by epic music. It was therefore only appropriate that as we started our march up Mount Victoria, a local brass band set the mood by playing the national anthem, followed by a series of other of grand brass pieces. This reassured us that our walk up the hill was important and for the greater good of Middle Earth as we know it.
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| The Madison of New Zealand! But bigger, and with hills, and a movie special effects studio. Also, one of the best places for expats to live! |
Bravo, Rhiannon. Wellington also has a free national museum, Te Papa, where medals vaguely reminiscent of 'participation awards' are on display:
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| The Self-congratulatory Iron Cross. The Medal of Honor and Give Yourself a Pat on the Back. |
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| Someday I'll start an Instagram account where every picture is me looking bored with aloof animals. |
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| Checking out disturbingly real nose hair and snot globules. "They have a cave troll." |
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| Wearable Hobbit feet. As noted above, these are superfluous for me. Embrace your heritage. |
* * *
Last up was a trip over Easter weekend. In New Zealand, Easter is celebrated as a major holiday. Both the Friday before and the Monday after are national holidays, meaning everyone has a 4 day weekend. USA needs more Christian (or Jewish or Hindu or Islamic or whatever) holiday four-day weekends.
This gave me a chance to settle a personal vendetta that had been stewing in the back of my mind since late October. Faithful fans and loyal readers of my blog (pretty much just Dad) will remember that Rhiannon and I had planned a weekend camping trip to the Coromandel peninsula. They will also remember that it had to be cut a day short after I succumbed to a mysterious food-borne illness, causing me to become violently sick.
Well this time we came back with a vengeance - and stayed in a resort called Nature's Window Retreat tucked away into the Coromandel range.
In case you wanted to know what I thought about it, here's my TripAdvisor review (yes I opened a TripAdvisor account just to post this):
Lassitudinous? Thinking you'll never trump your torpidity? Mollify your mind. My prescription - Nature's Window Retreat.
No need to worry about subterfuge here - what you see is what you get. And what you get is very good. Sure I could extol the virtues and state of equanimity offered at this hidden oasis: unwinding by an infinity pool that peers out over the mountainous rain forest, sipping Pinot Grigio in a blue-lit hot tub under night time raindrops, waking up to a steaming pot of coffee and homemade toasted muesli with fruit and yogurt, or luxuriating in a plethora of tranquil nooks tastefully decorated with hand-made Balinese furniture and sculptures.
But I don't need to do that, because you can rest assured that Mark and Lisa will assiduously see to your every need.
In case you wanted to know what I thought about it, here's my TripAdvisor review (yes I opened a TripAdvisor account just to post this):
Lassitudinous? Thinking you'll never trump your torpidity? Mollify your mind. My prescription - Nature's Window Retreat.
No need to worry about subterfuge here - what you see is what you get. And what you get is very good. Sure I could extol the virtues and state of equanimity offered at this hidden oasis: unwinding by an infinity pool that peers out over the mountainous rain forest, sipping Pinot Grigio in a blue-lit hot tub under night time raindrops, waking up to a steaming pot of coffee and homemade toasted muesli with fruit and yogurt, or luxuriating in a plethora of tranquil nooks tastefully decorated with hand-made Balinese furniture and sculptures.
But I don't need to do that, because you can rest assured that Mark and Lisa will assiduously see to your every need.
Too wordy? Says a lot without really saying anything? If you said yes to both of those questions then I did my job perfectly.
Cheers!
Bonus: Here's a picture (back and front) of a hedgehog that got stuck running away from us in a driveway. Adorable. I can't recall if we just left it there to die or pushed it through.
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| My worst spelunking nightmare. |
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