Thursday, September 18, 2008

NZed's Dead

Day 6

Woke early to skies of the New Zealand national color – gray. We reluctantly decided to leave the National Park Village (given that it was pouring outside) and drove north to Waitomo.

We stayed at the Waitomo Caves Hotel, a very impressive place sitting at the top of a hill. The hotel hadn’t been renovated since the early 1940’s and had that rustic, dilapidated look that Stanley Kubrik must have been looking for when he was in preproduction for The Shining.





When I checked in, I asked if my father had been there yet. The concierge said, “You’re the first guest to arrive. You’ve always been the first guest to arrive.” I didn’t think this was quite accurate but he seemed to know what he was talking about. We were also informed that the dining room would not be available that evening, narrowing our options to two. We brought our bags up the creaking stairs and I just couldn’t help commenting on HOW MUCH the hotel reminded me of Stephen King’s novel. Amy politely reminded me that, although she’s never seen the Shining, she’s pretty sure that it would freak her out. I said “Heeeere’s Johnny!” She didn’t get it.

We went for a beer and a veggie burger. Then the four of us did a forty minute “bushwalk” that was extraordinary; a path that ran through caves, alongside waterfalls, and culminated in an underground viewing platform over a subterranean stream.

We ended the hike and toured the most amazing cave I’ve ever seen. I imagine that the Glowworm Cave is like an acid trip without the brain damage, flashbacks, and DEA agents. The upper chambers include the “cathedral” which has excellent acoustics and has attracted singers such as Kenny Rogers and the Vienna Boys Choir. I thought about trying the opening of Welcome to the Jungle, but really wanted to see the glow worms so I just hummed it.

The chamber that held the glowworms was *insert favorite expletive* awesome. We boarded on a metal boat in near darkness and our guide used hanging ropes to maneuver the boat into a chamber where thousands of tiny, bright blue lights glittered on the ceiling. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I should mention here that the lifespan of the glow worm is rather tragic. Sure, it’s not bad when you’re in the cocoon stage, dangling a sticky snare line to catch insects and draw them up for brunch. Upon hatching, however, each glow worm discovers to its horror that it has no mouth. So it’s a fun filled four days before starvation sets in.

We hiked back from the caves and encountered beautiful hilly terrain bounded by a maze of barbed wire fencing. We mastered the art of climbing over stiles. Surprisingly, the hiking path led us right through a field filled with approximately thirty cows.

We started to walk through (somewhat nervously). Someone commented that these appeared to be very well endowed cows, sort of a bovine Crying Game. Amy and Cris did their version of speed walking. There was snorting and heavy breathing (which seemed to startle the bulls). My father took pictures and said things like “thank you so much for letting us pass through” and “we come in peace” in his best therapeutic voice. If you know my father, you know I’m not kidding. We responded by pointing out that my father was the only carnivore in the group.

I took pictures of bulls that I thought might be responsible for my death.




We got back just before sunset.


Day 7

Breakfast at the hotel. An acceptance that things were grim. It was going to rain. We decided to drive north to Raglan, a small village next to an excellent hike by the Tasman Sea. We agreed to meet at in the town of Three Streams, prominently marked on our map. Funny … “Three Streams” is not so much a town as two houses next to a stream. With no sign. We reunited by luck and determined that hiking was not going to happen.

As we prepared to drive north to Auckland, I thought I should probably visit the Shire. After all, we were going to pass about three centimeters from it, translating to about three extra hours on the road. However, a quick Google search and I discovered that a tour company has a stranglehold on the site and charges an obscene amount to poke your head in a hobbit hole. I know how that sounds and I still considered doing it. The tour company has attempted to sweeten the deal by offering (as a bonus) a personal viewing of a sheep shearing, the New Zealand equivalent of a bull fight. My ovinaphobia got the better of me, however. So I settled on visiting the local gift shop and picking up hobbits for everyone at home.

Unfortunately, I was informed by a customs official that hobbits are considered an invasive species. They were confiscated.