Jackie and I calculated that we have spent 11 nights on this trip in some sort of compromised position for the sake of free lodging. Our last night in Australia was no exception, as we spread out on two benches in the international terminal and awoke to our luggage cart having been pinched, and our flight about to board. Our Qantas flight was once again pleasant and I was entertained by 'The Session' for this leg of the journey. A film that garnered some Oscar buzz that was, in my humble opinion, well deserved. I was only slightly disappointed that TSA edited the much talked about full frontal scenes featuring Helen Hunt (who looks fantastic) but somehow I got over it by the time we arrived in the land of Hobbits.
We quickly became aware that we had made even less of a plan for New Zealand than we had for Australia and with nowhere to stay and no idea where to go we quickly put a plan into action. Jackie got a SIM card for her phone and I purchased snacks ... everyone has their strengths. We hopped on the public bus for the bargain basement deal of $16 to take us into city center Auckland where we knew some hostels were sure to be located. After chatting with a USC alum on the bus we parted ways and headed to Nomad's Backpackers where we roomed with a sweet Norwegian girl studying in Wellington but on holiday in the North. In need of a real meal after nearly 2 days of flying we opted for some Thai Cafeteria that had large portions and an abundance of unidentifiable fried foods. We opted for fried balls (after being reassured they were sweet potatoes) and some spicy chicken dish to split before heading out in search of internet. A couple of minutes at a bar close by with free WiFi and I got my fix before heading off to bed.
We had set the alarm for 5am the next morning in the hopes of getting to a 6am Bikram Yoga class. Having tossed and turned all night the alarm seemed to go off exceptionally early and it was quickly decided that the 9am class would be much more suitable. A 30 minute class across town was required to make it to East West Yoga and after a satisfying practice with an Oregonian instructor Jacks and I both entered a world neither of us had ever entered before - the world of group showering. Somehow I managed to make it through all of my formal education and days as an athlete without having had to bathe in front of another woman, let alone a group of them, but at this particular establishment it was our only option. For those of you who have not taken Bikram before you may not understand just how filthy you are after your 90 minute class, but when drenched in your own sweat having rolled around on the floor no doubt permeated by many other's, showering is really your only option so we went for it. Making sure to take turns as to not have to be naked together, it actually wasn't so bad. At 15 I think I would have chosen the guillotine over communal showers, but at 31 perhaps I am slightly more comfortable with my body - or maybe I have just reached a place in life where I simply can't care about such irritations. Either way - not the new experience I anticipated experiencing down here - but a new one nonetheless...
Side note: have you ever noticed that the largest, most repugnant locker room attendees are the most comfortable being buck naked in a room full of people? Like the possibly pregnant, possibly obese woman who dropped trow not 2 feet in front of me? Strange. Moving on...
We went back to the hostel to retrieve our bags and made our way to Quay Street to pick up the 12:50 pm Naked Bus to Rotarua, a town that had been suggested to us repeatedly and a town that is evidently the cultural center of the North Island of New Zealand. We immediately located a hostel and procured a private room, although I private coffin may be more fitting as it is just enough to house narrow bunk bed and has no windows. We then went to the front desk where a very cute, but very young man was able to help us find out activity for the evening. We opted for a 'cultural experience' and one I would usually turn my nose up at but with such limited options for authentic cultural interaction down here I was thirsty for something other than a poor man's version of America so we bought 2 tickets to the 6:30 pm show at the Maori Cultural Center for a performance and dinner.
Along with a slew of tourists - including the most Americans we have seen in one place since actually being there - we loaded up several bus fulls of people where the driver gave us some insight into the culture before arriving at the village where you are entertained by a traditional tribe greeting and move along to a series of locations where things such as traditional Maori war craft or game playing are explained by some natives. A little contrived for my taste, but to Jackie's point it is a way to keep the culture alive and share it with others - so I did my best to move through the experience with an open mind. Dinner was a Hangi - and after some song and dance it was served. Having paid $88 a head to be there I did what any red-blooded American does at a buffet - I dug in, consuming my fair share of calories and making sure I ate my money's worth. I am disgusting, I know. The steamed vegetables, prepared much like a Luau and bread were fantastic and I went so far as to sample the customary New Zealand dish of Pavolova, which I was told is similar to Merengue in the US, but never having had it domestically before it was all very exotic.
The tattooed warriors were perhaps the most attractive men I have seen thus far leading me to believe I either love an extraordinarily outdoorsy and rugged men, or I am in such a daze of depression and disdain that I don't know which way is up. Perhaps it is a little of both.
Dinner ran late and after an embarrassing round of 'You Are My Sunshine' while holding hands with our table-mates - German Laura Hahn, her Swedish BF and the oldest and most confused woman on he face of the planet - we were asked to touch noses, a tradition of the Maori people, when disembarking the bus. Not my finest moment - but a great experience as a whole.
Jackie is hard-headed, perhaps even more than me and despite the fact that we had been told most Rotarua activities are not actually available within the city limits but had to be accessed after commissioning expensive private trasport, we slept in and then put on our best lesbian lovers on holiday costumes and went in search of hiking. It didn't seem promising so I chose to go to Fat Dog for breakfast instead where I spent $30 on not fresh fresh juice and eggs that most certainly were in powder form at some stage of their existence. Yum! My father keeps asking me how the food is - and think that there may be my review in a nutshell. Like sex with an ex boyfriend, not worth the cost and more often than not disappointing.
We headed to the lake which was beautiful and splurged on a paddle boat rental we kept out much longer than was advised while cruising through packs of ducks and a pair of beautiful black swans. The walk around the lake leads you to the natural hot sulpher springs which are as beautiful as they are odipherous. I am just at that stage of Summer where tanorexia sets in and now, all I can think about is my ability to brown my skin to the color I believe it should naturally be. Women do some ridiculous things to convert their given form into that with which they would have preferred to be naturally blessed. I have not touched mascara in over a month and as much as I think boob jobs look great, I doubt I will ever cough up the cash for such a frivolous and vein expense. That being said, what do you do when you think you've been born the wrong culture? Is there such a thing as cultural reassignment surgery? Looks like I have some research to do, as soon as I can locate some more Wifi ...
