Marking My Territory

Newsflash, Part XXXIX

Hearts are breaking across New Zealand! Our beloved "Brit" (Bret McKenzie) has married his childhood sweetheart now that she's up the duff. Pass the tissues.

Note: I've been at this so long that I've lost confidence in my Roman numeral abilities. This is supposed to be 39.

Dogs Eat Kiwis!

Ninety Mile Beach & Northland

How long is New Zeland's Ninety Mile Beach? Sixty-three miles, of course!! (Although I now notice that Wikipedia page lists the length as 55 miles. Who really knows?)

We took a tour of the beach that went all the way up the coast to Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of NZ. This section of the country was the place of the first contact between Maori and Europeans and it is where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean. It is a very spiritual place in Maori mythology, believed to be the point where spirits of the dead enter the underworld. The views are incredible.

Potty Art

Kawakawa, New Zealand is famous for its... toilets. In 1997, Austrian architect and ecologist Friedrich Hundertwasser was commissioned to design the town's public toilets. The man was declared a Living Treasure of New Zealand.

To quote the brochure: "The Kawakawa toilet block with its ceramic columns, garden roof and curving, colorful exuberance has put the Northland town of Kawakawa on the international tourist route and travelers from around the world pay homage to the man and his unique, architectural charm."

After the toilet photographs, I have included a picture of the rest of the town. That should help you understand why the toilets get so much attention. There's not much else going on in Kawakawa!

A further note about toilets... Kiwis never use the terms "bathroom" or "lavatory" or "restroom." The word "toilet" refers to the throne itself and the room as a whole. It was a bit jarring at first, but I've become accustomed to NZ's "tell it like it is" attitude. I think part of the reason for the use of the word "toilet" (as opposed to "bathroom") is that the toilet and shower/bath are located in separate rooms.

Finally... the flush mechanism on NZ toilets varies according to what type of deposit you've made. The toilet comes equipped with both "half flush" and "full flush" buttons. More than you ever wanted to know!

Cathedral Cove

These are a few pictures from Cathedral Cove in the Cormandel Peninsula. The 45-minute walk to the beach was well worth the effort.

Bird is the Word

The good news is that I'm finally able to present you with an up-close and personal photo of a New Zealand penguin. The bad news is that this little guy is did (Kiwispeak for "dead").

Hot Water Beach

Our travels through the Cormandel Peninsula led us to the lovely Hot Water Beach. For 2 hours on either side of low tide, you can dig yourself a hole that fills with piping hot water heated by the underground hot springs. A natural hot tub at the beach!

We rented our space (available from all the local cafes and hotels) and got to work. It was one of the most crowded "attractions" I've seen in NZ. Everyone starts digging and then they give each other confused looks. "This doesn't feel hot." So you dig deeper and it still doesn't feel hot. I was beginning to wonder if people get so exhausted from digging that they're just happy to finally sit in a pool of cold water.

Then the crowd slowly realizes that the hot water supply is limited to a very narrow area of the shore. We moved to a new location and kept digging. No luck. Try a new location. Each time, I dipped my foot in to test my work and each time it was cold. I heard someone sitting in a pool next to me say, "Ouch, the water is too hot." I almost slapped her.

Then it finally happened. I dipped my foot into hole #52 and it was scalding. The water really was too hot. Sitting/standing in one area for too long would burn your bum/feet. People were jumping around like they were walking on hot coals. Steam was rising from the ground. One man even tried to cook a package of ramen noodles.

It was something to see... a few hundred people jammed into a very small area of beach, the rest of shore totally deserted. From time to time, a big wave would send a rush of cold water into everyone's personal hot tubs. The entire crowd would let out a big "oooh!" As the tide came in, those cold waves began to overpower the hot pools. We reluctantly called packed away our shovel and headed back to town. Another hard day's work in New Zealand! I have the boiled foot to prove it.

RotoVegas RotoVirus

Rotorua, touted for the healing properties of its hot springs and mud baths, caused me to break out in hives. Who could have predicted that it would be harmful to spend a few hours at a neon green lake? Where are my Mr. Yuk stickers when I need them?

The outbreak occurred after spending the day wandering through the toxic steam of Rotorua's geothermal parks. Thankfully, my airway remained open and the hives were limited to my arms and the soles of my feet. Strange, huh? Lest you start treating me as a leper, please know that the problem seems to have been solved with a pricey Kiwi antihistamine.
This has happened to me only 2 times previously:

1) In college, I broke out in hives after my inaugural taste of hummus. Yes, it is true that I didn't try hummus until my early 20s. I grew up in Ashland, remember? Against my better judgment, I tried to buy hummus in the Ashland supermarket last summer. The cashier looked at me like I had 2 heads when I asked for help locating this product. This escalated into a debacle involving 3 store employees, none of whom had the foggiest idea what I was talking about. "Spell it," they demanded of me. When I opened my wallet to pay for the other groceries, I strategically placed my hand to cover my license. I was already seen as a fancy foodie; I didn't want to be seen as a New York fancy foodie.

2) I broke out in hives when my baby brother was first brought home from the hospital. After driving him home from the hospital in Pottsville, my dad had to turn right around and drive me to the pediatrician in Pottsville. My condition was expertly diagnoses as a case of "over-excitement." I had myself so worked up over the idea of having a new sibling to boss around that I literally blew a gasket. Hives were popping out everywhere. As a precautionary measure, I was prohibited from having contact with the baby for 24 hours. Torture!

Over time, I've become acclimatized to both these triggers. I regularly enjoy a snack of crackers and hummus without consequence. I've had routine contact with my brother for 19 years without any adverse health effects. Additionally, I've developed healthier coping mechanisms for dealing with extreme emotions (drinking).

I cannot afford any more NZ doctors' bills, so I didn't stick around Rotorua long enough to give it a second chance. I jumped on the Geothermal Explorer Highway (that's the road's real name!) and hightailed it out of town.

Zorb!

Can't you just picture it? A bunch of Kiwis stilling around the farm saying: "There's no bridge to jump off... no river to jetboat down... how can we make use of this hill?" Thus, the zorb was born. This NZ-created activity involves strapping yourself into a giant inflatable ball and rolling down a hill. If the prospect of repeatedly tumbling ass-over-teakettle is too extreme, you can opt to hydro-zorb. The inner core of the zorb is filled with water and you slosh all around, but never turn upside down.

Registration involved the usual health-related questions and warnings. After paying and going through all the motions, the girl ahead of me said, "Well... I do have epilepsy." She and the desk clerk decided this "probably wasn't an issue." That's the Kiwi spirit! She'll be right.

After being transported to the top of the hill, I squeezed myself headfirst into a narrow opening in the zorb (reminiscent of being born) and took a seat on a small bench area. The zorb operator then crawled in after me to strap my feet and chest harness. He instructed me to hold on to the handles above my head and keep my head pressed back against the zorb wall. He climbed out, gave me a push, and down I went.

The zorb was exponentially less terrifying than my bungy jump, but equally fun. I have no desire to bungy jump ever again, but I would happily zorb down a hill every morning. To be honest, I wondered if the zorb would be too tame because it didn't look to be moving that fast down the hill. (NZ has turned me into an adrenaline snob.) I had no reason to worry... that ball takes some really big bounces. It feels like you're in a washing machine on spin cycle. I couldn't tell up from down or left from right. I laughed the whole time. I'm told it sounded like I let out a giant "whoop!" with each revolution. I couldn't hear anything inside the zorb, but I'm told that the loudspeaker was playing everyone's favorite power ballad as I tumbled down the hill... GNR's "Patience." Sweet as!

Picture Perfect

I was finally able to upload some more pictures! Click here to see the photos from the north island that correspond with my last few blog posts.

I am currently in Rotorua, which is one of the biggest tourist attractions on the north island. It has a heavy Maori influence and is best known for its geological features - geysers, mudpools, steaming earth, etc. It can feel very other-worldly. There's one minor drawback. When you least expect it, you get a whiff of something really nasty. "Who farted?" you think. Then you remember that you are in asulfur-rich land. The whole city smells like a rotten egg.

For reasons unknown to me, Rotura is affectionately known as "RotoVegas." It's not like it has a happening nightlife or anything. However, I find the nickname to be especially apporiate this weekend because some of my favorite N to the Zed readers are in the real Vegas celebrating a family wedding.

Big Congrats to Dave and Rachel... from one Vegas to another!