Onward ever onward

So I decided I was on my way to Rotorua, to go and check out the thermal pools and treat me-self to a good massage.

On the way out of Napier, I picked up a couple of likely youths. Two Pakeha boys of about 17 ( yup - strange but true) They turned out to be rather dull company on the way to Lake Taupo (pictured left), but we did have one funny conversation that lingers in my mind. After a rather boring conversation about cars and music, they politely asked me if I minded them smoking. Of course I did not, and they duly rolled me one. Then, they asked me if it was OK if they had a beer. I complied, and knew that they had already knocked some back. And then....they asked if I minded if they threw the beer bottles out the window!! Well, I"m afraid I put my foot down...not on the gas. I couldn't believe it, but resisted giving them a lecture and thanked them for asking me.

I dropped them off at Lake Taupo and decided that although I was hot and steamy, I wouldn't leap into the Lake just yet so pictured from the car and continued on my merry way.

What a lovely water way is Huka Falls. I never get over the colour of the water and the sheer force of it as it rips through the land. This particular body of water has been harnessed for hydro electricity, and I was told by a lovely Irish lady, Emir (pronounced EEEMMMAAa) that there is a place here that you can find yourself in a thermal pool and then right next door into a plunge pool. I think I understood it was all al fresco and sounded lovely and very natural. Maybe I'll go back to it, it's not that far away, but I was determined to get to Rotorua, and time was ticking.

Further along the road, about 50 kms away from my destination, I began to smell the pungency of the sulphur pools. I really didn't mind it too much, but I've heard of so many complaints. I was close but I still had to drop off and see things along the way as the sun was still up. This is a rather touristy place, but hey, I'm a tourist, so I have to appreciate all these places, but I wasn't tempted by many to stay here even though they have glorified sulphur pools and all looks very reigned in.

I wish I could remember the name of this place, but I can't, so it goes without a name. So I was by this stage about 30 kms away from R. and on the way I passed by a strange establishment of a 'genuine Maori village' - well, further along the road I found out that there was some relevance to the uprooting of the Maori. R. is said to be the real "maori new zealand" - well, uhm.....There wasn't much evidence that I could see. Not like the real fishing settlements that are still in exitence on the east coast of the North Island. When I arrived in R. I was rather at a loss as to where I was going to stay, and Winnie was over heating again. So noticing that every single motel that was just on the outskirts of town had it's own spa and all looked the same for a fairly reasonable price. I decided to explore more. I was of course still waiting for ever so important e-mails and so headed for the first attractive cafe that I could find that had internet access.

I found the Arts Cafe, got a coffee and plonked myself outside to have a cig. Before very long, I was joined by the owner of the cafe and she then filled me in on her tale of woe about how the partnership with the cafe ownership had all gone sour and times were hard as the tourists were not coming to Rotorua or NZ in general because of the state of the economy. New Zealand is about three times as expensive as it was five years ago.

I sympathised with her and we chatted about lighter things. She then asked me where I was staying. I said that I hadn't picked a place yet, and went off to use the INterenet. As I was leaving, I said my goodbyes, and she said "you might like Cactus Jack's just round the corner".

Cactus Jack's - the most surreal hostel that I've ever stayed in. The whole place done out to the minutest detail (ish) like a Mexican border town, and each room part of the town. Pictured above is the couple of rooms decked out as the stables, my room was next door, the barbershop. It was run by Joe a lovely Geordie and his Kiwi wife. They weren't responsible for the decor but they were keeping it all together and made me feel very much at home. They also had a core group of people who had stayed there for many months. The first night I arrived , they invited me to go out with them to bid farewell to one of their crew who was leaving. It was a great fun night and many hangovers the next day. The day I chose to go and get pummelled by a local masseur. I went and did some laps in one of the largest pools that I've ever swum in, and by the time my massage was due I was feeling fairly back to normal. My masseur hailed me warmly and told me he knew me...I was somewhat confused, but it turned out that he was one of the crew from Cactus Jacks and he had been one of the crew that had come out the night before. A very nice french guy called Gabriel.

Over the next couple of days, I met a bunch of really nice people, including Celia who had been a lecturer in womens and social studies at Massey in Palmerston North, but had recently jacked the whole thing in to pursue her music. I went to see her play a couple of weeks later in Wellington and it was a joy. She was with an American woman called Kim who was travelling around, and at that concert Kim told me sadly that while she had been away, her partner had left her for someone else. Oh well, she had Celia. I also had a fascinating discussion with a guy from the Netherlands who told me of the trend at home for shipping over American log cabins..

So the following morning I had one final massage, this time a special one called an Aix which was a goo pummelling again accompanied by hot sulphur spring water as well - Wow.

So, back on the road again and on to the Coramandel Peninsula. ON the way I passed through this rather strange town. This was Tirau - I was in the middle of the bible-belt.

You can't really see unfortunately from these images but the dog and the sheep were together and standing with them was a good shepherd. All very picturesque but nevertheless a strange and bizarre town.

The weather got worse as I went over the mountains and the drive was fairly arduous, but I knew that I could make it before nightfall so I pressed on. I took in a couple of beaches on the way. I nearly got ribbed out to sea, so it was more of a douse than a swim. This was advertised as being hot water, but it wasn't.

I'm inbetween Cathedral Cove and Devil's Point and feeling very much in the thick of it.

I'm not far from Coramandel now, and the weather really doesn't seem to be getting any better, but as I descent the final hill into Coromandel, something spectacular.
A few dodgy pics thatI had to take while circumnavigating the windy road.

It was really hard to find somewhere desirable to stay as the very small and pretty town was beseiged by people who had come up for the fishing, but eventually I did find a little hostel tucked away,and went to get some fish and chips to eat as the sun was going down. I gotten bittten to buggery, but it was very lovely.

This was also a strange little hostel, run by the very dominating and overpowering Lynda, but she turned out to be very nice as the evening formalities became a little less formal. Her place:
She was very reminiscent of many of the white, middle class 50 something year old hippy women who have some infatuation with African women and a desire to be African in some strangely colonial way. THere was a small and select crew staying and we all felt the need to sing. The family that led the way were great and we had a lot of fun. I wish I had a piccie of Lynda - a very handsome woman indeed. The next morning she was excellent enough to cook each and everyone of us a plate of pancakes. Fine hospitality. IN the middle of the night I went to the pub on the corner to get more beers for us and some cigs. The pub was live and kicking at 1.00am - they were having a wake.