Laura and I are taking a “down” day in cloudy Abel Tasman today to catch up on email, photos, blog, and the random bits of real life (mostly bills and the like) that still have to be dealt with while we’re traveling. We’re also taking this opportunity to exercise the “off” option of the hop-on/hop-off Stray bus tour… having spent a really fun week or so on Mr. Scoobs with Mambo as our driver, we’re already missing his laid back style and wickedly dry sense of humor (though not the mechanical unreliability of Mr. Scoobs, may he RIP), so we’re hoping the next bus and driver will suit us a little better than the one we joined yesterday in Picton for our south island loop.
And now, the highlights reel from our last few days on the north island…
Hahei to Raglan
We left the hot water beaches of Hahei and made our way over to the west coast of the north island. On our way, we passed through Hamilton (Mambo’s hometown) and learned that Kiwis like to create official slogans for their cities. Hamilton in particular had some trouble coming up with a slogan that really seemed to fit, so they opened it up to the citizens to decide. Their winning choice: “Hamilton, it’s not as bad as you think.” Mambo told us most people actually call it “Hamil-tron: city of the future”, with “Hamilton: clamidia capital of New Zealand” as a close second, but my favorite is “What happens in Hamilton… well, who really cares?”
We stopped in the west coast town of Raglan for the night. Raglan is most famous for having the second best left-breaking surf beach in the world. Another thing Kiwis love to do: rank things. They have the ninth deepest crater in the world, the second largest bog in the southern hemisphere, the third largest flightless bird species in the western quadrant of the southern hemisphere, etc. Strangely, they have very few “biggest” or “longest” or “deepest”. As Mambo would say, they have an affinity for the highly dramatic letdown (case in point: Flight of the Conchords’ song Part Time Model).
;)
Behold, the second best left-breaking surf beach in the world!
In Raglan, we stayed at this really cool eco-lodge up in the trees (including a fun zip line), above a small beachside enclave where numerous celebrities have homes (Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and the lead dude from the Red Hot Chili Peppers). We hung out with the Stray cats (our bus mates, not the band), played some pool, and took part in the group “spag bowl” dinner, probably the cheapest dinner we’ve had in New Zealand so far (total bill: NZ$5 per person). We crashed early that night, but the “kids” moved their late night party up to the “party barn”, a really cool space separate from the main lodge/hostel with a stereo, dance floor, ping pong and pool tables, and a refrigerator… what else could a twenty-something backpacker hoping to get lucky (or at least do a body shot or two) wish for?
Raglan to Maketu
On Saturday, we headed out of Raglan on our way back to the east coast. There were two big events on the schedule for the day: the glow worm caves in Waitomo, and a traditional Maori Hangi (feast) and cultural event that evening in a little town called Maketu. In Waitomo, Laura and I did the Haggas Honking Holes tour of the glow worms caves, and it was amazing! This was not a tour for the mobility impaired… after donning very thick, padded wetsuits, harnesses, rubber boots, and helmets, we went through an “intensive training” (standing outside in the heat) on how to “abseil”: sliding down a rope with it wound through a safety device attached to your harness that keeps you from falling like a rock. Only in New Zealand, where it is basically impossible to sue someone, would you be able to run a tour like this.
;)
Suit up!
Once we were “trained”, we abseiled down two long, very wet rock faces into the depths of the cave. I didn’t realize how loud it would be down there… waterfalls crashed down all around us. We made our way deeper and deeper into the cave, walking through pools of water, scrambling over rocks, doing more abseiling, and squeezing through holes and tunnels that were barely big enough to fit through. We finally made it to the deepest cave (80 meters or so below the surface), turned off our lights, and looked up to see the green stars that were the glow worms covering the cave walls. Our guides (who were hilarious, by the way, par for the course here) gave us the rundown of the glow worm life cycle, which basically goes like this: they eat, they shit, they shag, they die. The glowing green we see is actually their poo… they don’t have b-holes, so they get rid of their excrement through a chemical reaction which glows. Fluorescent poo… pretty cool.
Our Maori cultural experience in Maketu was, well, an experience. For those of you who’ve been to Rotorua and seen one of the very polished and touristy Maori hangis, this was pretty much the opposite of that. The dinner and song-and-dance at Uncle Boy’s was about the most Whiskey Tango thing we’d ever seen. After having the dinner first (not the normal protocol, but necessary given our late arrival), which consisted of chipped beef (which I later found out was mutton) and Stove Top stuffing, we made our way into the adjoining “marae” (meeting hall) and began the “hongi”: the traditional Maori greeting of a new tribe.
As luck would have it, I was the eldest male in our “tribe” (big surprise on a bus full of backpackers), so I was chosen to act as chief. Lucky me. My first duty as chief was to stand in front of our group as the teenage warriors danced their “hongi” and tried to scare the crap out of me with their spears and facial expressions. Once they laid down their token offering (a leaf) and I picked it up, we were accepted into their group. We all greeted each other with the traditional Maori greeting: pressing your noses and foreheads together and saying “kiaora”. We then sat down and heard a few songs from the cultural troupe. I’m not sure why, but the group of teenagers was led by a very strange little white Kiwi woman who seemed very nervous. They were all in training (I’m thinking it was a class project for school), and unfortunately it showed. They did their best, but it was all quite funny to watch.
Then came the real fun. The men in our tribe (only six of us) were led away, and we were taught the “haka”, the traditional warrior dance of the Maori. We took our shirts off, put on fake grass skirts, and learned the words and moves of the haka. And of course, as chief, I was front and center leading the charge. I took my duties seriously, so much so that I had bruises on my thighs for a few days after from all the hard slapping. I also lost my voice screaming the battle cries and chanting with my fellow tribesmen. It was all very amusing. We went back into the hall and presented the haka to the women, who were infinitely amused. They then showed us their stuff, doing the “poi” dances that they’d learned from the Maori women.
;)
Dustin trying to look scary for the haka (yeah, not so much)
We wrapped up the cultural experience and retired to our homeless shelter-style accommodations. It was also the 30th birthday of one of our bus-mates, so needless to say, it was a late and none-too restful night of sleep.