Swiss Family Robinson

That afternoon and the next few days were all about the Coromandel.  We left Rotorua and headed north.  We had picked out a hotel in a small town on the water as our base.  The hotel, the Mecure Grand Puka Park Resort, had a main building with check in, a restaurant, pool, and tennis court and "rooms" spread throughout the grounds.  The hotel grounds were set on a hill overlooking the town and the ocean.

The rooms were a series of "chalets" tucked into the forest for complete privacy.  No cars were allowed beyond the main building so we had to walk up the hill to our room, luggage in tow.  Our place was essentially in a tree:  it was like being the Swiss Family Robinson, but with satellite tv.  

With daylight fading, we decided to check out the beach and get our bearings.  Fortunately, the crowds had thinned and we were able to find a spot to watch the sun light the clouds (we were on the east side of the Coromandel, facing the Pacific so the sun set behind us over the land).

The first full day we mostly hung out at the beach, fighting off the crowds, reading books, swimming, and surfing (ok, watching surfers).

The next few days we explored the Coromandel, visiting small towns along the coast, enjoying the sun (on the beach, on a boat tour, etc.), and of course eating.  We loved Whitianga, which had a number of great restaurants and a beautiful little harbor.  Strangely enough, the "wh" in all the town names is pronounced as a "ph," which is in itself strange to be pronounced as an "f." All I can say is count your blessings you are native English speakers and don't have to learn it as a second language.

Cathedral cove:

Whitianga:

(Mom, this one's for you -- look at the name of the boat)

Just like the Swiss Family Robinson, Debbie stayed in touch with the outside world.  Instead of messages in bottles, she used Skype on her iPad sitting outside the free wifi from the library.  Talking with Andrew:

All that talking made us hungry and it had been at least a day since we had last had mussels, so . . .

Between the towns of Whitianga and Tairua (which was close to our hotel) an underground river of hot water flows into the Pacific under a small stretch of sandy beach.  During low tides -- and only during low tides  -- a portion of the beach is exposed that sits just above the river.  With a little digging, you can expose the hot water and create an incredible self-made hot tub.  The night we were there low tide was just around sunset.  We had bought a shovel in Whitianga and were all set.  We parked in the main beach parking lot and then headed around the bend.  The beach is generally empty, except for the spot just above the underground river (we had to ford a little stream to get there).

Once there it's every man, woman, and child for himself.  Actually, people share shovels and their water supply as if they were Utopian.  Depending on where you dig, the water can be scalding or barely warm, and people continually make adjustments by opening a breach in their walls to let someone else get hotter or colder water depending on the need.  It is an awesome experience (although with a La Brae tar pit kind of vibe).

After a few days, we headed back to Auckland, cutting straight across the Coromandel on an unpaved road.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Hacking our way through the woods, we found what so vexed Ponce de Leon:  the fountain of youth.  (I am sure many of you have noticed that we have not aged one bit since our trip a few weeks ago.)

We also found a large tomato sitting in someone's yard.  Take that Ponce.

Additional pictures can be found at:  https://picasaweb.google.com/cariboulane/SwissFamilyRobinson?authkey=Gv1sRgCJL699boybC5qAE#

There are lots of pictures but they span a 3-day period.

The Crack of Don

Tuesday morning we got up for the crack of Don (more on that later).  As you now know, in addition to bungee jumping and zorbs, Rotorua is famous for its geothermal craziness.  Some call Rotorua the Yellowstone of New Zealand or maybe they call Yellowstone the Rotorua of the US, I forget.  Anyway, in addition to the hot springs in the city, there are all kinds of geysers, mud pots, and steaming things not far outside the city.  Debbie had read about a geyser in one park that went off promptly at 10:15 every day without fail.  That was our initial destination.

Ok, our initial destination was breakfast and the geyser was a secondary destination.  Fortunately, you cannot walk thirty feet anywhere in a New Zealand city without running into a place that serves insane coffee.  Just around the corner from our hotel we found a great breakfast place.  Yes, that is a cappuccino and quiche with egg on top.  I had four of them.

For all the geologists in the family, on to the Wai-o-Tapu area of the Taupo Volcanic Zone to see the geyser, known as Lady Knox.  There is a bit of pressure going to a geyser that goes off just once a day at exactly the same time every day, and darned early at that (for those of you who got it and/or are wondering, yes that pun was intended).  Driving recklessly at over 40 km/hour (which as you know from your 4th grade metrics lessons and trips to Canada is close to 200 mph), turning on my wipers at every turn, we dashed into the parking lot of the geothermal park, rushed to get tickets, rushed back to the car to drive to another lot, and whew, took our seats before the magnificent miracle of nature.  Lady Knox:

Ok, maybe not magnificent yet, but we heard the Lady doth not disappoint.  We had a few moments to reflect, and Debbie and I drifted deep into the recesses of our respective pasts:  family trips to Yellowstone, visions of Old Faithful, fighting with siblings for the best seat in the car (the one out of the sun or facing backward or forward or whatever the other sibling(s) wanted that we could deprive them of), and eating Dinty Moore stew heated on the Coleman.  Anyway, back to Old Faithful.  As 10:15 approached, the tension was palpable.  A park ranger approached to give a quick talk:

We were on the edge of our seats and then . . . BAM!  It hit us, a true WTH moment (H for the youngsters reading this).  What was that in his left hand?  Hmm, looks suspicious.  Well, yes I am sure you have guessed it by now -- the lady is a tramp.  Lady Knox is no lady at all and is about as faithful as Newt Gingrich.  Mr. Ranger poured some water softener in the geyser and then walked away.  Surprise surprise, it erupted at exactly 10:15.  

Feeling somehow cheated even though the geyser was actually pretty cool, we headed for the park.  Entering the park was a good news / bad news proposition.  The good news was that it reminded us of home.  The bad news was that it reminded us of the sulphur springs near the library on the north side of town and called into question our rush to get up for the crack of Don.

The park was great and had a wide variety of geothermalocity (sorry to be so technical).  Incredible colors and kind of spooky at times.

Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble (teachable moment here; when your kids ask about this line, sit them right down and force them to read Macbeth.  If they protest, tell them it's McBeth and it's something like a McRib sandwich):

Of course all that walking and bubbling makes a person hungry, so we rushed back to lunch.  Yes, that is a common (albeit exotic for us) Kiwi dish I had, something the locals call "H-a-w-a-i-i-a-n pizza," and no, not all those beers are mine.

For more pictures, please click on:  https://picasaweb.google.com/cariboulane/CrackOfDon?authkey=Gv1sRgCKaA0bPYttDepAE#.
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