Saturday - Waitomo and Rotorua

Out of our comfort zone

Today's adventure took us to Waitomo, about two hours southwest of Auckland, for the Black Labyrinth Tour through Ruakuri Cave, billed as "climbing, blackwater tubing, leaping and floating." As most of you know, both Michael and Nancy have done a lot of whitewater rafting; blackwater tubing is so-called because it happens underground, in the dark.

It was still raining lightly, so we were glad that today's schedule called for getting wet anyway. For our underground journey, we were outfitted with wetsuits, white rubber go-go boots, and designer helmets with attached headlights. (We tried not to think about the other bodies that had occupied the same suits and boots on earlier excursions--even knowing that they had been dipped in the "sanitizing" tank three times before they got to us.)

The twelve adventure-seekers and three guides in our group were taken by van from the welcome center to an above-ground stream that served as our practice area. Each of us got a tube, and then we were instructed to hold the tubes against our bottoms and jump backward off a dock. Having mastered that move, we crammed ourseles back into the van (with our tubes) and drove to the entrance of the cave. The opening was a tight squeeze for one person at a time--and the stream was flowing into the cave at the same place. We spent the next two hours in that stream, which varied from two inches to over-our-heads deep, and from gently flowing to knock-us-off-our-feet swiftness. The first time we had to jump backward over a waterfall wasn't too bad--maybe a three-foot drop--but the second jump was at least six feet and caused quite a splash when you hit the water and went under. Nancy had to do all this with her eyes clamped shut so she wouldn't lose her contact lenses.

After the waterfall jump (photo from website. In real life, the cave was much darker).

At some point, one of the women in our group observed that her wetsuit "wasn't working." (If she had expected it to keep her warm and dry, ours weren't working, either.) Sometimes we went on foot, climbing or crouching or crawling, carrying our tubes over one shoulder and using our other hand to steady ourselves against the jagged walls--no helpful handrails here. Other times we floated down the river in our tubes, frequently stretching out as flat as possible to avoid a low ceiling. An occasional bang on the head made us really appreciate the safety helmets, and the headlights were invaluable. Nancy wished the rubber boots offered more ankle support--any ankle support.

After the second waterfall, our group formed a chain by placing our feet under the arms of the person in the tube in front of us. Floating along in that secure fashion was fun, but then the guide instructed us to turn our lights off and look up. Now we could see what we had come to see: glowworms! Thousands of glowworms that made the ceiling of the underground cave look like a starry sky--which is the point: the worms hope to fool passing insects into thinking they've escaped into the night so they will fly upward into the glowworms' mouths. It was truly an amazing sight--worth all the discomforts of the trip.

Since we couldn't take cameras, and realizing that even if we could find words to describe our adventure, no one would believe us, we suggest you follow this link on the outfitter's website to learn more about what we did.

At the end of the trip, fifteen soaking bodies again piled into the van and went back to the welcome center, where we had been promised a hot shower, a hot cup of soup, and a hot bagel. The showers, which happily were not unisex, were nothing more than six stalls of curved corrugated fiberglass, with no privacy doors. Michael was glad to get hot water as advertised; sadly, the ladies had to be content with only two out of the three promised "hots": the bland tomato soup and the bland bagels.  

Back on the road, the weary travelers saw a handful of people sitting on a bench in front of an ice cream shop and decided to turn around. Refreshed by scoops of vanilla laced with boysenberries and passion fruit, we headed west to the resort town of Rotorua in the volcanic area of the North Island.

The Sport of Kings Motel in Rotorua

Our immediate destination was the Sport of Kings Motel. After checking in and unloading our bags, we took advantage of the free wifi to (almost) catch up on the blog.

That evening was spent learning about Maori culture at the Tamaki Maori Village. A shuttle bus picked us up at our hotel and took us to a central location where all 150+ participants gathered to check in. Each person was assigned to a waka (Maori for "transport," which in our case meant another bus). The driver introduced us to some Maori customs and told us what to expect as we rode out of town to the village. Michael was chosen to be the "chief" who would represent the group on our bus at the welcoming ceremonies.

During the ceremony, the chiefs from each group were presented and the village chief and warriors showed their strength, trying to frighten the manuhiri (visitors) away.

When the village chief decided that the visitors were friendly, he welcomed each of the chiefs with the hongi (pressing noses in friendship). 

After the welcome, the groups visited several stations where various aspects of Maori culture were demonstrated. Michael participated a game in which the participants stood in a circle, each holding a five-foot pole with one end on the ground and the other in their hand, perpendicular to the ground. The leader would then call out "left" or "right" commands, at which time the participants would let go of their poles and try to grab the pole to the right or left of them before it hit the ground. If it hit the ground, they were out and the circle got smaller. Michael made it to the finals, but lost to a more nimble twenty-something.

The main event of the evening was to be a hangi, or feast. The food was cooked on hot stones, underground. We got to watch as the cooking pits were uncovered, then we moved into an amphitheater where we were entertained by a program of Maori songs and dances while the food was transfered to the serving area.

At the conclusion of the program, we were escorted to the dining hall where a Maori prayer of thanks was offered. We then enjoyed a buffet of roasted carrots, potatoes, bread stuffing, and kumara (a type of sweet potato). The meats included chicken, lamb, and mussels. Salad and bread also were served. Later came the desserts: pavlova with kiwi, peaches and cream, and steamed spiced pudding with vanilla custard.

At the end of the meal, before saying goodbye, the chiefs were all called up front to perform the haga (warriors' dance) they had been taught earlier in the evening. Michael gamely joined in the ferocious display of valor and courage. Back on the bus on the way home, our guide led us in a sing-along. It was gratifying to realize that so many people of different nationalities could sing each others' folksongs: Waltzing Matilda, Alouette, You Are My Sunshine, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain, and many more.