Kiwis, Koalas, and Kava... Oi, Mate!: Chapter Three, "Rotorua, 'And Away Goes Trouble...!'" (Thursday, 13 October 2011)

Just in case you thought it was a "big city," Auckland thing, there were baked beans on the breakfast buffet in Rotorua this morning.  I can also attest that even though you'd think it wouldn't, your nose actually gets used to the ubiquitous smell of sulfur.

Rainbow Springs, our first stop this morning, is basically a small zoo that features native flora and fauna, including "The Kiwi Experience," which, contrary to popular belief,  is NOT a display of live New Zealanders, but an enclosure and exhibit featuring the small, fluffy, flightless, and endangered birds. 

The Agrodome, our next stop, was a hands-on, interactive introduction to farm and agricultural life in New Zealand, featuring every breed of sheep - I don't think you heard me: EVERY BREED OF SHEEP!!! - bred and farmed in New Zealand for its wool.  If you ever saw a Merino up close (or better yet, SMELLED one!), you'd never think of wearing the wool.  Satan horns and "the funk of forty thousand years": Now... who wants a SWEATER?!?!?!?  (GO TARHEELS!!!)

It was also at The Agrodome where I was introduced to heading dogs, which actually herd sheep with a just a stern glance, and I got to pet (and smell) a Huntaway, known as the "Kiwi barking dog," a combination of three breeds noted for its particularly annoying bark and its ability not only to herd sheep by running around and barking at them, but also climbing on their backs to really drive its point home.  Let's see your border collie do THAT!

Uncanny Story #3: During our lunch stop in town, one of my tourmates wandered off, got lost, and could not remember the name of our hotel or our tour guide.  Fortunately, two taxi drivers were able to infer from her Rainbow Springs admission sticker that she had been their today, called Rainbow Springs, and tracked down our tour guide, who "rescued" and reunited her with the group.

Whakarearewa, an authentic, active Maori village, with as much thermal activity as tradition and history, was our next stop.  Here we saw everything from geisers and thermal pools to sulfur flows and "the original microwave," underground compartments used to cook and heat food with the help of natural geothermic energy.  (My colleagues at NBCUniversal-Sheinhardt would be so proud!) 

It was also here that Uncanny Story #4 occured.  While standing outside the village meeting house, where a sacred funeral ritual had taken place just moments before we arrived, one of my tourmates took it upon himself to ring a very sacred and official bell so loudly it could be heard throughout the village... on purpose... because he wanted to hear it, a single act that may bring about the 2012 doomsday the Mayans prophecied.

It's like being on a field trip with The Little Rascals.

Thursday nights in Rotorua mean one thing: night markets.  "Night markets" is a bit of a misnomer, since they open at 5 and shut down by 9; however, considering the age group I'm kickin' it with on this tour, with those hours, they could just as easily call them "after hours clubs."  Thinking "night markets" actually meant "markets at night," I headed over around 8:15 only to find the vendors ready to shutter... but what a finale it was!  I wandered around a bit and decided on "Paella in a Box" (exactly what it sounds like) as my dinner choice with a Bundaberg ginger beer (my new drink of choice) to wash it down.  With the vituals in hand, I moved on to the entertainment.

What has a balding, mullet-wearing, 50ish dude in a Hawaiian print shirt, jeans, "sensible shoes," and a soul patch and a late 40-something, Grace Slick wannabe in a blue sequined top and '80s hair and pumps?  If you guessed my tour bus... ooooh, you're so close, but....  The correct answer is, of course, SparX, the Number One classic and schlock rock cover band playing the Rotorua night markets tonight.  Imagine you've just purchased a piping hot container of saffron rice and seafood, which is burning a hole in the palm of your left hand, while an icy cool, Mickey's-sized bottle of ginger beer numbs your right, and you're looking for a place to take a load off and chow down.  You find your way to the center of the night markets, drawn there by the sounds of the aforementioned dude ripping off mediocre blues guitar solos like the average American college kid and the aforementioned chick belting out her very best, "X Factor" audition material, backed by C-grade karaoke tracks of your college bar band faves.  Noshing on Spanish food in the heart of New Zealand's North Island, you witness a performance so cliche, you can predict every vocal run, hair flip, and fist pump this duo will commit moments before they actually do.  As each song ends, you clap obligatorily, not certain if you're applauding the performance or your own apparent "clairvoyance."  You, my friend, have just enjoyed "The SparX Xperience (TM)"!

And as the night markets closed, right on cue, the rain started, and I took my cue to return to the hotel.  Tomorrow is our first flight as a group and anything could happen.  We may discover what happened to Amelia Earhart.  For all I know, one of my tourmates might BE Amelia Earhart!