After an afternoon at the cinema watching the first Lord of the Rings film on Sunday, we went to Middle Earth proper on Monday. We picked up our new rental car (a very old Nissan Bluebird) and drove to Matamata. This is where the Hobbiton scenes were filmed. You couldn't drive to the Hobbit holes yourself, but you could pay $50 each to go on a tour. We looked at the literature and deduced (although it wasn't explicitly stated) that the sets had all been removed and that the Hobbit holes that you'd see would be replicas. This would be pointless, so Anne and I contented ourselves with a meat pie in the car.
Smells Eggy
We drove on to Rotorua, and checked into a nice hostel. We paid for an en-suite room, so it was odd that there was no loo and shower attached. Instead we have a kitchenette, in which we're not allowed to use the oven. We can use the kettle, toaster, fridge and table though, so it's a nice change to be able to eat our dinner in private. The standard of hostels in NZ is pretty high, but we're getting to the point now where we're looking forward to not being in hostels any longer. (At least, I am.)
Rotorua is known for its geo-thermal activity and its Maori culture. We'd planned to see a little of each on Tuesday, but it rained ALL DAY - we spent the day around the town and hostel, and saw some bubbling mud pools in the local park. We're leaving here on Thursday, so we had to go to the Thermal Village today, despite the rain. It's called Te Whakarewarewa, and pronounced fa-ka-re-wa-re-wa. Got that? Good.
In the pouring rain we took a tour of the Maori village, and saw geysers and egg-smelling sulphur hot pools. The scenery was amazing, but would have been better without the rain. The most entertaining thing was a humourless, sour-faced, short woman in a green raincoat who kept pushing to the front the whole time. Rather uncharitably, Anne dubbed her "The Poison Dwarf". We had great fun getting in front of her in the group and then seeing how long it was before we were pushed aside. If only her coat had been red, she'd have been a dead-ringer for the murderer in Don't Look Now.
We watched a demonstration by a Maori woman on how to make a grass skirt, and later went to a Maori concert where they enthusiastically sung songs, played instruments, and did threatening dances. To my joy, I was picked out of the audience, with others, to perform a dance to the tune of The Hokey Cokey. Suffice to say I was lacking any rhythm or finesse normally required for these occasions, but I made up for it with my good humour and flailing limbs. Anne sat there giggling, taking photos.