Whak off

Sorry, I have to resort to prurient headlines to bump up my readership, which currently stands at an undisclosable fraction that rounds up to zero.

When I was a little kid, my English reader had a chapter called "Maori Village". It was about an enchanting place called Wakarewarewa in New Zealand, built on volcanic land, where people bathed and cooked in natural hot springs (not at the same time).

Finally after all these years of wondering about the veracity of that reader, in my whistle stop tour of New Zealand I went to Rotorua. I don't remember much of Rotorua after that night at the Belgian beer bar, where I made the rounds of every dubbel and trippel (I must have...). But I do remember a nice long walk out of the city to Whakarewarewa - Thermal Village!

What an evocative name. Presumably among New Zealand's strengths is a ban on marketers and the ability to channel all that questionable "creativity" and "intelligence" into adventure sports. Reverse bungy, anyone?

Anyway the thermal village was everything I had read about. Sulfurous smell everywhere; the communal bathing areas fed off pools of boiling water (relax, it cools down on the way), where the guide told us "we all bathe in the nude together"; the "ovens" built on top of steaming holes where they do cook food. Well at least they do for tourists, perhaps they have fancy kitchen ranges for themselves. At any rate, I envied them for their presumed savings on utilities.

It was really a terrific experience to finally see and smell something that I had only imagined for so long. The tour guide was a tad stiff though, or perhaps she chases down her breakfast with a dose of botox.

I rounded off the tranquil trip in true soul-filling manner by going nuts at the trinket shop.