Soaking hot.

 09/09/12

The long drive started a day earlier than planned. The idea that we would head off on Monday morning vanished when I shuffled through the living room into the kitchen on Sunday morning.

‘Morning’ Marc called from the living room as I filled a coffee cup

‘Uh huh’

‘Beautiful morning’ he stated

‘Yep. Coffee?’

‘Beautiful morning’ he repeated, pointing out of the window at the blue sky.

I looked out of the window, and sipped my coffee as I realized what he was hinting at. ‘Oh. Yes. Right.’ I took another sip ‘I’ll get my shit together then’

An hour later we were loaded and driving the coast road, heading North.

‘The plan was’ is turning out to be a phrase I’m using more and more, but always in a good way. Like they say, ‘the best laid plans of mice’.

Anyway, the plan in as much as we had one, was to head north until we ran out of land, and to get to Cape Reinga to see the Pacific collide with the Tasman.

To head up State Highway One, up the Desert Road again, past Taupo, maybe even stopping to look around this time, then on to Auckland and up.

Back to the road, and as we left Porirua the ‘beautiful morning’ had started to turn into a windy and damp midday. As we headed towards Paraparaumu the sea that I had stopped to photograph on my first day in Wellington was being whipped up into wave after wave breaking beside the road, and throwing a haze of spray across the highway.

Even Kapiti Island was only a grey silhouette out to sea. We weren’t worried about the weather, as the forecast was for clearer skies ahead, and as it was, it was good to see now familiar roads and scenery given a fresh filter and atmosphere.

Past Palmerston North, Taihape, Gravity Canyon and the rolling cartoon like hills we plugged on. Through Waiouru, where we had stopped on a previous jaunt for dodgy chicken and chips, we were back on the Desert Road.

The sun came and went, fighting with the clouds and rain to make itself noticed, and losing for the majority of the time, until it finally gave up in a sulk and left the rain to it. As we drove on, Mt Ruapehu was shrouded in rain clouds allowing only the lower slopes to be visible this time, and Mt Tongariro had ceased to exist. Or was completely lost from view this time.

Back past Lake Taupo and towards Taupo town itself we made the decision to press on to Rotorua to find somewhere for the night. Twice now I’ve intended to stop over in Taupo, and both times have carried on past. I hope Taupo doesn’t take it personally, I will stop there one day I’m sure. It just wasn’t to be this day.

The air was thick with egg.
Well sulphur actually, but eggy all the same, and night was falling as we arrived in Rotovegas, the nickname that Rotorua has been given due to the streets leading in being lined with neon lit hotels, motels, stores and restaurants. We headed for the lakeside to find accommodation. As we drove through the neon lit ‘strip’, it did strike me that the nickname should be Roto’early ‘60s’ Vegas at best. As is with most towns i've seen outside of the cities, there were few buildings over two stories in height, an occasional three story building, and only closer to the lake side were any buildings of four or more floors, and no casinos that I saw at least.

Maybe RotoBlackpool would be a better name?

After laughing in the face of a couple of hotels and motels that thought $150 was a reasonable price for a twin room for one night, out of season, we checked into a simple motel for less than $70 for the night. Basic as the motel was, it was the first time I’ve stayed anywhere that had a party sized thermal water hot tub in the bathroom, and having seen it I did double check that the room had two beds, and that we’d not been given a ‘Honeymoon’ Suite by mistake, or misunderstanding.

Bags dumped in the room, Marc recommended that we head to the Polynesian Spa by the lake for a soak in a hot pool. I figured that after the long drive, a soak in a hot tub would be great, but surely I could use the one in the room? Marc scoffed at this question and explained we were going to a hot ‘pool’. Not a hot ‘tub’.

Not understanding the difference, I agreed, as I was sure Marc knew what he meant, even if I wasn’t clear.

Having changed into our ‘Togs’ and walked through to the pools it became abundantly clear what the difference was.

(This is a stock photo of the pools, as I left my camera at the motel)

There were four or so different sized pools of steaming, sulphurous, natural water nestled amongst the rocks and foliage around us. A couple of the pools had wooden roofs reaching over them, protecting them from the elements; the others were open to the skies above. A sky, which was clearing from the downpour of our arrival, to a just a fine drizzle spotting on the water.

Each pool was of a slightly different temperature, ranging from a mild 37 degrees to a toasty 42. I ended up floating in the warmest pool for a long while gazing across the lake to the lights of Owhatiura bay, and as any rain had drifted away I also drifted away, lost in the canopy of stars above me.

The hour or so spent at the Spa was the most relaxed I think I’ve felt since… Since I don’t know when. What I did know was that when the solos from Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’ came whispering into my head, I was getting way beyond relaxed, my whole body was tingling, and I was also starting to get the munchies.

With this in mind, we gave it a few more minutes then left to find food.

The girls in the Spa had recommended a Ribs & Steak house in the town, so headed to the address given. The town was relatively busy; at least I assume it was, as most of the parking spaces were full, yet there seemed to be few people on the streets. Maybe everyone had gone under cover when the rain came earlier, and were having too good a time to venture out again. Either way it meant passing the Rib place to go around the block in the hunt for a space to moor the Kiri.

Halfway round the block we spied, and slewed into, a parking space outside of a funky looking café called Fat Dog.

We checked the menu, checked the skies, checked how much we could be bothered to walk back around the block, and decided that this was the place to eat. Happening upon the empty parking space in front of Fat Dog was truly serendipitous. The food was excellent. The vibe of the place was relaxed. The prices were good, and Tara our waitress was incredibly cute and funny.

Happy days!

Having thanked the staff for their wonderful food, leaving a generous tip, and asking unsuccessfully for Tara’s hand in marriage, or if she wanted to try out our hot tub, we headed back to the motel for what we knew would be a race to get to sleep first.

As budgetary constraints mean it’s better for the long term of my visit not to book Gucci hotels and separate rooms, Marc and I have chosen to share twin rooms.
The downside to this is we both snore…
Think somewhere between a badly tuned V8 and a chainsaw.

Friends back home have found this amusing, as where they may have had to share a room with me in the past, and have found themselves contemplating murder at four in the morning, they are seeing this as Karma. They’re right, payback is a bitch.

I can’t blame Marc, as I know only too well that there is sod all you can effectively do about snoring, but there does come a point in the night where you start thinking that the punishment for murder would be worth it. Just to get half an hours precious sleep.

I can also understand why in the past I have woken up in the morning to find various girlfriends asleep in another room, or on the sofa, even in their own homes. Oops, Sorry.

I had prepared for this situation after the night of almost no sleep in Napier, and used alcohol as a sedative, and dosed my self until it worked. It didn't take much, as after the soaking in the Spa I was half gone as it was.