Day 18 - Diamond Geysers

Up early to pick up a car for a day - Ford Focus and boy was it tricky to get used to right hand drive again. The plan was to drive south to Rotorua, an area of geothermal activity with mud, geysers, spas all that sort of thing.

First stop however were the Domains. These are remnants of volcano cones, long extinct and now turned into parks. The main Auckland Domain is the site of the New Zealand War Museum, housed in a magnificently imposing building. Although we didn't have time to go through the museum, it is a reminder than World Wars I and II had an effect even so far away.

The second Domain was the famous One Tree Hill, site of the peace treaty between the European settlers and the Maori. The cenotaph at the top commemorates this and offers stunning views of the city far below. The steep hills around it make the perfect spot for jogging, biking and general keeping fit - it would be impossible to stay inside if you had a wide open space like this nearby.

We headed south on Southern Highway 1. Driving in New Zealand is easy. Everyone largely obeys the speed limits, even on the wide open road. These limits are quite low, the maximum speed even on the motorway is 100kph, which translates to 62mph or so. The trickiest bit was remembering that New Zealand is a metric country - I was ready to say that the Focus accelerated like a rocket, until I noticed the speedo was reading in kph which was a bit more unimpressive.

Speaking of unimpressed, we were disappointed when we got to Rotorua. The geysers are also of intense Maori cultural significance, which means that Te Puri is a sort of Maori village-cum-theme park. In other words, to experience the geysers you have to pay. A lot. NZD$50 per adult, about 21 quid.

I don't particularly think this is right. In my opinion, if you build something, you have every right to charge an entry fee for it. However, if something just happens to be there, then sticking a whacking great fence around it and charging an entry fee is Simply Not On. I don't care how many guided tours, how many entries to cultural dances and so on are included, I feel I ought to be able to walk up to a hole in the ground. By all means build things around it and charge for them and maybe ask for a donation to upkeep of paths and stuff, but 42 quid for the privilege? Get stuffed.

We arrived at 5pm. The place shut at 6pm. I wouldn't have minded so much if they offered entry for a fiver or something as it was so late. To be fair, it was a similar story down the road at "Hells Gate", another geyser and mud bath complex.

(As an aside, never quite seen the point of covering yourself in mud to sort out the skin. After all, my mum used to go ape when I came home caked in mud after playing football.)

So my experience of Rotorua is confined to the smell. Which you can trust me, is enough of a memory to take away. Imagine a team of hockey players, post game, unshowered. They have been eating a combination of baked beans, figs and kebabs where the meat is of unknown origin. All washed down by several gallons of real ale.

The resulting stench is a decent approximation of the smell of Rotorua, but lacks a certain enveloping quality of the geysers. As a bloke who was described by Geoffers on my wedding day as "having a carbon footprint", I can only say "yeesh".

Of course, the next time Caroline complains if I guff, I can always say "yeah, but it isn't as bad as Rotorua".