Rotorua Maori Cultural Experience

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Rotorua

Into the volcanic valley!  Driving into Rotorua reminded me of driving off the rim into Payson just a little.  Tree lined roads give way to open vistas with mountains in the background.

We stopped at a locally blueberry farm (and winery).  Their blueberry ice cream wasn’t available, so we had blueberry juice and chocolate covered blueberries, pet the donkeys and got back on the road.  The tourism radio was full of suggestions of things to do in Rotorua.  We decided to get settled in the campground as we’d be here for a few days, then make our plan of attractions for our stay.  We booked a traditional Maori dinner and cultural show only to have to make other arrangements because the traditional dinner was mostly fish-based.  I want Jim to survive this trip, so we booked with another company.  The tour included seeing kiwi birds, trout and a NZ lizard that predates dinosaurs and lives to be 300 years old.  

 Blueberry and gooseberry jams, jellies, chutneys and salsas.

 Unisex bathroom.  Jim discovered it when he was washing his hands and a woman exited a stall.

 Perceiving he would not be paid for having his picture taken, this local was not very agreeable.

 The view into Rotorua from the mountains.

WARNING:  This paragraph contains highlights of a conversation I had with a teacher from NZ.  Although I was fascinated, please feel free to skip it if you don’t want to read about a comparison between US and NZ education.  The afternoon before the Maori cultural experience was spent soaking in a hot mineral pool.  The sulphur smell was strong, but the pleasure of soaking in the hot water while the air outside was cold made up for the smell.  While there I visited with a New Zealander from the south island whose husband was here at a medical conference.  She is a high school math teacher.  Talking to her was a real treat! We talked about children and traveling nationally and internationally.  Of course discussion came around to our trade and the similarities of our jobs.  She confirmed that NZ has the highest literacy rate, but recent studies showed that they were falling behind in writing.  And while they have very high numeracy rates, they are skewed by the influx of Asians living in NZ.  Among her Maori and Pacific Island students there is a culture of mediocrity.  They don’t believe that they can/will be successful academically so they don’t try.  Sounded way too familiar.  She told me that their minister of education has NO educational experiences; she was appointed from the cabinet of the current Prime Minister.  It was her bright idea to increase class sizes from 30 to 50 students, a measure that was summarily stamped out by teachers by 30 days of protests and threats.  I thought a class of 36 was bad. I asked how much she makes.  At the top of her pay scale she makes $70,000/year!

After showers we dressed and headed to the pickup point for our bus to the Mitai Maori dinner.  The driver was 45 minutes late (we found out later he’d gone to the wrong camp ground), but it gave us a chance to talk to our hostess, Mandy.  Her father was a forensic pathologist who was widely traveled for work.  She had toured the US as a kid and had many good memories.  We asked her about things to do while we’re here, her travels and Maori culture.  A fifteen-minute drive got us to Mitai.  We were greeted by a girl in traditional dress—a flax dress and a fury wrap (we saw the bird that the cloak was made from, I just can’t remember what it was called). We sat with two other couples and a single man:  two doctors from England taking short-term assignments in Wellington to help pay for their college expenses (Stuart and Lindsey) and a couple from Australia (he had worked in Yakima on the orchards; Yacinta was a high school math/science teacher with a degree in chemistry). There were hor d’orves—hummus and mango chutney on crackers.  They made some introductions, told us what to expect for the evening and then asked from what countries people had traveled.  There were many Australians, only six of us from the US, a woman from South Africa and a woman from Peru—six countries were represented.  He asked for a volunteer for our chief.  People thought it was a joke, but we found out he would “represent us” as part of the cultural show.  Blankets were available for those who were cold (it was chilly, made more so by the dampness all around). We walked to the pit where dinner was being prepared.  Our guide told us that men cooked the food (?) so that women could perform the honorable (mana in Maori) task of raising the children.  Under heavy blankets were two baskets of food that had been cooking over hot rocks for 3.5 hours.  On one side was lamb and chicken, on the other white potatoes, purple kumari (Maori sweet potatoes originally from South America….?), and stuffing.   

 Our hangi--dinner cooked to perfection over hot rocks.

 (This picture decided to post here. Oh well...)

The guide blessed the food (I should have asked him to translate his prayer) and then we went walked on a path past a little spring, across a bridge through the forest (not too far) to the river to watch the arrival of the warriors in a traditional canoe.   

The chanted and paddled together, making a show of their arrival, sticking out their tongues, showing the whites of their eyes and singing together.  Their appearance was a mixture of pacific-islander looking and just average Caucasian men.  They hopped out and headed into the bush. We walked back to an outdoor, heated area that had a raised stage set with a village, a fire circle and plenty of area to perform.  Our guide cautioned us not to smile, mock or imitate the warrior.  He took our chief onto the stage and the guide called out in Maori.  A heavily tattooed warrior made his appearance, dancing, thrusting his stick, bulging his eyes and hissing and grunting.  He threw down some leaves and our chief picked them up as if accepting a peace token.  Then the women came out and sang a welcoming song.  Our chief gave a speech, thanking them for their hospitality, blessing them and their ancestors…he had been coached on what to say.  Then the show began.  They sang, danced, explained and joked. The performers were young, but seemed pretty skilled at what they were doing.  The girls sang, twirled poi balls and danced similar to Hawaiian dancers, but their movements were smaller and their hands were constantly shaking.  They told us later that was an acknowledgement of the life force that runs through everyone.  We often saw it as they performed.  Their dress was native, one man even had a bare bum.  All the men wore a loincloth like covering—front and back! They were typically bare-chested, tattoos on their thighs, some up into their waste, covering their butts (that we could see) and on their faces (they weren’t real tattoos).  When the men performed finished a performance, they would lift their right leg and slap their thigh.   The women wore flax, shoulder-less dress that came to their ankles.  Their feet were bare and some had heavy fur-looking cloaks attached at one shoulder. Their tattoos were only on their chin—I think we learned that tattoo would either be an owl or an kiwi?  Their lips were also tattooed around the edges (good lip liner).  The performance was lovely; the performers sometimes getting silly, but in general it was good.

After the performance we returned to the big, tented dining area and proceeded through the buffet.  The dinner was tasty:  the hangi (food cooked in the hot pit), several salads (rice and corn, cauliflower with mayonnaise and sesame seeds, ranch slaw, tuna and past), a green salad with a bitter dressing, scalloped potatoes, and garlic bread.  Dessert was truffle (kind of tasteless), a chocolate roll (also kind of tasteless) and pavlova which was AMAZING!  It was a damp meringue, baked up like a tall angel food cake, covered with fresh fruit and chocolate medallions on the sides.  WOW! It was amazing! The lady from England and Australia said it’s even better when it’s baked harder, more like a meringue cookie. 

After dinner and tea (coffee was much like tea—bags to dip into hot water), we were met by our guides from Rainbow Springs. They guided us on a walk back to the first pool we passed.  This time they turned off all the lights, including our flashlights so we could see the glow worms lighting up the edges of the pool.  Once the lights were turned back on, we saw an eel that measured about three feet long (good eating according to our Maori guide, Uncle Ben, at Hobbiton), a trout and some crawdads. The water was crystal clear and deceptively deep.  What looked to be only 3 feet was actually six feet! From there we walked into the Rainbow springs where we got to see kiwi just waking for the night, swans, a kea named Jennifer who hates women (she was hand raised by a male scientist – Keas are the only  parrots who can live in cold weather), HUGE trout (imported to Lake Rotorua from California), and finally the tuatara, a lizard that predates dinosaurs.  The huge lizard lives to be about 300 years old, breathing once a minute, it’s heart only beats 7 or 8 times/minute!  Our last stop before the gift shop was a drink of fresh spring water.  From there we headed to our bus and back to our holiday park.  What a lovely day!

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