After a hearty breakfast by the harbour, I go to collect my transport for the remainder of my stay in New Zealand. I'm hiring a 'Spaceship', which is a cross between a car and a campervan. It includes a double bed, cooker, fridge, DVD, CD and MP3 player. The price is also very reasonable, and I am excited by the prospect of six days on the open road with it. When I arrive to collect the vehicle, it is clear the company that lets them out is staffed by wasters. The girl who took my payment and showed me around could barely string a sentence together, such was the obvious affect of whatever she had been doing the night before. Anyway, after a few formalities I was on my way.
I can't say I would have wanted to spend any more time in Auckland. It is a perfectly nice, pleasant and affordable place. I challenge any visitor to dislike it. However, it is hardly the kind of place you yearn to return to. It reminded me bit of the multitude of river/water side developments that have sprung up in the UK over the last 10-15 years. Lots of apartments, office blocks and bars all offering nice views ... but little character. On Sunday when I was with the Kiwi Who's Name I Have Forgotten, I remarked that much of central Auckland looked like it had been built in the last few years. "That's because it has," came the reply.
After an extremely embarrassing incident when I attempted a u-turn on a one way street by mistake, I was heading south. The only thing north of Auckland is the attractive sounding Bay of Islands, but having taken travel advice from my good friend Lady Corlett of the Refuse Collectors and her sister (who used to live in NZ), I decided to drive to Rotorua, which is in the middle of the North Island.
After a good three hour drive, I arrived and headed to a supermarket to stock up on food and drink. I then drove around trying to find somewhere suitable to park the car for the evening, before deciding that a campsite would be the safer and more practical option than the side of a random road.
Although my Spaceship does have numerous entertainment facilities onboard, I didn't fancy sitting inside it all evening and so instead ventured into Rotorua. The place was deserted. I appreciate it was a Monday night, but I don't think I've ever been to a city (population not an insignificant 76,000) so devoid of human activity.
Eventually I stumbled across a bar that was open and began reading up about the local area. Rotorua is nicknamed the 'Sulphur City' because of the odour of the place - it is a thermal area with active geysers, hot springs and exploding mud pools. As there didn't appear to be much going on by way of nightlife, I headed to the Polynesian Spa to sample my first ever dip in a natural pool. Apart from the stench of sulphur, which can get a bit much after a while, it was a great experience. There certainly can't be more relaxing activities than to lie in lovely warm water by the side of a lake on a cool, crisp evening.
It goes without saying this establishment had a more respectable aura than some of the bathouses I've visited - particularly those of the male only variety. It was something of a relief not to see some old geezer wanking himself off in the baths whilst sniffing poppers. Then, my illusion was shattered. A young straight couple were getting 'intimate' in one of the pools, and although it was dark, the motion by which the girl's arm was moving could mean only one thing - she was tugging him off. It wasn't even subtle. Not wanting to watch straight sex in an egg smelling bath, I got changed and headed back into town. Whatever happened to good old fashioned morality?
I grabbed another beer on the way back to the Spaceship, where I spent the rest of the night eating crisps and watching porn.
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