Under a Hill and On a Hill

My last day in Rotorua was actually spent under Rotorua. We departed from the ol’ Kiwi Paka early in the morning to head out to the small village/town of Waitomo. The day before, we were given the option to go through one of two caves: the dry cave involved a zip line, but the wet cave was more physically challenging. Never one to back down from a challenge, I chose the wet cave: Haggas Honking Holes. The groups were divided between the two caves and at different times, so my expedition consisted of nine people and two guides. The first guide picked us up in a van right outside of the reception building. He greeted us all with a big, friendly smile and introduced himself as Bruiser.

Bruiser was the kind of man who looked like his job. With a slight potbelly, squinty eyes, and a little nose, the man bore a striking similarity to a mole, a creature, that like him, spent most of its time below the surface. He explained to us that a woman named Linda Haggas owned the cave and the property surrounding it, and that he rented a small property from her. The man seemed incredulous at his own luck that he should be able to get paid for doing what he loved the most, caving. He seemed more giddy with anticipation to go down into the cave than we were, smiling and exposing a row of teeth that looked like they would belong to a man named Bruiser every time he talked about the cave. His excitement was infectious.

After a car ride that was shakier than one of those Magic Fingers beds at a cheap motel, we arrived at a little metal shed outside of the cave entrance. Bruiser led us inside to meet our second guide, Ian. Ian was a tall, lanky fellow with one of the thickest kiwi accents I’ve heard yet. He laughed a lot and the way he moved reminded me of the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Ian helped size us all up for wet suit overalls and jacket, and told us to go pick out a pair of gum boots (rain boots) once we had finished changing into them. Topping off the whole ensemble was a bright red helmet. The complete outfits made us look like we would have been right at home in one of those futuristic societies from an 80’s movie where they all dress the same or a Men Without Hats music video. Take your pick. Anyway, dressed as such, we were ready to go out into public.

On the hillside overlooking the mouth of the cave, we received a quick lesson in abseiling, or as it is know in America, rappelling. I’ve rappelled before, but never with the equipment that Bruiser presented me. The main device through which the rope was threaded was an abseiling a rack, a device that looks like a miniature segment of a railroad track. The training was simple enough, no fatalities or anything, so into the abyss we descended.

For those of you who have never had the chance to go spelunking (or caving as it is called here), caves are dark. Everyone could probably have figured that out without my astute observational skills, but most people don’t realize how dark it can get inside one. There were a few moments when we all turned off our headlamps in order to experience total darkness. Noises became amplified, what little hair I had exposed stood on end, and every sensation became heightened. There is really nothing quite like it.

Most of our expedition was, however, illuminated. Our headlamps provided most of our luminance, but we had yet another source in the caves, the glowworms. The glowworms of Waitomo caves give the place its unique appeal. The Arachnocampa luminosa is found almost exclusively in New Zealand. The little critter, as Bruiser told us, is one of those creatures that when explained, sounds like it could only be from my current corner of the world. The female lays her eggs in clusters of fifteen or twenty, and the first one to hatch has its brothers and sisters as a first meal. No sibling rivalry, I guess. After pulling this dick move, the young glowworm enters the larval stage. The larva releases a large number of sticky silk threads to ensnare its prey. Seeing as there are very few other bugs to eat in the cave, do you think you can guess what the main staple diet of their diet is? You (I’m assuming) guessed it, other glowworms, specifically the adults. Once they’ve had their fill and are ready to grow up, the larva becomes a pupa and then an adult. The adult glowworm, in the opinion of my group, is a pointless animal. It has no mouth, so it can’t eat. It can’t, simply put, poop, because it can’t secrete waste. So needless to say, the adult glowworm doesn’t have very long to live. And if you don’t have very long to live, what are you going to do? Yeah, it’s baby-making time. After laying her eggs, the female gets tired and dies. Same goes for the male. And then the whole process repeats itself. Only in New Zealand.

So under the guidance of Bruiser, Ian, and pointless glowworms, we trekked through the cave for three hours. In that time we managed to abseil, rock climb, crawl, and at one point, swim through the winding passages of the cage. I have to say, rappelling down a waterfall (actually have the full force of the freezing water beat down upon me) has been one of the more Indiana Jones-esque moments of my life.

When we finally reached the light of day again, we were knackered. Our jaws dropped slightly as Bruiser and Ian almost skipped up the entire hill and into the shed, as we struggled to drag our feet up each punishing step. Painful? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

Now what would a brave explorer do after hours of defying the elements and conquering nature? If you guessed take a long, hot shower and then nap for a couple hours then you would be correct. If not, you would be wrong. Like horribly wrong. I had one final adventure of the night, so I managed to drag myself out of the warmth of bed and out of the door. Some call it risky, others are deathly afraid it, but I was about to take it head on: karaoke.

AustraLearn’s karaoke night included such hits as: Poker Face, Sexual Healing, Summer Lovin’, and my own version of Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” (a version that some would describe as “traumatic” or “scarring”). Alas, the hour grew late and my eyelids grew heavy.

My last moments in Rotorua were not among the fondest. In order to catch our flight to Wellington, us UVic kids had to be on our bus to the airport by 6:00 in the morning, so pardon me for not having any witty (or generally) any observations about leaving Rotorua. I was a little preoccupied with trying to regain full cognitive functions. Our early rising was all for naught, however, seeing as how our flight to Wellington was delayed by fog. I can understand why anybody would be reluctant to fly in that weather, though. All I could see from the windows at the departure gate was the airplane itself. I half expected a large tentacle or something else sinister to emerge from the fog and grab the plane. Unexcitingly, the fog cleared and we were off the ground and our way to Wellington at 9:00.

Somebody must have told the city that I was coming as it brought out its best winter weather for me. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and it was about refrigerator cold instead of freezer cold. Even the flight attendant remarked that the weather was unusually nice for this time of year. A representative from the university met us all at baggage claim, and sorted us into groups based on where we were living. The first name called: University Hall. That’s me. My luck was starting to turn.

Seeing as it was I though, that didn’t last long. As soon as the shuttle that dropped me off at my new flat, a suitcase in each hand a smile on my face, I realized that my laptop case (containing both my laptop and passport) was still sitting in the back of the shuttle all by its lonesome. Fuck. I dashed to the RA’s house next door, and after a few phone calls, reached the driver who said he would gladly bring my bag back to me. The man actually apologized to me for not checking that backseat was empty. HE apologized. These kiwis never cease to amaze me. Anyway, on to my flat.

My house is like the Tardis or a wizard’s tent from Harry Potter, it is much larger on the inside. Being built on a hill, the third and top floor is actually the “ground” floor. It’s a nice, little four-bedroom affair with two bathrooms (only one has a shower, though) and a laundry room. The four of us who live here share a living room and a kitchen on the “ground floor”, as well. It’s not exactly an impressive feat of architecture or anything, but it does have one amazing feature: the view. The view from our living room window overlooks almost all of Wellington, the lights, the buildings, the mountains, the low clouds, almost all of it. My only regret is that I can’t see the harbor, but that complaint is a very, very small one. Nonetheless, the view is breathtaking. If I could paint, I would have set up an easel on our dinner table by now.

The first person I met was my kiwi roommate, Hanah. All the international students who live at University Hall are assigned a kiwi roommate to help them get oriented with the city and the university. Kiwis have a reputation for being nice, but Hanah goes above and beyond the call. Kiwis are also known for having a direct, sort of no-punches-pulled sense of humor, and she certainly has that down as well. She’s originally from a town called Nelson on the northern tip of the South Island of New Zealand. Being born and raised in a landlocked state, her stories of growing up on the beachfront and around the ocean mystified me. They also explained her major, Marine Biology and Ecology. I managed to get all settled in rather quickly with her help, so I decided to go shop for some essentials in town.

Wellington is hilly. It’s a simple statement, but I want people to understand that I live on the top of what could possibly qualify as a small mountain. I think I actually saw a Sherpa when I walked through campus. It’s pretty easy getting down into town, but a literal pain in the ass walking back uphill and home, especially being loaded down with groceries. I am going to have a phenomenally sculpted ass and legs capable of kicking through six-inch thick steel by the end of my time here.

I love this city hills and all, though. The streets are all well lit and the shops are charming. My first venture into the city gave me a huge to-do list of places I want to visit. From the hip and happening Cuba Street to the shop-filled Willis Street, I think I’m going to like it here. The shopping trip was uneventful, its main purpose being to better acquaint me with the city (and get shampoo and conditioner).

Despite this trip, however, I managed to get myself thoroughly lost when I went out for dinner that evening. My friend Hollin, a fellow AustraLearner and one of the sweetest people I have ever met, turned twenty-one that night, and we (the AustraLearners) would be damned if we weren’t going out to celebrate. We agreed to meet up at a small Indian restaurant in the city, and even though I got lost (horribly, horribly lost), I still managed to be the first one of the restaurant. The dinner itself was great. Fun people, delicious food, a friendly and helpful staff, the meal was thoroughly enjoyable.

We parted ways outside the restaurant hugging and already making plans to meet up the next day. I walked back with a few of my friends living in the apartments below Landcross Street (my street), and then things started going wrong. As soon as I left their company, I got lost… again. I wandered around for a good hour and a half, up and down the terrace, before I found my way home. Surprisingly, it was a great experience. There’s something exciting about walking through a new city by yourself, knowing that you would be considering it home in a short time. And as a result of my wanderings, I know the Terrace (the massive hillside area on which my house is built) better than if I had memorized a map.

I can’t wait to explore this city even more, and get acquainted with the VUW. Wellington is teeming with excitement and I am eager to write about all of it. That is, if I don’t get lost… again.