I really wanted to stay another day in Rotorua, especially since I had spent so much time goofing around with the gondola and luge thing and didn’t get to see all that the museum had on offer. The exhibits at the museum were terrific, and I had only one hour to try to take in the Brian Brake photography as well as the building itself, as well as the Maori exhibit, which is one of the best I’ve seen since I’ve been here, co-created by Te Papa museum in Wellington. But the coach pulled up and Brian the driver was full of information. In fact, all the way up to the Waitomo caves to see the glow worms, there was a running commentary on just about everything from kiwi fruit to what the three fisherman on the bridge caught today, and after a while I wanted him to just be quiet. When he wasn’t talking, he played informational DVDs, much like History Channel specials, all about the Maori people and their resistance to the British invasion. (And I don’t mean the four Brits with funny haircuts.) But. I might have enjoyed my visit to New Zealand a little bit more had I ridden along with Brian earlier in my stay.

    As Brian turned the coach toward the highway, he informed us all that we had slept last night in the bottom of a volcano. Of course, I knew that but didn’t think of it in those terms. I suppose it’s a bit like living in California and knowing that the San Andres fault (among others) is right out your back door, but not deliberating the fact too closely.  After all, the Central Volcanic Plateau is still active, but active in geological terms. So we climbed 1100 feet out of the volcano over mountains that form the dividing line between the Bay of Plenty and Waikoto regions of New Zealand.

    The region from the Bay of Plenty to the Waikoto River is called King Country and boasts the largest man-made fort in the southern hemisphere, made when the Maori resisted the British in the 1860s. The story starts long before then, however, in 1814 when the Maori and Brits signed the Treaty of Waitangi. The essentials of the document dictate that the Maori grant sovereignty to Queen Victoria, that the Maori in return would be protected by the British military against all other hostile invaders and finally, that they would retain possession of lands they already held. The last item was what caused the problems.

    In 1858, in an effort to consolidate and organize power, Maori tribes united to choose their first King. Most British officers saw this as an effort to resist Crown sovereignty. It was – but it was also an effort to keep other tribal leaders from selling land to the British. A rumor started that the Maori in King Country had already built a road to Auckland and were going to attack. In reality, it was Governor George Grey who had built a road from Auckland out to King Country, and was planning an attack. As much as Grey wanted peace (he had presided over territory wars in the 1840s) he did not want to share power with the Maori.  He had already sent an SOS to England, who sent 13,000 troops who were joined by an additional 2,000 Europeans and another 2,000 Australians. This force was sent out against 5,000 Maori men. The total Maori population in the 1860s was around 50,000 men, women and children. In modern terms, that’s like a force of 1 million invading New Zealand.

    The end result was that the British seized many more acres of land that were supposed to be in Maori hands, and had been at the time of the Treaty of Waitangi. Maori petitioned for the land to be returned. The British refused, and kept refusing. In the late ‘60s, Maori marched from the tip of the North Island and from the bottom of the South Island, converging on the capital, Wellington, where they demonstrated. In the early 1970s, they mounted a legal case. It took until the 1990s for the suit to go all the way to London to the High Court (which is the highest level of appeal in New Zealand). They won. A tribunal was assembled to investigate land claims, and still functions, unraveling claims from up to 200 years ago. Many Maori have had lands restored to them and are active in agriculture, fisheries, tourism, etc.

    All of this information was offered by Brian in as we drove through lush pastoral land, finally arriving at the Waitomo Caves, home of glow worms. The entire way, I had been humming the old Mills Brothers song that I remember my mother singing. And I have to say that the caves were … a disappointment. Yes, there were stalactites and stalagmites and lovely formations of limestone, a grand cathedral type room. Perhaps it was our tour guides’ monotonecontinuouscommentarythatwasruntogetherasallonewordexceptwhenhepausedtotakeaquick breath… andstartagain. Plus, we weren’t allowed to take photos. The picture at the top is the exit of the cave…that’s the only thing we could photograph other than the visitor center. Which was nice, but I refuse to include it here. Just a matter of principle.

    The experience just didn’t live up to the hype. The caves are owned by the family of one of the original discoverers, and they haven’t missed any opportunity to make a profit. Admission is not cheap, a gift shop offers loads of expensive New Zealand merchandise and their restaurant does a brisk business what with all the tour buses coming and going. A brief boat ride at the end of the tour offered a completely dark and silent opportunity to see the glow worms doing their thing – glowing – at the top of the cave. I tried to get excited about it, but just couldn’t. The most entertaining part of the tour was the young Indian man who was right beside me every time I turned around, sat behind me on the boat, and then tried to convince me that his coach was the right one – after all, it was going to Auckland. I had to explain that it wasn’t the same driver, and that my coach was across the street.

    Back in Auckland, I found the Air Bus shuttle out to the airport, where I then got another shuttle to my hotel, retrieved my bag from storage and repacked for the trip home. A six o’clock morning flight meant I had to be on the four o’clock a.m. shuttle to the international terminal. First leg of the trip was to Sydney, where I sat from 7:30 a.m. until 2:30 p.m. because the 12:15 p.m. flight had been changed months ago, but I guess passengers are the last to know, and what the hell, I was there anyway.  I finally boarded the flight to Los Angeles and frantically typed notes on everything I could remember so that I wouldn’t put off doing my blog entries. I worked until my computer battery was gone, and then tried to sleep a little while.

Another song that I dimly remember my mother singing … couldn’t find a recording, but here are the words. If anyone knows where to find the music, or who actually wrote the song, I’d love to attribute it to someone!

The earth was wet with the dew of the dawn
As the warm scented air swept over the lawn
A big ol’ worm came out of the ground
To see the world and to look around

And as he gazed at the azure sky
Another little worm came up nearby
Said he, with a wiggle, “You’re a cute little worm,
Let’s you and I go out for a squirm
I could easily fall in love with you
If you’ll condescend to a rendezvous.”

But the cute little worm just shook its head
And to the big ol’ worm it said,
“No rendezvous between us two
Because I’m the other end of you.”