Human frailty and nature's power

How curious to be walking across a brick-built open space and to see splutters of boiling water and steam emerging from between the cracks....
Yes, we've been to Rotorua where the earth's crust is said to be at its thinnest.  Clouds of sulphorous steam rise incongruously from all kinds of places, amidst ordinary habitation.  Locals seem unperturbed.  I feel less sanguine, but accept it all soon enough - along with the smell.

The area has long been home to the Te Arawa tribe of Maori.  Their marae and meeting house sit at the edge of the lake, right amongst all the geothermal activity, and share land with St Faith's Anglican church, where Maori and Pakeha (white people) share worship together every Sunday. As do we on Sunday, singing our hymns in Maori along with everyone else, and appreciating the Maori influence on internal decoration.

In the foreground you are looking at surface white graves; you cannot bury someone underground where the earth boils 2" beneath the surface!  Behind the church is Lake Rotorua, which means Lake Two, it being the second lake the Maori found after landing in the Bay of Plenty.

A trip to see the world-famous Wai-O-Tapu (Sacred Water) geothermal area a few miles away.  There are other geysers around - they pronounce it as 'guysers' rather than 'geezers'; you get used to it!  But ours comes with the Lady Knox guyser.  She needs daily encouragement to erupt at a time suitable for the trippers.  Soap is administered, then off she goes:

Not sure if that's worked - meant to be a video of the geyser erupting.  Ah well...

There you go - that's what she looks like.
Walking on the carefully designated paths through the other geothermal activity is crucial.  Notices abound showing the temperature is 100 degrees.  The colours are wonderful, thanks to the various minerals.
My favourite is Champagne Pool, an impressively large steaming bubbling lake:

Devil's Pool is bright yellow.  There are lots of 'devils' and 'hells', not surprising given the landscape and the danger.  We walk a centimetre above boiling sinters.  How can they know it'll remain safe?

Back in 1886, when the world was learning about tourism and had discovered the local Pink and White Terraces in nearby Te Wairoa, one night hotel visitors and local residents were awoken by the earth shaking severely.  Within a few hours Mount Tarawera had erupted, destroying the beautiful Terraces for ever as well as several local villages.  We visit what is known as The Buried Village, now a beautiful green area full of magnificent trees.  130 years ago it looked rather different.....

The outer wood may have been renewed but the original inside remains, half buried with muddy ash and debris from the volcanic fallout.  I am again reminded of the fragility of human life and the living, changing nature of the earth on which we rather precariously perch.

More prosaically we also visit the Rotorua Museum, now housed in what was once an Elizabethan-style (more Germanic in my opinion) bathhouse.  Croquet, bowls and petanque are being played as we stroll past; a bit of old England in the midst of palm trees and sulphorous steam vents.

The new Maori galleries, opened (with Roy in attendance) only 2 months ago, are wonderful.  They tell the history of the Te Arawa coming to settle the area and how they lived, and the contribution that Maori people continue to make to the area today in many different fields of activity.  Good stuff.  We creep into the old-style film space, sitting on hard wooden benches reminiscent of old trains, to watch an 18-minute film about the night Mount Tarawera blew.  It's a gripping narrative.  Suddenly the benches come to life, shaking wildly, imitating the actual earthquake.  A small shriek then I have myself under control. They have made their point..............

The whole of the lake and its surrounding area sits inside the basin of an age-old volcano.  Others nearby have more recently been active.  We return through undulating lands of volcanic humps where herds of dairy cattle graze in tightly controlled sections of fields.  Cows have replaced sheep in much of New Zealand as an agrarian safe bet.  Not much demand for wool today, it seems.  Cows, and forestry.  The slopes are covered with serried ranks of pine, up and down, sometimes close sometimes far away.  It's not pretty, but it's a vital part of the economy.

All too soon we're back in the city, energised by our days away, having celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary in a place we'll never forget.  What a mixture of sights and smells.  I am grateful for life in all its complexities,beauty and fragility, and for all who have gone before.