Holidays and Homecomings

It’s December 14^th. In some parallel universe, I am on a plane skimming over the Indian Ocean, a third of the way through the twenty-four hour journey home. I imagine myself in the window seat, plugged into track 9 of The Black Keys’ Turn Blue, mind as empty and strange as it was on my flight to Melbourne back in July. The whole journey long, I don’t believe I had more than a single thought. That thought was: find the taxi rank once you’ve touched down.

I changed my return flight in a frenzy, a mid-semester crisis. We’d hit the halfway point and a whole group of us, on different levels, panicked. One looked into staying an extra semester. Two began to talk about transferring for good. These plans, though grand, didn’t come to fruition; my less ambitious goal proved easier to achieve, and I extended my stay until January. Though made in a flurry, it was most definitely the right choice. I don’t know if I will ever be ready to leave Melbourne, but I know for certain that today is not the day.

A week at Yarra. A week in Gisborne. Australian Christmas. Sydney New Year. A few days in Melbourne to say goodbye.

Then home, to Scotland, to my family, to my purple shaded bedroom and its perpetual mess. To raucous singing and chairtop dancing with my sisters; to my father’s doting on the greedy free range house rabbit; to my mother’s midnight chocolate in our yellow kitchen.

Goodbyes are so hard, but they are matched with hellos.

Rotorua stinks. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s like Haymarket: as soon as you leave the train at Edinburgh’s smaller station you’re hit by hops. But sulphur is much more pungent. From the Redwoods lookout we saw it all, hot springs smoking like dragons’ nostrils, the lake a bright, bitter blue.

Sarah, Kati, and me.

While staying in this dragon town we slept at Crash Palace:  definitely in my top three hostels ever,* and possibly at the top of that list. Providing free pasta, rice, hot tub (!), and internet (a rarity in New Zealand), and a free event every day (including weekly pancake breakfasts and barbecues), it’s perfect both for solo travellers and for rainy New Zealand days. The manager also runs an afternoon tour of the area, mud bath in a hot spring included, for $35, which is a great way to learn about the area without hiring a car.

Rotorua without a car is unusual but perfectly feasible. A bus to Whakarewarewa and the Redwoods runs regularly, with a wide variety of walks and the chance to see the city from above. Some adventure activities, such as Zipline Canopy Tours (which I was lucky enough to win for free!) are based in the town and provide shuttles out. Government Gardens is very pretty for a wander round and a picnic. Crash Palace’s Mud Tour, however, was the highlight for me. We roared round the volcanic countryside to local music, took in a massive sulphurous crater, and fried gently in a muddy batter. The money goes towards local youth programmes via a charity run by Crash Palace’s manager.

If you want an expensive adventure holiday, Rotorua is the place. But if you, like us, are after something gentler and cheaper, Rotorua can be your place too.

The Redwoods are decidedly green.

*The other top two hostels: Hostel Ruthensteiner, Vienna, and The Pickled Frog, Hobart. On the other hand, my least favourite hostel was the Fat Camel in Auckland, where a poorly ventilated ‘apartment’ was shared between what must have been around 30 people, while only one bedroom had any windows (though this was stated in advance, to be fair). By the end of our three-day stay, we were all beginning to get ill from what we suspected was some well-disguised, painted-over damp. The city tour advertised at reception consisted of a brisk walk up Mount Eden to the tune of our guide’s complaints of hunger and chastisement to ‘hurry up, I have a meeting at twelve.’ On the plus, it’s cheap and simple. If you only have one night in Auckland, whatever, go for it.

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“‘White girl wasted’? Is that a phrase? I always thought it was waka-wasted, you know, like Shakira’s world cup song.”