Just Like Home

On Wednesday, I made it to Waitomo after a 4-hour drive with a ½ hour mishap. Route 21 wasn’t marked on my map so I had to backtrack a little, but I made it nonetheless. The B&B I’m staying at is situated on an ostrich and calf farm and is really cozy. My hosts Ann and Ross are super friendly, offer free breakfast, and have coffee available at all hours so they are top-notch in my book.

One of the perks of staying at Big Bird, my B&B, is getting to watch the owners feed the calves. I didn’t want to say “no” when Ross asked if I’d like to watch so I obliged. As I was watching the animals suck milk from a teeted trough, Ross told me all about rearing cows and what happens to them after they leave the farm. He described how the cows are sent to a dairy farm and the bulls are eventually slaughtered because their meat makes for such tasty, flavorful burgers. All I thought during the entire tutorial was “Thank God for him I’m not a vegetarian, animal-activist or would he have gotten an earful.” Instead I just nodded along and then excused myself explaining that I wanted to get to town to find an internet café before they all closed for the day (though it was only 4pm at the time).

When I returned from my brief trek into town, I found Ross on the deck, probably waiting for me, and he startled me with a “G’day, Jennifer.” Inside I encountered their 3 lively grandchildren, the oldest of whom insisted on showing me the book of local brochures over and over again. Most people who know me know I’m not a big lover of children, but they were cute enough – for 10 minutes. After the seventh time, 4 year-old Macaula described the glowworm cave adventures I could partake in, I decided it was time for dinner – elsewhere. “You didn’t expect to be part of a family household, did you?” Ann inquired on my way out. You got that right, I thought.

The good thing about B&B’s is the home-ness factor (as I call it). They’re comfortable and make you feel as if you’re sitting in your own living room. The bad thing about B&B’s is also the home-ness factor. They’re suffocating and make you feel as if the price of sitting in your own faux living room is babysitting and letting them know when you’ll be expected back. I prefer to come and go as I please without having to answer the unasked questions on their expectant faces as I reach for the doorknob to leave. I decided, though hostels can be impersonal, I enjoy freedom to home-ness.

Yesterday was my big caving adventure, the Haggas Honking Holes. The trip wandered deep into the ground to the glowworm caves of Waitomo where we were underground for about 2 hours. I was able to abseil down into the caves, which was a first and definitely unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. The glowworms looked like little stars on the ceiling of the cave. I had a lot of fun doing it, though at times it was a little rough hoisting myself up rock walls in a wetsuit and boots filled with water. I had originally contemplated embarking on a much longer trip, but I’m glad that I didn’t – two hours in a smelly, clinging wetsuit was enough for me. Luckily there were only three of us on the trip with three guides so it was pretty fast moving. Tony, one of the guides, said they’d had 12 people earlier that morning and it took a long time to get everyone through. Because our group was so small, they also added a few extra climbs and whatnot. It was an overall very fun experience.


After I surfaced and took the most refreshing shower of my life, I set out in search of food. I tried two places right by the caves but they both stopped serving at 8 they told me, implying I should move on – it was 7:45pm. Who stops serving food at 8pm? That’s right in the middle of dinnertime, but not for Waitomo. Apparently they’re on the early bird schedule – their early dinner deals must be from 1-3 in the afternoon rather than from 4-6 like most everywhere else. So I ended up where I had dined the night before, the Thirsty Weta, which thankfully was still open and even had a late night menu. I ordered the vegetarian pizza, thinking I could get my recommended daily intake in, and it was quite good but not your run of the mill vegetable pizza. The Thirsty Weta’s version included vegetables like parsnip, carrots, and I think there might have even been sweet potato in there, instead of the usual mushroom, pepper, and onion. I probably would’ve eaten cardboard pizza at this point anyway so I savored the variety and devoured it entirely.

I ate breakfast with a grandmother and her 2 grandchildren from the Cook Islands this morning. Interestingly, they told me they had another sibling, a baby boy, but they gave him to their father's relations, as they put it. When I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the grandmother explained that it is a custom for one family to give another family, who has no children, their child. What? So let me put this in perspective. At the time Samantha was born, Aunt Joanne and Uncle Bob hadn't had Nick, so they could have asked for Samantha and we would have had to hand her over as if she were furniture or something. "Well we don't have a bed and you have three beds, so can we have your extra one?" Who the hell came up with that custom?