Real Food. Real People.

I spent most of the day on Sunday at the Polynesian Spa, which was voted in the Top 10 World’s Best Spas in Conde Nast Traveler 2005 and 2006. I didn’t go for the private pools, as they are under construction, just the public ones so it was 15NZD for an all day pass. The four public mineral pools were at varying temperatures from 38C to 42C (I have no idea what the conversion is to F so if you want to know, I suggest looking it up) and were situated overlooking the lake. It was quite relaxing and I was hoping the steam and minerals would help clear the sore throat I’d woken up with. It was a nice way to waste a day, but I ended up staying longer than I would have liked. I got stuck in a lengthy conversation with a man at the pool who felt the need to impart his life story, along with his quirks, his shortcomings, his romantic history, and everything else. I didn’t mind so much talking to him – he was somewhat interesting. He held nothing back – I suppose he doesn’t like to censor himself or is just socially inept – and I felt more like a psychologist than an acquaintance. I must have an inviting, approachable face or something – I never thought so, but lately all kinds of crazy have been engaging me in conversations I’d rather not partake in. I should pretend to either speak another language or be mute.

I went to Fat Dog Café for dinner that night, a funky, little place with poetry written on the furniture and walls. It was pretty busy though and I had to rush to a table before an old couple grabbed it first. Aren’t I the polite one? To be fair though, because I’m alone I do have to wait to claim a table until after I’ve ordered. Everyone else has the advantage of sending one half of the couple to the table while the other half orders. So I didn’t feel so bad barreling past an old lady to grab a spot – I was at a disadvantage after all.

Yesterday, I decided I wanted to try my hand at zorbing, a unique New Zealand invention where you roll down a hill inside a huge, inflatable ball. New Zealander’s, at least those in Rotorua, seem fairly proud of this invention and tout it as the next big thing in outdoor activities. When I got to zorb central, I found it would cost 45NZD to ride and they only had the hydro cycle available, in which they dispense water in the ball with you so you slip and slide, unharnessed inside, all the way down the hill. I watched a few runs and decided 45NZD was way too much to pay for such a short-lived ride. I could just situate my Slip & Slide down a hill and have possibly as much fun for free. Besides I wasn’t feeling particularly well and decided standing wet in the freezing cold probably wouldn’t help matters.

For dinner, I ended up at a café named Freos, whose slogan was “Real Food. Real People.,” as opposed to “Fake Food. Fake People.,” I guess. All I wanted all day was soup and after looking extensively during lunch and finding nothing, I decided to give it another go for dinner and happened upon this café. To my surprise, the café had actual waiters servicing the tables but I found only after I had sat down that their soup didn’t include bread. I would have exchanged the service for bread like all the rest of the cafes I’d encountered. But once I sat down, I felt trapped and unable to leave. When the soup arrived, I really wished I had left because the portions were so small I’d have to eat a second dinner anyway. The soup, which was chicken and capsicum (which I’d only learned two days earlier was pepper), was pretty tasty but not at all filling, so I slurped it up and moved on.

I sat outside on the upstairs porch when I got back to the hostel and admired the view thinking it would be one of the last times I’d see it. It made me appreciate that much more where I was at that moment. Then I spent the rest of the night listening to my iPod and dancing around my tiny, single room, which resulted in me tripping over my luggage several times. It brought me back to the days when Shannon and I used to dance and sing to Dar Williams and Jewel in college. Of course I didn’t sing – I didn’t want to send the rest of the guests running from the hostel – I only mouthed the words, but it had the same therapeutic effect. I realize, had anyone seen me, I would have looked like I was having an epileptic fit, but I was totally content to lose myself in the music of Sarah, Tori, Ani, et al., and that’s exactly what I did.