Travelogues ...headin' down the highway, lookin' for adventure...
March 4, 2000
During the night the Sky Princess sailed a South by Southwest course traveling a short 200 nautical miles from the Bay of Islands to Tauranga.
At 7:00 a.m., Captain Calabrese's thickly accented voice is piped through the intercom ensuring that we are now fully awake. As he announces our momentary arrival in Tauranga, Roger turns on our overhead TV which is monitoring the docking from the ship's Sky-Cam on the forward top bridge. Glued to our mini-docking drama; propped up with pillows; and waking up with our morning pot of coffee and pastries courtesy of our steward, Roger states, "I'm going to find a way to get in front of the Sky-Cam and give a big wave to the folks back home." (Several months prior to our voyage, Roger followed the Sky Princess viewing scenes just like this on the Web). I chuckle at his remark but make a mental note to find the Sky-Cam (exactly where and how high) and to keep an eye on Monsieur Levesque.
Joe, Connie, Roger, and I are on the deck by 8:30 a.m. and start the day with another hedonistic breakfast buffet. We tell ourselves that we need this time to decide what we want to do and see in the short time we are in port. Remembering Captain Calabrese's morning announcement that all passengers must be back on board by 5:30 p.m., Connie tells us about two little ladies from their last cruise who failed to make it back in time and only by a stroke of luck caught a ride on a fishing boat to the ship. Imaging myself being hauled up the side of the boat, I push my second helping of hash browns aside.
Reviewing the material in our ship's daily newsletter, the Princess Patter, we learn that, "Tauranga is a lovely little port city in the middle of the Bay of Plenty, a varied agricultural region aptly named by the British navigator and explorer Captain James Cook." (The more we explore New Zealand, the more Captain Cook turns up--this fellow certainly did his share of cruising). Located in the center of New Zealand's most intense thermal activity, nearby Rotorua sits atop underground water which, superheated by lava, bubbles up in geysers, mud pools, and steam bores. The Patter drowns in hyperbole describing Rotorua as "a source of relaxation to thousands". Mother Nature created a geothermal wonderland here, and don't be surprised if you smell brimstone or see steam rising from a crack along a sidewalk."
There are too many choices and we are undecided even as we board the bus to take us to downtown Tauranga, "home of 67,000 inhabitants with pristine beaches, abundant orchards, and fresh air and clean living."
From the harbor into town are mainly light industry and pulp wood factories, not exactly the bucolic scene painted by the ship's newsletter. In addition, the bus is crowded and hot. Adding insult to injury, our driver is a relatively new driver and tells us this is her first day on the job. She constantly makes unnecessary circles and is obviously lost but tells us she's just avoiding the traffic into town.
To lift our spirits and quell the grumbles, Joe begins telling corny jokes. His jokes crack me up but because he does it just so I will groan and roll my eyes, I stifle the giggles when he says "I wonder if they will be playing a little zucchini in the squash courts" while pointing to a large sign advertising a new sports arena.
Finally, we arrive downtown Tauranga and the moment we step off the bus, we hear bagpipes. The four of us automatically follow the crowd heading towards main street for what is undoubtedly the largest bag pipe band parade I have ever seen. Clans representing villages, churches, and civic associations march past us. We watch for about 20 minutes until we have the sense to find a small sidewalk café to sit and enjoy what just doesn't stop.
My guess is there are at least 50 separate bands all marching in slow, regal steps to blow after unending blow of the bagpipes and the heart hammering drums of varying sizes and shapes. Interestingly, the bands are cross-generational with plenty of gray hairs and small children, many of whom appear far too fragile for all this synchronized bellowing and booming.
Roger and I realized we, too, could be put on the "fragile list" this a.m. We both feel as if we are still rocking and rolling on the ocean and ask ourselves, "Is this what they call getting ones "sea legs?" My stomach is also a bit floaty and for the first time on the trip, I ask for a diet coke and forgo a piece of mile high chocolate cake which had caught my eye earlier. After an hour or more of the parade, we abandon our seats at the café for the growing crowd and walk up and down the streets, all the while, trying to decide what we want to do for the remainder of the day.
Though everyone else is in shorts or sun dresses Roger spots a warmly clad street musician competing with the bag pipers, and asks her to play a tune for us.
We can't make out the tune, but what
she lacks in musical ability she makes up in earnestness and we
quickly stroll on down the street and begin again our discussion
of what we want to do next. Joe has said from the beginning he
is set on walking along one of the beaches. Roger and I just want
to get off our sea legs and don't care what we do; but Connie
very wisely decides we need to rent a van and do some touring
of the countryside.
Within minutes we purchase a tour from a storefront travel office
and Arthur, our driver and guide for the day pulls up to the curb
and kindly loads us into a new, smart looking mini-van. Before
our seat belts are on, Arthur outlines a two-hour trip, which
will take us into the agricultural area stopping at McClean Falls
and ending with a visit to one of the best wineries in this region.
With that, we all perk up and agree that it sounds like a great
plan.
The vegetation is lush with tropical ferns and rolling hills with terraced Kiwi farms.
McClean Falls is beautiful and I am glad we have stopped and I can get some fresh air and stretch my "sea legs." There are groups, parents and children also enjoying the falls but far more adventuresome than the four of us. Although, I would love to climb down and swim with them.
Arthur entertains us with stories of
his travels. He and his wife have just settled down from a five
year travel throughout the south of the New Zealand stopping long
enough to find a bit of work before traveling on to their next
destination. As we pull up to the MillsReef Winery, he tells us
that the decision to do this was made in the gardens just a few
yards away from where we park. He and his wife were feeling "quite
relaxed" and began talking about their dream of chunking
the day to day grind and following their dream to travel. After
an hour or more of wine tasting in the gardens, "we said,
enough talking about it, let's just do it." I think, this
must be some pretty potent stuff to inspire a decision like that.
We tasted and browsed and ended up with arms full of bottles of Merlot and Shirahs. Connie and Joe are taking a few bottles back to their son who sells and distributes fine wines. Roger and I just hope we make it back to Brownwood with four full bottles instead of drinking them along the trip-however, we both know it is not likely to happen.
The four of us make no life changing decisions but we could stay here for several hours. However, we know that if we don't get back to the ship by 5:30 p.m. we will be homeless. I laugh to myself when I think, "At least we will have plenty of wine."
Totally relaxed and now at "home", I'm lying on one of the blue and white striped deck chairs alongside one of the lower decks. The boats in the harbor are literally glistening and I realize I, too, am "glistening." It's 6:00 p.m. and only 75 degrees but the New Zealand sun is fierce. I don't want to ruin the peaceful after glow of an afternoon at the MillsReef Winery but my white legs, (which are so white, small children have been known to throw rocks at them) are beginning to look like overstuffed raspberries.
I leave my deck chair to another fool,
and make my way around and around this Skinnerian maze, also known
as the Love Boat, to the 10th floor to find my beloved. I'm following
the ka-ching, ding, ding, dings coming from row after row of slot
machines from the ship's casino. Hopefully, the sounds will lead
me to Roger.
By the time I lead Roger out of the casino and we get ready for dinner I'm staring at the menu and wondering how in the world I am going to get through six courses and attend this evening's show. I've missed the last two and there is no way the gang will allow me to wimp out tonight.
Roger keeps nudging me throughout the Las Vegas style act which "stars" the singer and impressionist, Richard Barry. He is actually very good but by the time he gets to the last verse of "I Did It My Way," I've already done it my way. Roger wakes me up and says it's time to head to the cabin. I stare in disbelief as Joe and Connie head off for the Starlight Night Club to dance the night away. It's true. I am a wimp.