Visitors from afar

This is going to be a long blog so if you have eye-strain or ADD, consider yourself warned...

For a few weeks our usual party of two was doubled to include Frank and Vicki (a.k.a Chris' parents). Our regular work schedule hemmed us in somewhat--though I was freer than I cared to be when it rained for days and days--but we made the most of our mornings, evenings and weekends. My favourite part of the day was the daily walk. We clambered all over and around the Mt., we walked along the beach, we walked fast and purposefully, we walked slowly and took photos at every bend, we walked to explore, we walked home to take the laundry off the line. We walked when it would've been a sin to stay indoors, and we walked in the pouring rain (but that was accidental, we're not crazy)

A close second for "favourite activity" were our evenings in; we'd make dinner together and then play cards till bed-time. "Sevens", an old family game, involves lots of bidding and then lots of anxiety about making, but not exceeding that stupid bid, which was clearly wrong and gosh darn it why didn't I just bid three to begin with, I never bid correctly. Apparently the card game has a different, ruder name, and was referred to as "sevens" to spare the children's tender ears. Each person starts out with seven cards, and then with each hand the number dealt goes down, till everyone has one card, and then it goes back up to seven. So, thirteen stomach-wrenching hands per game. Chris had a great idea one night: why not deal out all of the cards and start with thirteen. Twenty-five ulcer-oozing hands.

We tried to spend our days off productively (weather permitting). One day we went to Rotorua and visited a geothermal village. We met the tour guide and practiced pronouncing the town's full name: Te Whakarewarewatangaoteopetauaawahiao. Inside the village, which sits on a very active geothermal site, we saw bubbling pools, steamy clouds, pits of boiling mud. Only about 25 families live there now, but these lucky few have very small electric bills. Most of the cooking is done underground in a Hangi (steamed by the heat of the hot earth) or by dipping a sack full of food into one of the boiling pools of water. Water for washing is similarly easy to come by.

The other major outing was to the White Island off the coast of Whakatane (pronounced Fa-ka-ta-ne). It's not white so much as it's yellow, red, orange; the White Island is an active marine volcano. I loved it! We spent most of the day on a 75-foot motor boat, cruising to the island. The views were gorgeous, the sparkling Pacific ocean spread out all around us. The sun shone with gusto, and we soaked up the rays. Until Vicki got up to go to the toilet--there are no facilities on the island, and they recommend going before the two hour tour. She stood up, she walked, she sat in a tiny cramped bathroom, and her inner ear said, "what is going on????". She emerged green and wobbly. Fortunately we were close to the landing site, and stable land stood just minutes away. Unfortunately to get from the yacht to the smoking wasteland we had to board and disembark from a tiny wee zodiac. The sort of rubber boat we used on Sea Cloud for tendering to and from the beach. The same sort of rubber boat that will flip in rough seas. Again, I loved it! I felt like a Marine or a Navy Seal, but without the weapon.

Before embarking on the zodiac we were equipped with a yellow hard hat and a gas mask. The sea was quite rough, probably as rough as it'll get before the company turns back and refunds everyone their money. The zodiac rose up to meet your eager foot, and then dipped away like a naughty child. We hustled Vicki to the front of the queue, to get her on the first trip. She held one hand to her mouth and the other outstretched for support, and slowly carefully, tiptoed to the front, afraid to look anywhere but straight ahead. Apparently the men in the boat, and her husband from behind, got her onto the boat and then off the boat at the landing. The landing is a rusty, rocky outcropping with some old ladders running the length of it. The skipper carefully waited, and watched for a lull in the waves, and then raced towards the landing where everyone scurried up the ladders at once.

Chris and I watched from the yacht as the ragged group drunkenly stumbled across the rocky dock, their legs now used to the lurching deck. Then we watched as a large wave broke and sprayed them all. Chris and I enjoyed our adventure to the shore, and jumped off smiling, ran across the pier before we got drenched and met Frank and Vicki for the tour. The volcano is "active" and though it wasn't spewing ash and rocks, "active" struck me as the perfect word to describe the place. Every few feet were steaming vents, a faint whistling sound could be heard over the roaring winds. Steam and smoke blew all over the place. Water bubbled and boiled, mud splattered up from some vents. This was not an inert pile of dirt, but an excited display of energy. The gas masks were optional, to combat the smell and the tickle it can cause in your throat. Better than that we were given lollies (sweeties) to suck on for the same purpose.

The island shows some life--none human, despite our early efforts at mining--mostly ice plants and some birds. Mostly it's just a rugged, Marsian landscape, surrounded by the beautiful blue ocean.

The trip back home was memorable. Vicki braced herself for a miserable two hours, but in the end we were all fine. Chris sat on the floor in front of us, and I tried to distract Vicki from her own spiraling thoughts of dizziness. After a few minutes a snag in the plan staggered over to our area. A nauseas girl slid down the wall and sat, clutching her puke bag. I looked away in terror. Seas don't make me sick, but sick people make me sick. This is a nightmare. So Vicki and I spent the two hours talking and laughing with each other, from behind another (unused) puke-bag. Chris would tell us when it was safe to look. After he fell asleep there were a few close calls. I'd sneak a glance, just in time to see her lurch and raise the bag. Eek.

Now our buddies have left, they're back home in Denver, and we're on our way to a new house. (That's another long story.)