Rotorua: Acclimatisation by Equalisation

Today moved at a leisurely pace.

The weather forecast was bleak and for the first time on our trip, we had nowhere to be and absolutely no plans.

Erin delivered breakfast in bed, a welcome surprise, and, if I’m honest, one I’d quietly hoped for. With the cold and damp outside, the moment I heard movement, I decided getting out of bed was no longer my problem. I’d already been up during the night, listening to the heartbeat of our diesel heater as it tried and failed to ignite.

That mystery became our first job for the day.

I vaguely remembered the van orientation guy saying something like, “blah blah blah, something something, the fuel tank needs to be at least half full for blah blah to work.”

At the time, I had more important things to do, like smiling, nodding, and pretending to absorb 100% of the information so we could hurry up and start the holiday.

We headed off to refuel and restock the fridge, which was now running dangerously low on essentials. With the adult tasks out of the way, we decided to head into town and brave the stanky car park again.

This time, I came prepared.

"Mission Control to Ground Control, commencing cabin pressure equalisation."

A few strategic toots later, the atmosphere had stabilised, and the doors were cleared for opening. To my delight, the Rotorua pong was nowhere near as bad as before.

Coincidence? I think not!

With the air officially cleared, we wandered through a few local stores like good tourists. Along the way, Erin spotted The Bok Shop, run by a lovely South African bloke selling biltong and dried goods from a few very suspect display cabinets.

A taxidermied deer head watched over the whole operation, its expression suggesting that if we left empty-handed, it would remember.

Erin chose hangover biltong and some droëwors, an addictive dried sausage. One minute, we were sampling, the next, I was begging Erin to share in her bounty.

Yesterday, we’d spotted a grand old building in the distance and looked it up, the Rotorua Museum (it was closed), which promised beautiful surrounding gardens.

The building itself was impressive, even if it was currently pinned up by scaffolding for a bit of TLC. Very grand. Very historic. Very, “Surely the gardens will be nice.”

The gardens, however, were disappointing to say the least.

We found a few measly, slumped-over flowers, some damp paths, and another stinky hole in the ground that looked like it had been plumbed directly to the nearby Polynesian Spa. Rotorua really does have a way of turning a pleasant stroll into a reminder that the Earth is actively farting underneath you.

The time had come. Charlie had been waiting all day to check out the local mountain biking stores, and by local stores, I mean all of them. Luckily, Rotorua has about five packed into the same hundred metres, which is either excellent town planning or a deliberate attack on a young boy's bank account.

You see, Charlie is a working man now. A man of income (proud dad). A man who, despite still being relatively small, has been banking his hard-earned pennies for this very moment.

But, like mother, like son, he remains a tightarse at heart.

After much browsing, pacing, and quietly eyeing off things well outside the budget, he settled on a reasonably priced pair of mountain biking shoes and, arguably more importantly, some free stickers.

Back at camp, the heater saga continued. It would start, it would stop, it would think about starting again, and then it would give up entirely. Eventually, so did we. Luckily, the van has a backup electric heater, which is our new favourite piece of onboard technology.

For the rest of the afternoon, we hunkered down while the rain settled in outside. We caught up on our favourite YouTubers, ate some more two-minute noodles, which have now become a staple, and eventually found ourselves at the foosball table.

Anyone who knows me will know I’d already started celebrating the win before the first ball had even dropped, which made the eventual defeat even harder to take. I now owe Erin and Charlie a Snickers.

And that was that.

A slow day. A damp day. A slightly pongy day.

But not a bad one.