We set out with a simple plan: hit Hot Water Beach, dig a pool, and call ourselves geniuses. But New Zealand loves to rewrite the script.
When we arrived, the tide was roaring, the wind was blasting, and the only hot water was the kind falling from the sky. After a quick look, we admitted defeat and kept moving.
That βmissβ turned into a win.
Driving deeper into the Rotorua region, the landscape shifted quickly pretty plains melting into thick forest, steam drifting through gaps in the trees, and that familiar sulphur smell rolling through the car vents.
The thermal mud pools were alive literally. Thick grey mud boiled like a witchβs brew, bubbling up and bursting in slow rhythm.
We stopped at the only free public pools and took a walk around before we checked in.
Steam curled around tree trunks, making every corner look mysterious, almost otherworldly.
We wandered along the paths, jackets zipped to our chins, stepping through warm patches of air drifting up from fissures underground. Signs explained how MΔori used these places for generations: cooking food, treating injuries, even making coffee from roasted seeds. The mix of culture, geology, and raw nature made the whole walk feel like stepping into an old story.
We walked through drifting steam, the whole world around them humming and gurgling quietly. Even with the drizzle, even with the wind, it felt like the most New Zealand thing we could be doing.
A strange, wild, unforgettable day the kind that starts messy, changes completely, and becomes one of the memories you talk about later.
Tomorrow we will dive in to this more, letβs hope the weather is better!
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