BITWRATHPLOOB World Tour

The ‘Ploob enjoys the Garden City0
erik posted in Detours on May 14th, 2008

We all know what happens when the BITWRATHPLOOB flies in the cabin… so he made the short trip between islands in the cargo bay, tightly packed in a suitcase with all my possessions. I’d like to say the ‘Ploob helped with the move, but really, it just stood there, hands behind its back, looking on.

The ‘Ploob and I didn’t have a house for our first week in Christchurch. We stayed with friends and their three-year-old daughter, Maddi. Maddi fell madly in love with the ‘Ploob. Until its head came off.

We put the head back on and things were better for a few hours, but we’d unwittingly started a traumatising game of guillotine for the poor little wood bear. I wonder if all kids who meet the ‘Ploob do that?

I felt guilty, so to lighten up – and stop the head-on, head-off, head-on, head-off game – we took the ‘Ploob for a true Christchurch Café experience. The people here loooooove their cappuccino/latte/flat-white, and so did the BITWRATHPLOOB:

Maddi abandoned her ‘fluffy’ after only 3 minutes and grabbed a hold of the ‘Ploob. There was no escaping her.

To avoid yet another beheading, we went out to watch the installation of the lanterns for the Chinese Lantern Festival. Our Wood Bear met all sorts of creatures, some less recognisable than others…

It even met some real ducks:

Black sand and hot pools0
erik posted in Detours on May 12th, 2008

The Ploob experiences the hot pools

New Zealand is a very active place, volcanically speaking. This can be both dangerous – when Mt Ruapehu erupted last year, the ski field had to close for a couple days – and beneficial – there a number of geothermal areas where one can soak in the hot pools and let the worries melt away. In many cases however, the relaxation comes at a price. The mineral sources have been ‘harnessed’ and most are commercially operated.

Since the BITWRATHPLOOB is travelling on a budget, it was decided we’d head out to the West Coast and try the hot water beach at Kawhia (pronounced ka-fee-a). We’d have to bring a shovel and dig the wet sand ourselves, but the spa would be free – and such a better adventure than sitting in a concrete pool between four walls!

We started the trip with stop in Raglan. The ‘Ploob had been told about this place and wanted to see the surfing. Unfortunately, the weather was particularly inclement. It was cold and windy, with a dash of rain here and there, and swimming was prohibited along most of the beach.

He apparently caused a short-circuit in my digital camera. Too much BITWRATHPLOOB for the little machine?!?

We left Raglan under the rain and drove on toward the Bridal Veil Falls. The ‘Ploob didn’t like the walk in the rain so much – it messes up with his hair – but the dizzying view from the top of the 55m-high falls left him speechless (so to speak).

We walked all the way down to the pool at the base of the falls, and up again, before setting out on the tiny back roads of the Waikato countryside heading, we hoped, for Kawhia. The main road had been closed earlier in the year when a bridge collapsed, and the ‘detour’ signs were minimal – two, to be exact. So we started on the dirt road one of the signs seemed to point to, and hoped our map was out of date (since on it the road we were on didn’t really lead anywhere).

Without quite understanding how, a couple hours later we finally made it to Kawhia. We drove through the little town and away towards the sea, and parked at the end of the road. We grabbed our things – towels, food and a shovel – and climbed up over the dune. The Ploob had been in fine white sand before, but the fine black sand of the West Coast was a novelty.

Once over the dune and on the beach, the scenery was eerie. The clouds were low and the view was limited to about 100m each way, transforming the other people on the beach into vague silhouettes.

We knew the hot pools could be dug about two hours each side of the low tide, and we’d been told to dig near the water, just where we’d come down from the path on the dune. We walked straight toward the water, hoping to feel the warmth through the sand and know where to dig, but could not find anything. We walked north along the beach, still feeling the sand for a warm patch, thinking maybe ‘in front of the path’ may have been more of a suggestion. We dug holes, and the BITWRATHPLOOB jumped in one, but there was no hot water coming out of it.

We eventually ventured back to where we’d first come in and, lo and behold, there were people lounging in warm water holes! Right there, where we’d been 30 minutes earlier! Our lack of luck was just bad timing. We grabbed the shovel, borrowed a couple more from the family in the next hole, and started digging. It was hard work – we were but a few meters from the waves, so the sand was very wet and kept falling back into the hole. We kept digging. The hole kept filling up. We kept digging…

Still, it was pretty amazing, water at 40ºC-ish, the dark sand, the foggy sky, sitting on (or in) the beach:

As the tide arrived at its lowest point, my friend Angélique, the Ploob and I decided that digging was too much of an effort. The hot water was showing on the surface and all we had to do was lie down on the sand, shimmy a tiny little bit, and enjoy the warmth coming through the sand. As soon as it cooled, a two-second shimmy would bring the heat back by shifting the sand. It was lovely.

Once our skin turned red from the hot water and we were completely relaxed, we headed home, covered in salt and sand. The sun had finally come out from behind the clouds, and as we left Kawhia, we were treated to a beautiful sunset over the Kawhia Harbour.

A stroll through the gardens0
erik posted in Detours on May 8th, 2008

Hamilton, though the 4th largest city in New Zealand (at close to 130 000 inhabitants!) is not the most exciting place. Still, the weather was glorious so the ‘Ploob & Friends headed out to visit the most popular* tourist destination in the Waikato – the Hamilton Gardens.

It was a trip down memory lane. The Ploob reminisced about the UK in the English Garden.

…and hung out with stone lions again.

It got a chance to lounge in the sun by the pool in a ‘typical’ Modern American Garden.

…and revisit a little piece of Italy.

There was even another wedding to crash!

The day was interrupted by an incident involving the loss of yet another appendage – its head came off, as it does, and the fall to the ground sent its nose flying.

Thankfully, the nose was found, with the bonus addition of nostrils – all the better to smell the flowers!

* arguably, the BEST tourist destination is the statue of RiffRaff at the southern end of Victoria Street, the main drag (no pun intended) in town. Richard O’Brien, the strange mind behind the Rocky Horror Picture Show, lived in Hamilton when he wrote the play/film – a testimony to what this town can inspire? As the statue’s website puts it: “Hamilton led him to THIS”. Sadly, the Ploob wasn’t able to get a picture with the statue… or maybe not so sadly… it would have been a new level of horror…

The Wood Bear Goes Kiwi0
erik posted in Arrivals on May 7th, 2008

After much anticipation and one more inter-continental postal jump, in early February the BITWRATHPLOOB finally made it to the land where people, birds and fruits all share the same name. A series of inter-NZ travels, a new job, a move between islands, and a dying computer are my excuses for the very, very late updates of the Ploob’s adventures. Things have settled, I apologise to the numerous fans of the little creature, and I begin this long overdue narrative.

The Ploob arrived in the best-wrapped parcel we’d seen in a long time, which might explain the meagre $1 it was insured for.

Fresh out of the box, the Ploob encountered the other creatures of the house and found himself (itself?) subjected to a thorough olfactory inspection.

Kloé the Labrador kept coming for more and we had to make sure the Ploob would stand well away from her reach – there’s something in that red hair she simply could not resist.

We introduced the Ploob to La P’tite Bête, a French…thing… also travelling the word, accompanied by my friends Virginien and Angélique. The Ploob had a laugh at their English-ified names – Virgin and Angel – but was quickly reminded its own name had to be filled out with vowels just to be pronounceable, and it really shouldn’t make fun of others.

The Ploob proved adaptable and seemed unfazed by the predominant use of French in our home and the reversal of seasons. Still, not wanting to leave it in completely new surroundings, we arranged for it to hang out with ‘friends’ met in the box-trip from China:

The next day we were off to see the wonders of Hamilton.