Adventures in Paihia

[I've decided to do a pronunciation guide for all the strange-sounding place names. Paihia is pronounced pie-HEE-uh. From the last two posts, Whangarei is pronounced FONG-guh-Ray...the 'wh' in Maori is pronounced like the 'ph' in English.]

The Germans came and took me away. I was sad to see it was just Nicole and Dennis---Hiro had already purchased a bus ticket, and Tim, Thomas, and Alice decided to rent a car on their own---but we had a hot-rockin' cheesy good time anyway. Step number three to saving money while traveling in an expensive land: mooch rides with people who have their own car. We spent a few hours hanging out on a beach before embarking on a two-ish hour drive to Paihia in the picturesque Bay of Islands. I sang American songs to them, they sang German songs to me, I sang German songs to them, then we all belted out "Take Me Home Country Road" together.

Paihia, population 1,800, wouldn't even be on the map were it not the birthplace of modern New Zealand. In the year 1840, Maori chiefs from all over the island gathered with representatives from Great Britain to sign the Treaty of Waitangi (why-TANG-ee). Controversy swirled shortly thereafter, as the respective versions in Maori and English were not identical. Of particular import, the Maori version had the chiefs retaining their power through the land share; the English version granted full sovereignty to the queen. Debate still rages 170 years later concerning the intentionality of the discrepancy. Regardless, the nation of New Zealand as we know it was hatched in Paihia. Hence, this otherwise insignificant town is a magnet for tourism.

Paihia's infrastructure reflects this reality. About half the buildings are lodges, hotels, or hostels. Most of those remaining are restaurants or tour offices. Dennis, Nicole, and I scored the last three beds in the Pickled Parrot, a hostel on the outskirts of town. Apparently it used to have a pet parrot, but he's expired and gone to meet his maker. Whether it was actually pickled remains a mystery.

While exploring a walking trail, I encountered Franscoise, a smoking hot Dutch girl, a Daniel, a local Kiwi enjoying his day off by showing people around. I stayed with them until we got back to town, where Franscoise ditched us in favor of the beach. Daniel asked if I wanted to see the treaty grounds. I said yes but I wasn't willing to pay the $25 entry fee. Not a problem. Daniel used his mad skills to get me in free, then swerved as my personal tour guide---this after doing the same for Franscoise earlier. Let me just take this time to say to say that Daniel knows more about Maori culture and early New Zealand history than Wikipedia. The guy is a straight up mithril mine of knowledge. He told stories, explained works of art, informed me about rituals, and convinced me to pose as a Maori warrior with him. Had I coughed up 25 bucks and taken the tour alone, I would have felt ripped off, but under Daniel's guidance, it was a fantastic way to spend a couple hours. Step four: do stuff for free instead of paying for it.

Daniel and I made epic plans for the next day contingent on his getting off work the next day. Sadly, his boss hates fun and joy and everything good in the world, so our epic sand dune sledding adventure never `materialized. But I did run into Alice, my long lost sommersaulting friend. We made plans to meet up later that evening. But first I had another engagement: the North Night Culture Show. More on that next post.

A pleasant surprise awaited me upon my return to the Pickled Parrot. Sitting outside, drinking wine with Dennis and Nicole, was my main man Hiro. You can't keep this guy down; he will find a way to find you. Hiro gave me permission to drink Dennis's booze...so I did. Getting permission is apparently a big deal to Hiro. At their hostel in Whangarei, Hiro asked Dennis if it was ok with him if he used one of the showers in the giant communal bathroom.

Alice texted me that she was ready to roll, so I picked her up and we went to the pub. She bought herself a drink, refused to dance with me, and went home early. Oh.

The next day, I bummed a ride to nearby Kerikeri (currie-currie) with Nicole and Dennis, who were on their way out. I had already booked another night at the Pickled Parrot, so I couldn't go far, but Kerikeri had some interesting stuff to check out. We briefly toured a fudge factory before heading over to a recreated Maori village. It was pretty cool, but anticlimatic after the dramatic culture show and without Daniel's ever-flowing cascade of brilliance. I hitchhiked back to Paihia, where I played Jenga and a drinking game with some Germans. The alcohol supply was limited, so it was tame. Probably a good thing considering how much beer Germans can handle.