Our journey continued today as we left Cambridge and headed down to Rotorua. Upon checking in at the Kiwi holiday park, the manager gave us a rundown on all the activities in town.
We were a little confused when she started talking about "the park with all the geesers going off". Really, what do you think of when someone tells you that "you can't miss the big Geeser, it spouts at 10:15 am every day"? Regardless of what kind of event you think it is, this is apparently why people come to Rotorua, to watch the geesers.
Little did we know that we were going to have a chance encounter with a geeser that evening as well. Like any good Canadians, we've been enjoying being able to buy beer and wine in any of the grocery stores. And now that we're in a new town, we needed to refresh our supply.
No joke, when we arrived in the grocery lineup with all of one sixpack and your very basic grocery necessities, the elderly lady at the till decided to ID us. "No problem" I say, pulling out my government issued drivers license with all the security features necessary for a first world country. But no, granny won't take it. Apparently my ID is good enough to rent a car for 26 days, but not acceptable for purchasing 6 bottles of so-so ale.
The woman asks if I have my passport with me. I say no, but luckily, SP chimes in and says he has his. I can only imagine what the folks in line behind us were thinking.
The gatekeeper of the grocery store apparently takes her job very seriously. Either that or she has terrible eyesight. She looks at the passport, back to SP, back to the passport, back to SP. Frowning disapprovingly.
Finally you can see her counting in her head, calculating how old SP is. 1977. She explains that she has to ID anyone that looks under 25. SP and I look at each other, really? She's serious though, this isn't just procedure, she continues eyeballing the passport.
But the story doesn't end there. Nope, now she enters SP's birth date into the computer and advises us that she has to get a manager's approval. I'm laughing, this can't possibly be how they sell beer here. Forget the Geesers in the park, the one at the grocery store will make you erupt.
With nothing less then the most serious of faces, she continues to review the passport. As if SP and I have miraculously disguised our 17 year old selves in the bodies of 30 somethings for the sole purpose of pulling a fast one on the geriatric grocery clerk in Rotorua NZ.
The manager finally arrives, takes 10 seconds to approve the passport, and we pay. At no point in time did the old bag behind the counter take this as anything but the most serious of duties. You'd think she was selling prescription narcotics or something. As we left, you could feel her eyes peering into you, as if to say, "I'll catch you young'ens next time!"
Anyways, tomorrow we will have further opportunities to be confused by the kiwi accent as we'll be visiting the thermal park to watch the geesers explode (and to check out other geothermal activity).
Update. Below are pics from the Lady Knox geyser.