Bulls: A Town Like No Udder

bulls sign

Yes, that was really what was written on the sign: A Town Like No Udder. We were unable to suppress our groans as we drove past it. We knew Bulls was famous for bad puns – that was why we were stopping here on our way back from Wellington – but the small town had already exceeded our expectations.

We parked on the road outside a café with the following sign in the window:

Sighing, we proceeded to explore.

New Zealand is teeming with small, boring towns that have chosen a single quirk to double down on, thus turning themselves into tourist destinations. Or, at least, towns you’d get out and look around in, as opposed to just driving through. Katikati, for example, is full of murals, whereas Tirau is full of giant, corrugated iron things.

tirau sheep

Bulls, of course, is full of… well, actually, quite nice boutique shops. We were pleasantly surprised by that. The antiques shops were especially cool, although I failed to spot a sign that said COLLECT-A-BULL, which – come on – surely, I must have missed, because if there isn’t one, that’s a serious oversight.

First, though, I needed to relive myself. Thankfully, I found some public toilets labelled RELIEVE-A-BULL at the information centre, which was labelled…

bulls sign

INFORM-A-BULL. Nearby stood an outlet of the fast-food chain Subway that had declared itself SUBMERGE-A-BULL, and the local police station: CONST-A-BULL. It had a cute – if PREDICT-A-BULL – mural on its side.

bulls police

But that wasn’t the only mural in Bulls. This one looked oddly familiar:

bulls american gothic

I found it opposite the local Plunket building. (Plunket is a New Zealand charity that provides free health services to children under five.) Incidentally, the sign on the side of that building said NON RETURN-A-BULL.

As I made my way towards the centre of town, I appreciated the milk churn-shaped rubbish bins encouraging people to be RESPONSE-A-BULL.

bulls bin

The hub of the town, opposite some FASHION-A-BULL shops, is the old town hall:

bulls town hall

Very SOCI-A-BULL. Though one mustn’t forget the MEMOR-A-BULL museum or the CURE-A-BULL medical centre, which, for some reason, has a Trojan bull outside of it.

trojan bull

We had a late lunch at a posh café – DELECT-A-BULL – and squeed at a collection of BLING-A-BULL wedding tiaras. (Though I think I’ll keep it simple with a flower garland for my wedding at Hobbiton.) I liked that the library was READ-A-BULL, and guessed that the church would be BELIEVE-A-BULL, but I was wrong. As we drove out of Bulls, I leaned into the window to check. It was FORGIVE-A-BULL.

bulls

Road to Wellington

wellington harbour

Qualifying for the National Harry Potter Quiz – see last week’s post – meant an unexpected trip to New Zealand’s capital city. I’d been to Wellington before, once as a child and once as an adult. In fact, I’d written about it in an article called My Weekend in Wellington. The plan was to drive down on the Friday, cram as much sightseeing into the Saturday (before the quiz) as possible, and drive back on the Sunday. We shoved our Harry Potter costumes into the boot and off we went.

Driving from Hamilton to Wellington takes about seven hours, so pretty much a full day. As we had more than one driver, the journey was actually quite nice. The rolling hills of the Waikato Region gave way to glimpses of Lake Taupō, before the greenery was replaced by the tawny scrub and snowy peaks of Tongariro National Park. We stopped briefly in Turangi, where the hospice shop was notable for the number of skis it was selling, and then in Taihape.

taihape gumboot

The famous corrugated iron gumboot did not disappoint.

We did a short walk up to a lookout tower in Taihape. It was pleasant enough.

taihape view

The next notable place we passed through was Bulls. Yes, it’s a strange name for a town, but they’ve run with it. Boy have they run with it. It deserves a blog to itself, so that’s what I’ll do. It was already getting dark as we approached it, so I requested that we explore Bulls on the way back up instead, which we did. Blog to come!

We got to Wellington in time for a late dinner. We settled into our B&B and walked to Courtenay Place to find somewhere to eat. As Courtenay Place is pretty much all restaurants, this was easy. Or, at least, it would have been if our group hadn’t included both a coeliac-sufferer and a low-FODMAP dieter! Oh, the joys of living with food allergies and intolerances.

plimmer wellingtonThe next morning, my travelling companions went to visit friends of theirs, leaving me to my own devices. I like exploring cities on my own. I wanted to get pictures of places I hadn’t gotten pictures of before, so I ignored Mount Victoria and the Beehive, (New Zealand’s infamously hideous parliament building,) and set off on foot towards Old St Paul’s Cathedral. On the way, I passed a few second-hand bookshops and a gorgeous, Edwardian-looking shopping arcade that had the archaeological remains of a boat beneath it. It’s called the Old Bank Arcade on Lambton Quay, opposite Plimmer’s Steps.

I wanted to get some photos of Old St Paul’s because it’s not just another cathedral – it’s made entirely out of wood, you see. When I got there, however, it was closed for renovations.

old st paul's

Bugger.

Ah well. No biggie. Onwards, to the next destination on my list, the Katherine Mansfield House and Garden. (I’ve written about Katherine Mansfield before, in my blog about Hamilton’s Katherine Mansfield Garden.) This place was where she was born, and it’s now a museum. When I got there, however, it was closed for renovations.

Bugger.

wellington harbour

Feeling a little bummed, I made my way down to the harbour. The walk along the harbour is wonderful. I’ve enjoyed it all three times I’ve been in Wellington. It was Saturday afternoon, so the Underground Market was on there, as a little bonus.

wellington underground market

I walked all the way around to Te Papa, the National Museum of New Zealand, before heading back up to the centre of Wellington. Cuba Street’s rainbow crossing looked especially inviting.

cuba street rainbow crossing

What with all my walking, I’d run out of time to visit anywhere else. It was time to go and get changed for the Harry Potter Quiz. (See last week’s blog to find out how we did!)

wellington harbour bicycle

The Blue Spring

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Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it?

Well it used to be.

A river that sauntered between rolling hills and bush, so clear as to seem invisible and thick with flowing greenery, it had a swimming hole that was straight from a fairy tale. On the opposite bank to the path, overhanging trees and rocks created a small, circular dell bubbling with water of the purest sapphire blue. It looked like a magical portal; a sacred pool in a sorceress’s cave.

Imagine swimming in that.

The Blue Spring

Unfortunately, imagine is all you can do these days. The Blue Spring used to be a local secret, but then the media discovered it. Tourists flocked to it. Within weeks, the greenery was disappearing. The natural serenity was gone; the magic was choking.

So the authorities did the only thing they could: they banned swimming in the Blue Spring.

It worked to a certain extent. The greenery was…

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High Tea at the Chateau Tongariro

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Tongariro National Park is home to the most stunning scenery in New Zealand’s North Island. It contains three major volcanoes, Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe, which, come winter, are adorned with snow. Nestled at the foot of Ruapehu is a gorgeous 1920s hotel, the Chateau Tongariro. From the outside, it looks almost like a cake with delicate layers of sponge, pastel blue, pink and yellow. On the inside, it’s all red velvet and golden chandeliers, far too opulent for the likes of us, peering sheepishly around in our damp anoraks and hiking boots.

Chateau Tongariro

Like many tourists before us, we gaze longingly at the menu of the Ruapehu Room before deciding it’s too expensive. Besides, they won’t let us pass beyond the ornate panes of glass with their gilded letters dressed as we are. We opt instead for High Tea overlooking Ngauruhoe, a friendly alternative for the riffraff, it seems. We book…

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The Craters of the Moon

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The first time I saw the Craters of the Moon, I was crying. The hot, white, sulphurous fumes mingled with my tears, which made my face feel very strange indeed.

I was crying because I was tired, and because my family had just had an argument. I don’t remember what it was about. Perhaps my sister and I hadn’t wanted to visit any more tourist attractions. It was late and we were hungry, but here Dad was, dragging us around yet another site of supposed interest. I didn’t know or care what the place was. I was determined not to enjoy it.

The funny thing is, though, I enjoyed it immensely. I enjoyed it so much I was eager to go back years later. I couldn’t even remember it properly, but I knew it was special.

Craters of the Moon

The Craters of the Moon are just outside Taupō, the last stop on the…

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Into a Lost World

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We’d both visited Waitomo before, but this time it was different. This time, we were visiting as adults – without our parents!

It was oddly exciting. Here we were in this natural playground, this magical landscape of caves and glowworms, and we could do whatever we wanted.

Lost World Cave WaitomoThere was no one to tell me I couldn’t go black water rafting because my little sister was too young, and it wouldn’t be fair if I got to go black water rafting and she didn’t, would it? There was also no one to pay for me to go black water rafting. (Oh, the dilemma of adulthood!) Besides, it was winter. We weren’t too keen on riding a rubber ring down a subterranean river in winter.

Instead, we decided to do something even more expensive: a dry caving tour involving rock climbing and an underground flying fox. Because an underground flying fox sounded…

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The Cave at the Edge of Reality

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It wasn’t raining, but it had been. The air was as grey as the carpark behind us. Before us, the path disappeared into the moist, black trees. Everyone we’d met in Waitomo had told us to do this, so here we were. At dusk. In winter. Entering the bush at such a time went against everything we’d been taught about staying safe.

“It’ll be fine,” I said, turning my head torch on. “It’s a popular walk in a thickly touristed area. It’s bound to be well signposted.”

Waitomo CavesI must admit, I felt a shiver of excitement as we started down the path. We weren’t doing anything forbidden, but the hairs on the back of my neck strained against the darkness. I jumped at the shadow of a man that turned out to be a wooden post; again at the shadow of a snake that turned out to be a branch.

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