Day 10, in snippets

Coffee shop? What coffee shop?
It was a wet day. Not nearly as wet and ridiculous as Opononi when Scott and I foolishly decided to go on a hike, thus giving all our clothes (and my backpack) a thorough soak in the rain. But still wet and grey enough to make me seek out a coffee shop to sit and warm my hands on a hot cup of mocha goodness.

But Rotorua doesn't seem to have any concept of coffee shops. "There's a Starbucks down the corner," said a lady at a bookstore. Starbucks?! Never!! I am from the USA. I am not in the USA. I must not go into Starbucks. Or McDonald's. Or Burger King. Or KFC. Even if the latter was wafting delicious fried greasy smells up my nose from a block away. Must… resist… yummy… smell… aggh! So I refused the Starbucks.

But street after street in the grey wet drizzle only revealed café after café. I gave up and settled down in Milly's, a bright yellow-filled café with two bright yellow couches in the corner, which I took as an indication that hanging out for a while would not be frowned upon. I read the local newspaper, wrote lots of postcards (hint: dear readers, I need your address), and sat there far longer than any other customer did. I will resist you Starbucks.

Polynesian Spa. A Minor Quandary
In my infinite wisdom, I decided to change into my swimsuit before heading out to the spa. Less stuff to carry across town, thought I! Then, after a lovely soak in the sulfurous hot pools at the Polynesian Spa, I meandered into the changing room only to encounter a minor quandary. My swimsuit which was my undies was currently drenched in hot sulfuric water. Do I put my clothes on over it and get awkward wet spots? Or do I strip off the wet and awkwardly go commando on all fronts? I eschewed the awkward wet spots.

Wet. It's all wet.
On the way back to the Funky Green Voyager (our freakin awesome hostel), I passed a delicious looking bookstore. Dripping wet swimsuits do not play well with bookstores, so I wrapped the dripping wet swimsuit in my tiny quick dry towel, burrito style. TADA! Burrito swimsuit plays well with delicious bookstore. Back in the hostel, I hop in the shower to unsulfuricize myself. Hop out of the shower. I'm dripping wet. As is my towel. I squeegee myself with the wet towel like you squeegee your windshield clean at the gas station. I still dripped. As did my towel.

Laundry... Surprise!
The tiny quick dry towel and the swimsuit were still sulfuricized even after scrubbing them with detergent in the shower. Gerard, the awesome funky owner of the Funky Green Voyager, came across me preparing to rinse out out my soaking sulfurous swimsuit. "Don't use that tap," he told me. "The water is full of sulfur. Use the tap by the washing machines instead."

Two days ago I did a hand washing blitz of most all of my clothes. (I don't have enough clothes to justify using a washing machine.) It's been cold all over New Zealand, so hanging clothes up results in fail dry. Hence, a hand wash blitz to take full advantage of the $2 dryer. As Owen from Guernsey said, clean laundry is the Holy Grail of backpackers. I had the Holy Grail two days ago. Unfortunately, I attained the Holy Grail by use of the aforementioned sink and tap that spews water full of sulfur. All my clothes are sulfurous. Holy Grail? POOF!