The Eighth Wonder of the World
Violent and unexpected, the eruption of the Tarawera volcano during the early hours of June 10, 1886, was New Zeland's greatest natural disaster. For more than four terrifying hours, roks, ash and mud bombarded the peaceful village orf Te Wairoa. Today, it lies under 2 metres of thick volcanic material.
As well as ending more than 150 lives the eruption destroyed the eighth wonder of the world - the Pink and White Terraces. These graceful terraces had been built up over a million years, one silica grain at a time, and bubbled with steaming hot pools. The silica terraces were delicately tinted a pale pink and proved a striking contrast to the crystalline waters and green forests that surrounded them. People from all over the world came to bathe in their waters, mostly on the lower slopes as the higher you got, the hotter it became. Locals would carry the guests piggy-back style for one to two cents per person, a valuable sum in those days. It was a half day trip just to get there; luckily not all on the backs of the Maori.
The eruption of 1886 so completely wiped out the Pink and White Terraces that they have not been found again.
Today, the Buried Village takes you on an emotional journey as you walk through the museum which tells the awful but fascinating story of Te Wairoa (the waterfall).
Speaking of the waterfall, and I can today as I've caught my breath, it plunges down a cliff face for 200'. I didn't count the steps on my way down because our museum guide had already told us there were 116 steps and I had privately decided to admire the waterfall from above. No such luck. Tony and Marlene made me do it. Tony walked in front to provide a cushion, should I slip and fall.
It was worth the hike. The roar of the water sent the adrenaline surging. The cooling mist was a relief from the heat of the day. We took our time going back up and made use of the benches provided along the way. I've learned there's no point in trying to show off and talking while I climb, so I let the others talk and tried to listen over the pounding blood in my ears.
We celebrated with a delicious lunch at the top.
Back at the motel, Tony convinced Hans and I to go to the Thursday Rotary Club meeting, which is a fun club. We had just enough time to shower and change and get there for 5:30.
They meet at the lovely Prince's Gate Hotel, a splendid example of Victorian architecture. We admired the hotel as we approached the reception desk.
"Where does the Rotary Club meet?"
"There's no meeting today".
"What??"
"They all decided to go and play golf."
What is it with the Rotary Clubs in Rotorua?? Is it me? Did they hear I was coming and shut down just before I got there?
As well as ending more than 150 lives the eruption destroyed the eighth wonder of the world - the Pink and White Terraces. These graceful terraces had been built up over a million years, one silica grain at a time, and bubbled with steaming hot pools. The silica terraces were delicately tinted a pale pink and proved a striking contrast to the crystalline waters and green forests that surrounded them. People from all over the world came to bathe in their waters, mostly on the lower slopes as the higher you got, the hotter it became. Locals would carry the guests piggy-back style for one to two cents per person, a valuable sum in those days. It was a half day trip just to get there; luckily not all on the backs of the Maori.
The eruption of 1886 so completely wiped out the Pink and White Terraces that they have not been found again.
Today, the Buried Village takes you on an emotional journey as you walk through the museum which tells the awful but fascinating story of Te Wairoa (the waterfall).
Speaking of the waterfall, and I can today as I've caught my breath, it plunges down a cliff face for 200'. I didn't count the steps on my way down because our museum guide had already told us there were 116 steps and I had privately decided to admire the waterfall from above. No such luck. Tony and Marlene made me do it. Tony walked in front to provide a cushion, should I slip and fall.
It was worth the hike. The roar of the water sent the adrenaline surging. The cooling mist was a relief from the heat of the day. We took our time going back up and made use of the benches provided along the way. I've learned there's no point in trying to show off and talking while I climb, so I let the others talk and tried to listen over the pounding blood in my ears.
We celebrated with a delicious lunch at the top.
Back at the motel, Tony convinced Hans and I to go to the Thursday Rotary Club meeting, which is a fun club. We had just enough time to shower and change and get there for 5:30.
They meet at the lovely Prince's Gate Hotel, a splendid example of Victorian architecture. We admired the hotel as we approached the reception desk.
"Where does the Rotary Club meet?"
"There's no meeting today".
"What??"
"They all decided to go and play golf."
What is it with the Rotary Clubs in Rotorua?? Is it me? Did they hear I was coming and shut down just before I got there?
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