The Sweet Smell of Sulfur
The Sweet Smell of Sulfur
The gassiest town. A rotten fat egg, with little mascot egg-legs following you around. You have entered Rotorua. 3 hours south of Auckland and our first New Zealand destination.
Rotorua. Recommended by Lonely Planet, a close friend, and two older people on the plane ride to New Zealand with us. So, it has gotta be good, right? WRONG. I will admit, I have exaggerated slightly in this blog. (wink wink*) This was the worst smelling town. This town sucked raw eggs, literally. They are surrounded by sulfur pits and geysers…and as a result, the town stinks.
Pervasive eggy odor. One of the top North New Zealand tourist destinations with 3 million visitors annually. 70,000 people live here.
I quote the Lonely Planet tourist book: “sulphur rich, asthmatic airs. Spurting geysers, steaming hot springs, exploding mud pools.” To quote Fordor’s travel guide: “Sulfur City, stinky air.”
To quote our own traveling team:
-I would like eggs in the morning, with my rotten air eggs.
-This town smells like one big omelet fart.
-You can blow ass here and no one will ever know.
-We hit that street corner and the sulfur waves came.
-Hurry, get inside before the next wave of shit-your-pants hits.
-People with IBS would love this town. (irritable bowl syndrome)
-Rotorua…The town with the least amount of adult diaper sales.
-Please pass gas once more, it was starting to smell like sulfur in here again.
I hope you get the idea by now. This town stunk.
So, we went to bed with bursts of sulfur and stink rolling thru our window screens, hoping that tomorrow, the air would be anew.
It was not. In fact, with the morning sun peaking, it was more like a hot box of sulfur stink. And it was time to leave town, like NOW.
Nikki, bless her heart wanted to make the most of it. And being somewhat immune to the strong odor of smelling salts, (re: years of living with me)…she asked for one more last ditch effort to try and brave a sulfur geyser spring. We did and pulled into the geyser parking lot. The stank melted our windows and burned our eyes. At $30 per person to see one geyser spurt and spew rotted egg cream, we all voted to leave Stink-ville.
In our haste to drive south and leave this pit of shit…I could not forget a memento.
Something that would remind us forever of our stop in a nostrils hell. So, I popped into a local souvenir spot and picked up a $30 t-shirt with Rotorua on it. I proudly strutted to our rental vehicle in which the inhabitants said… “your new t-shirt smells like this town, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Next adventure, Waitomo Caves.
(*editors note: not liable for authors claims, exaggerations, emphasizing or embellishment)