FINALLY WE MOVED INTO NEW ZEALAND FALL1990

We arrived! Finally we are going to see what the hype is all about. Geezus 4 million kiwis and 16 million sheep can’t be all that much fun, can it? We were assigned to the revamp of a pulp and paper mill in Tokoroa. Which was about 200km straight south of Auckland. We found a beautiful home in Rotorua, a thermal area, 50 km straight east of our work. Our friends lived in Putaruru which was about 25 km north of Tokoroa. The city where we lived was located in the heart of a thermal area. It was extremely beautiful, maybe one of the prettiest places we ever lived.

The population of Rotorua was around 45,000 people (and another 15,000 in the immediate surrounding area). Because of the thermal activity the whole city was permeated with a strong “rotten egg” smell, which was hard to ignore. Ron’s first words were “Dad, eeewwwwwhhh that’s gross! Mom make him stop”. This of course sent her protege’ into a paroxysm of laughter and further encouraged her to flop around and make faces like she was asphyxiating. The reason I bring this up is that combined with the smell of the pulp and paper plant (that of rotten burnt cabbage and dead buzzard) meant that 24 hours a day you lived with an odour surrounding you, that some, obviously found unpleasant. I think after a few weeks, I got used to it.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The city of Rotorua was inland from the coast, about 25 miles, and was situated about mid point on the eastern side of the North Island. Our house was beautiful with lots of room, a pool and an outdoor guest house with a change room. The girls started school and quickly got into a routine. Ron tried to make her mother mental, by insisting that she ride her new bicycle to school, in, amongst and as part of the busy traffic between home and destination. She would ride with new friends and whiz around traffic circles and in and out of traffic. It came close to giving ol’ Bubbaloo a mental breakdown. She had to follow her to school each day, but not get close enough to be spotted. Ange was content with a ride to school. We settled into life in New Zealand.

The city of Rotorua was located on the side of a large Lake, named (of course) Lake Rotorua. This lake had an area of about 50 square miles (about 1.5 times as big as, a lake like, Sylvan Lake in Alberta). The water was fresh and although it appeared clean, swimming in the lake was prohibited. Over the years, nutrients from the surrounding (huge) farming industry had leached into the water and created a large “algae bloom” problem. At that time it was estimated that it would take 50 years to clean up and return to its former quality. Even so it was a beautiful lake and we spent many weekends on its shores, picnicking and frolicking in the sand.

On the shores of this lake and high up on an overlooking hill ol’ Bubbaloo showed me how adventurous she had become, when sampling new (at least to us) and unusual cuisine. We were at a very famous dining room and restaurant at the top of this hill, enjoying the sunset, some friends and the spectacular views of the lake. She was perusing the menu, looking for the exotic when she stumbled across the (sheep) “sweetmeats” and was very intrigued at their description, that basically told you nothing about what cut of meat it was. Something like “a delicate portion of the most exotic and delicious selection of sweetmeats, served in a rich white sauce, simmered in spices and ready to tempt any discerning pallet.”

She asked me if she was going to like it. What do I know? Seemed like a bit on the outer limits to me, however she was a Peruvian, after all, and who can account for what they might eat. So being my positive self I said, yes that sounds good. So she confidently orders this intriguing dish. It arrives and looks to me like a pale, glutinous looking, quivering pile of “brains” covered in a pale anemic like sauce, the color of a butchers apron after 1000 washes. I might say sheep brains wasn’t exactly my taste, but like I said before, she is Peruvian. She takes one look and chops off a piece and into her mouth it goes. I could see her chew it gently and try to swallow. It hit the vomit trigger and came back up.

I politely turned away so as not to interfere with her enjoyment. Her eyes were now burning into the back of my head and somehow knew I was in shit. Enough said, I will leave her to describe her adventure with sheep’s brains in the comment section of this post. She has never forgotten or forgiven me, “making” her eat brains. WhattdidIdo, geezus. Needless to say we rode home in silence that evening. She sulked until I apologized for making her eat it. She said she did not find anything amusing about my prank. Will I never get a break?

• 

• 

• 

• 

•