After a nice breakfast in the hotel, we were off by coach to a place called the Agrodome, just outside Rotorua. We were told that the event we were to attend there has been one of New Zealand’s most popular tourist attractions since it was created for a World’s Fair some years ago.
Initially mildly suspicious of something to be held in a place with such a name, we were greeted at the gate of the sheep farm where this takes place by a mammoth statue of, you guessed it, a sheep. Entering a high-ceilinged hall with hundreds of others, we were encouraged to pet the sheep before the show began. We had no idea what a show we were about to see.
Arrayed on the sides of a big stage were sheep of all types and colors, 19 in all. They docilely allowed us to pet them as we and they awaited the beginning of the show. Then we were seated as the master of ceremonies, a muscular man in a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans and his rustically-attired female companion welcomed us. He then polled the audience for representative nationalities with various jocular quips and occasional greetings in the appropriate native language.
Wearing a Madonna microphone, he, with his great Kiwi accent, next introduced us to each of the sheep by name and type as they were led into two elevated tiers across the back of the stage. Obviously well trained, “these lot,” as Kiwis might say, were tethered each to its step on the tier with a little feeding cup which they eagerly attacked. Some snuffled in others’ cups on the way up to their place or tried to eat from the tier above their own. This was all part of the act, made more fun by the wry comments from the emcee as he berated them for their bad behavior. After we’d met all the sheep, he brought out another sheep and sheared it for us, again with humor and skill in both his handling of the animal and the way he talked us through the process.
He next brought out several herding dogs and whistled and delivered commands through a variety of demonstrations, one dog herding three ducks that waddled through their paces across the stage. Three other dogs ran over the backs of both tiers of sheep, finishing atop the animals highest on each row.
A cow-milking demonstration followed with four women brought up from the audience. Between them they eked out about a cup of milk. Somehow throughout all the shtick of this show, the audience laughed and cheered and applauded, volunteered to “help” and passed the sheared wool throughout the hall so everyone could feel it. I’ve seen less enthusiasm at a performance of Cirque du Soleil or a rock concert. He had us in the palm of his hand.
After the indoor performance we were invited outside to see a dog-herding demonstration in which three sheep were driven around obstacles and over a little bridge and into a pen. The dog did its job well. The emcee proved himself adept at yet another skill, whistling and clicking and giving commands that led to a successful conclusion. There was also the inevitable gift shop that’s always available at the end of any attraction’s program. In this case, there were multiple shops on the grounds.
This experience must sound terribly hokey in description, but we’re told that the once profitable sheep farm on which this occurs is now reaping more profit from the performances than it does from running sheep. I believe it and I defy even the most urbane and skeptical viewer to remain above the magic of the animals and the showmanship of the presenter. I kept thinking that Disney World would envy the precision and personality of it and Las Vegas might want to entice this act onto the strip. If nothing else, one must marvel at the range of skills employed by this particular emcee. He is a chameleon who can captivate an audience with his charm while showing off his sheep-shearing muscles. He runs dogs, ducks and sheep through their paces with as much precision as a Busby Berkeley dance sequence. My biggest questions are (1) how a casting director would find someone to fill the bill should this fellow need to be replaced, and (2) is he the only one or are there others, a troupe of these Renaissance sheep-shearing showmen?
Back on the coach, we were off to the next marvel. Our tour of Rainbow Springs was just what we needed--a quiet walk through the rainforest. It’s another well-designed spot, this one part fish hatchery and part bird sanctuary. It includes towering redwood trees imported from California and planted here decades ago. Trout in stages from fingerling to full-size swim in clear waters. Birds are viewed both within and without their cages. The highlight is a darkened house where the elusive nocturnal kiwi lives. Unfortunately, we never saw the kiwi that lives here as he hid in the corner of his habitat.
From Rainbow Springs, we went to Te Puia, an exhibition center for Maori culture which includes the mud pools and sulfuric vents common to this area, all visible from a beautifully designed walking path and platforms. There’s an extraordinary institute that teaches carving, as well as one teaching and employing weavers. It’s an arts campus of sorts, including beautifully made structures that recreate Maori history.
Everywhere at Te Puia the arts and crafts of the Maori are on display. They are arrayed and described in the context of their place in Maori culture of old, as well as today. The meeting house, for instance, resembles a church in many ways, but its decorated walls, including some quilt-like designs, recognize tribes that endure today rather than the 70 gods of the old Maori religion.
The welcoming plaza does showcase those gods in a soaring circular sculpture of wood and mesh centered around a greenstone fountain. Every part of the display has a name and multiple meanings, described carefully by our guide.
The tour at Te Puia includes a Kiwi house, by the way, where we finally did see an actual kiwi bird. They are about the size of a chicken with a long bill that our kiwi was using to dig steadily at something presumably edible in a rotting log.
Dropped by our driver in the center of Rotorua in mid-afternoon, we were starving and looking for lunch or afternoon tea. Not finding a place on our own, we were directed to a local market and tearoom by a helpful information lady and had really wonderful snacks, much like tapas.
Leaving the restaurant, we three weary travelers meandered around a couple of blocks trying to find our way to the hotel, finally stopping to ask. By that point, we were within a block of the hotel and found our way there to rest our weary feet and nap a bit.
Dinner in the hotel was wonderful. Our waitperson, a local, shared some of her heritage. The daughter of a “strict” Maori mother, she has great pride in both her chosen work and her tribal traditions. It was a nice end to this time in Rotorua. We’ll have time for a little extra sleep in the morning and a chance to do some laundry before a midday flight to Christchurch on the South Island.
Photos by Mike Lumpkin
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