I’ve previously written about the cost of being a tourist in New Zealand, but I’m returning to the subject because it’s just not getting any better and it’s making me feel despondent.
Late last week, my son and I decided to head to Rotorua for the weekend to support his former rugby league team who were competing in the New Zealand Māori Rugby League tournament. It’s a big date in the calendar, his team has been together for a few years now and although my son stopped playing league to concentrate on rugby, he always supports his mates no matter what.
So, hundreds of boys, dozens of teams and thousands of supporters all descended on Rotorua for the weekend. Throw in everything else going on in the small North Island tourist town and it was clear the place was packed. The town was buzzing with people, families, activities, cars, no vacancy signs up everywhere, pubs were busy, and restaurants looked to be doing a roaring trade.
The cost of spontaneity
I knew it was last minute, and options would be limited but we needed a motel room with two beds for only one night. Just the basics. Nothing flash. Going online, I found an $800 a night boutique small hotel accommodation, sorry too pricy; then a $421 a night motel, another motel at $237 a night or beds in a hostel sharing with eight others for close to $100.
I decided $237 was the right one and surely that was plenty to be paying for one night in what appeared like a pretty standard place, so I booked the motel. Besides, I thought it would be fine because, if you ask me, $237 for one night isn’t exactly a budget option.
The reviews were mixed but I realised I had limited options, so I took the risk. It said there was only one bed, but I sent a note requesting a fold-out. I heard nothing back.
I quickly checked my bank balance to make sure I had enough money for the one-night jaunt to Rotorua. All was good, so at 5am on Saturday, I filled up the car with gas ($210) and we hit the road.
Now, the son is always hungry and can’t operate without a feed, so on the way down we grabbed breakfast and didn’t see much change out of $100. I thought to myself I should have taken food in the car and yes, I know I can expect some criticism for not organising myself properly, but it was all a bit last minute. Food on the run and on the road is hugely expensive in New Zealand. You can literally see the money draining from your account.
So, we arrived in Rotorua, where it was too early to check in. Instead, we went straight to the fields, watched the game and suddenly the lad’s hungry again. Fair enough, it had been an early start and now it was lunchtime. I scanned the food trucks at the grounds and the young fella wanted the barbeque meal being sold from one.
The BBQ meal was $30, but the juices a staggering $15 each. I skipped lunch. I refused to pay $30 for the BBQ but I hadn’t realised the cost of each juice was $15. I had just a week earlier bought a one-litre Fresh Up from the supermarket for $1.74, how on earth was a large cup for $15 justifiable? Anyway, it was too busy to stop and moan and besides who was going to care, let alone listen? I hadn’t organised myself well enough and was paying the price.
These food trucks, certainly the most popular ones, must make a killing. They’ve got few overheads, a captive market and charge Auckland CBD prices, but I get that they have to make money while an event is on because they may not work again for another week or two. Who can blame them for charging like the proverbial wounded bull?
My son pointed out there were no prices displayed on any of the items sold. There are just shiny, enticing and colourful pictures of all the options. It’s brilliant marketing, as by the time you’ve waited in a long queue, you just want to pay and get the order under way.
And now can we have the bond?
After another game of footy we raced back to check into the motel only to be told they didn’t have any pop-up or temporary beds to put in the room. No other solution could be offered, and I had paid the $237 cost of the room for the night.
They then asked for another $200 in bond for what they claimed were incidentals. I presumed the room had a mini-bar and snacks as why else would you take a $200 bond for incidentals?
Once inside the room, which was pretty standard but totally acceptable, it was obvious there were no incidentals; no mini-bar, no food options, there was nothing, so I wondered why on earth I had to part with a $200 bond.
Five days later, the $200 bond was put back into my account. But honestly, why bother with the admin? I found it pointless, but it must be there in case we smashed holes in the wall, broke the windows and stole the pillows. Unlikely, but I guess you can never judge a book by its cover.
I’ve got to say some of these motels, which were new in the 1980s, are now so damn tired they’re not worth the rates they charge.
Anyway, it was coming up to evening and low and behold, the 14-year-old was hungry again. I suggested popping down the supermarket, which was met with a groan, so we headed to Cobb & Co, largely because Rotorua has one of the few Cobb & Cos left in New Zealand and us Gen X kids have fond memories of hearty and affordable meals there.
Traffic Light or Pink Panther mocktail, anyone?
A night out
It was jam packed, the two steaks were north of $50 each, chuck in a couple of drinks and the bill came to $144 for two, which wasn’t extravagant but still ain’t cheap.
So, back to the motel where I realised I’d better sort a bed for me as the son didn’t want to share and to be honest neither did I. He reckons I snore, and I say he talks to himself all night.
I mentioned to him I was pretty sure we had got the honeymoon suite as there was an open spa sitting right beside the double bed with no screens or doors for privacy.
He seemed unimpressed with the pool – and the honeymoon quip. But it did give him an idea on how to spend more money! He suggested we go to a hot pool as we’d been standing in the cold all day and we were in Rotorua.
But I needed a bed. I’d spent $237 plus a $200 bond and right then I was staring at two chairs. There wasn’t even a couch!
I realised I had my inflatable boat in my car boot and grabbed the middle of that but soon established the pump was at home. Of course it was. So we dashed to Kmart and got one for $36 and the son decides he needs new winter pyjamas and while we’re there, how about new undies and socks, too?
Again, I get no change from $100. It’s like the old $20 is equivalent now to $100, it goes nowhere. We got back to the motel, the pump was the wrong one, but I made it work and the inflatable boat mattress with one pillow and blanket looked okay if not exactly inviting.
Now, there was time for the hot pools. I google our options, and my eyes are on stalks. The new lakeside Wai Ariki hot pools started at $99 a head for 60 minutes only. A private pool will set you back up to $449. No kidding.
If the water is owned by no one in New Zealand, we sure make it up for it in Rotorua by piping the hot water out of the ground and charging you twice the price of a motel room. Look, I get it. This is a tourist town but how much should a dip in hot water really cost? At this price it locks out ordinary Kiwis and then it’s flash tourists only.
So, I suggested the Polynesian Spa and even then the Eftpos card took a hammering at $100 for the two of us for 45 minutes in the outside shared pools. I admit, it was relaxing – once I stopped thinking about the price of entry.
Next day, we got up, watched more rugby league, I managed to get the son to agree that breakfast and lunch were the same meal so went back to the food trucks for $10 fried bread and $20 dollar paua fritters, before it was time to head back to Auckland.
Another $150 of petrol and were heading north.
It was great father and son time, lots of laughs and digs at each other and then when we got home we rang my daughters, my son’s sisters – and unbeknown to us they had also made the trip for the day and were sitting in the hot pools, too.
But they were at Wai Ariki, and started to tell me how expensive it was, but how nice it was, too. My son and I looked at each other and laughed. We couldn’t believe they actually paid that to sit in hot water.
Look, I acknowledge that this trip was all a bit last minute and I was a bit disorganised. I’m sure getting in early, planning things better and feeding yourself by making it yourself would be much cheaper.
But still I dropped a pile of cash and really all we did was drive, watch rugby league, eat, swim, sleep and repeat. It’s not like we were doing wall-to-wall activities. And it was just me and the son.
Imagine Mum, Dad and three kids for a week. Little wonder we take the package deals to the Gold Coast. New Zealand is expensive, the weather unpredictable and right now it’s locking out families from doing what was possible 30 years ago and building the memories of “that weekend when we took a bit of a spontaneous trip to Rotorua and ate at Cobb & Co and soaked in the hot pools”.
They say see your country before you see the world, but seeing your own country is proving hard enough. And we have locked out a whole pile of Kiwis, who will never experience their own backyard. We are all poorer for that.
