Last Hurrah

It’s our last full day in New Zealand. What does one do as a crowning adventure, after a month full of wandering? Go to Hobbiton, of course. It’s best to end what has been primarily a nature trip with a little surreal absurdity.

This morning, for the last time I climbed behind the wheel of our dented old red Mazda. An hour north of where we stayed in Rotorua is Matamata. It’s pretty farm country with folded emerald hills and lots of sheep. You know you’ve arrived when you see the “Hobbiton Movie Set and Tourist Farm” sign.

Here’s the story of Hobbiton. In September 1998, searching for a location for his Tolkien films, Peter Jackson came upon the Alexander family farm and decided it was perfect: remote and Middle-Earthy, with no evidence of modern civilization. The New Zealand Army was instrumental in building the place. In a top-secret operation intended to prevent curiosity-seekers from invading the set, the soldiers constructed roads, backfilled a marsh, and dozed, graded, scooped and moxied the place into a magical universe. Within a year the land was dotted with thirty-seven Hobbit holes, a mill, a bridge, a pub, miniature vegetable gardens and more. Sir Ian McKellen, Elijah Wood and the rest of the cast and crew inhabited the set for three months. A couple years ago they returned for more filming of two upcoming Hobbit films. Have you ever seen any of The Lord of the Rings trilogy or The Hobbit? I haven’t. Well, I think Molly made me watch a part of one, but I don’t remember much. Actually, I remember Gandalf talking to the Hobbits over the fence. Do you know why Gandalf looked so tall? Here’s how.

Apparently, Jackson is obsessively attentive to detail. To him the white local sheep looked too modern so he imported black-faced, black-footed fellas from England. He saw just the perfect tree for Bag End in a nearby town so he had it cut down and apart, and meticulously reassembled branch-by-branch in its new location. Its leaves were ordered from Taiwan, painted and attached one by one.

You’re not allowed just to walk through the place so we joined a tour with about 20 other people. There was only one Hobbit hole we were allowed to enter.

Was it worth seventy-five New Zealand dollars? Well, let’s just say that if I hadn’t done it, I would never have been equipped with the knowledge to answer that question.

Auckland is only a couple hours from Hobbiton. With Syd’s expert navigation, we located Scottie’s and returned the car without a hitch (or a scratch or bump). I asked how common it is for people to wreck his cars, and he rolled his eyes: it happens all the time, he said. I’m so relieved we’re not one of his statistics.

Now we’re back at Verandahs Backpackers’, where we spent our first two nights. We have a great big room with high ceiling: lots of room to spread out and do our final packing. Tonight we’re going to meet Lucie, a young friend of Syd’s, for dinner and for some folksy music at the same place we haunted on our first night here. Then she has to be up well before the crack of dawn for a 5:30 a.m. airport shuttle. My plane doesn’t leave till 7:15 p.m. I’ll have to check out of here and wander around town homeless, aimless till it’s my turn to head home. I plan to go back to the Auckland Museum to see another Maori cultural show. This may be my last post. Goodbye, farewell, so long.