A Maori Thanksgiving

One of the things I really wanted to do in New Zealand was to learn about Maori culture. Thanks to a generous Christmas gift from my parents, Jasson and I were able to splurge on some tickets to the Tamaki Maori Village, which included a tour, performance, and meal.

We and about a hundred other tourists gathered at the entrance to the village. A staff member asked us to remain somber and respectful during the welcoming ceremony. The sound of drums and chanting slowly emerged from the brush. A Maori warrior ran out in to the clearing, and performed a kind of dance with a spear - a show of strength and agility to properly awe us and put us in our place before allowing us into the village.

More warriors joined him, and women appeared and joined in with the chanting, until it was very loud and they were all stomping their feet to the rhythm.

Then the chief of the village came forward and welcomed us, in English and Maori. He then invited us into the village.

Inside the village there were various huts where the villagers were giving demonstrations on Maori culture, including crafts, dances, games and tattoos.

Then the chief gathered us around the hangi pit. A hangi is a traditional earth oven. From what I understood, a hole is dug in the earth, then filled with burning wood and hot volcanic rocks. Trays of meat and vegetables are placed in the pit, then covered with wet cloth and earth, and left to cook for several hours. Staff members unearthed the trays of food and carried them away to the kitchen to be prepared.

Next we entered a performance hall, where the villagers performed some traditional songs and dances for us for about 20 minutes.

Finally we were brought into the meal hall where an all-you-can-eat hangi buffet was waiting for us! There was lamb, chicken, fish, potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, stuffing, cranberry sauce and dinner rolls.

It was all good, but the potatoes, you guys. The potatoes. And the yams. They were soft and had such an exquisite smoky, earthy flavor. Sour cream and chives would be an insult to these potatoes, they were so good on their own. Two weeks later and I am still daydreaming about them.

I will never be the same.

Potatoes.

As Jasson and I stuffed ourselves on all this delicious food, we realized: this was our Thanksgiving. We had missed out on American Thanksgiving this year, so we got a Maori one instead.

At our table we were seated next to a beautiful young couple with tan skin and brilliant blonde hair. "I bet they're Swedish," I thought. I introduced myself and asked where they were from.

"We're from Sweden," they said.

Go me.

Then the staff members graced us with a "traditional closing ceremony," which consisted of the bus drivers on staff singing "You Are My Sunshine" with guitar accompaniment and clapping. It was...unexpected. But whatever, I was still high on potatoes.