The following day, I recovered enough and drove twenty-three kilometres to a Rewa Maori Village perched on a hill and seemingly surrounded by a river. There were no other visitors. I had the village to myself except for the ghosts of past Maoris.
Down on the banks was a handgrip behind a not-so-private wall that enclosed the toilet. Back on the hill, stood a small house where food offerings were made to native rats to distract them from the real food storage (featured photo).
Across the fast moving stream, stood a mission house believed to be New Zealand’s oldest European building.