“Kia ora” “Nau mai” “Hello” “Welcome”
We couldn’t have asked for a warmer welcome than the one we received from the Maori hosts opening the doors to our group for the night – but this was no casual New Zealand drop-in. The Maori take hospitality very seriously.
Paul, the guide who’d driven us through the fascinating volcanic landscape of the North Island had tried to prepare us. Explaining that the women would be expected to sing to our hosts, he’d taught us a simple Maori song – the equivalent of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” – and described the ceremony that lay ahead. We really couldn’t imagine it. You have to experience a Maori welcome to understand.
Experiencing a Maori welcome ceremony
Hospitality has been the foundation of their culture since the first people came to Aotearoa (New Zealand) in waka hourua (huge hand-carved canoes) from their native Hawaiki, more than a thousand years ago. Tradition dictates that travellers who arrive at the marae (Maori meeting ground) must be welcomed and accommodated following a carefully prescribed set of rules.
First, we determined who the leader of our group should be, since one of us had to serve as spokesperson for the manuhiri (guests.) Quiet Richard from New York agreed to step forward as the chief appeared, ceremoniously brandishing a spear and then laying a branch on the ground. As an indication that we were coming in peace, Richard picked up the branch as the ladies of the marea sang a beautiful karanga – a chanting song of welcome. Then it was our turn. With more enthusiasm than talent we manuhiri women warbled our way through unfamiliar words. (Though the ceremony was solemn, I saw more than one grin as we butchered their song.)
The final step in the welcome ceremony was the hongi, a tradition symbolizing trust and friendship. Each guest and host took a turn standing with foreheads touching, and silently breathed in one another’s ‘essence.’ To come so close to strangers and share one’s breath was an experience completely new to our North American group – and it created an instantaneous bond with our hosts.
A feast followed with stories from our hosts about the Maori commitment to protecting their traditional way of life and preserving the unique natural beauty of their island. We laughed, joked and compared our ridiculously urban way of life, but when the sun went down, the chief made it clear that it was time for bed.
Surviving the night in a Maori marae
What we hadn’t anticipated was exactly where and how the bedding down would work. In the Maori tradition, members of the tribe and their guests share a common sleeping area. Though modern tribe members have private homes near the shared marae buildings, it’s customary for at least one or two members to sleep with the guests.
In a large building, several dozen mattresses lined the walls, dormitory style. Women and men sleep beside one another, but separate. Given that we all wore sweat suits to bed, there was no awkwardness about settling in for the night – until, that is, people began to drift off.
With fifteen people in the room, there was bound to be a snorer. Paul, our charming guide, was soon sound asleep on his back, mouth gaping, sounding like a buzz-saw.
I’m non-violent, rarely feeling the urge to murder or even maim – but snoring triggers the monster within.
The more Paul snored, the more I fantasized about smothering him – nice guy notwithstanding.
Only an empty mattress and the thought – that civilized travel writers don’t kill their guides – lay between us.
It wasn’t enough.
I did what I was driven to.
Then, there was quiet.
When the sun rose next morning, the chief stood at the foot of my mattress, a solemn expression on his face. Next to me was Paul, alive, well and still sleeping, but silenced by the mattress lying over his face, right where I’d kicked it the night before.
“You,” said the chief, “have learned the secret of surviving a night in the marea.”
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Liz Fleming is an award-winning Canadian travel journalist who specializes in adventure, health and wellness and learning travel. For more from Liz, go to: Liz Fleming’s Travel Tales.