The Day I Met the Taniwha

I’ve always had a penchant for the unknown, for tales that border the line between the mythological and the real. That’s what led me to Rotorua, New Zealand, known for its geothermal wonders and Maori legends. I had checked into a luxury hotel in Rotorua, wanting to treat myself after months of diligent saving. Little did I know that my stay there would be anything but typical.

On the third day of my stay, while enjoying a quiet breakfast at a local café, an elderly man named Te Kahu approached me. He’d seen the picture I was sketching, inspired by the bubbling mud pools. “Looking for inspiration?” he asked with a knowing smile. As we chatted, he mentioned the legend of the Taniwha, the guardian spirit of Rotorua’s waters. This creature, he told me, occasionally showed itself to visitors deemed worthy.

With the drawing of a fearsome creature vivid in my mind, thanks to Te Kahu’s description and a sense of adventure pulsing in my veins, I set out to the secluded mud pool the next morning. The forest around it was dense, the path obscure, but every step seemed to pull me closer.

The pool, when I finally reached it, was eerily calm, betraying no secrets. And then, as the sun reached its zenith, there was a disturbance in the center. A form began to rise, and as it broke the surface, I was met with a sight that took my breath away.

It was the Taniwha. Rough, scaly skin glistened under the sun, each scale reflecting the light in a myriad of colors. Spikes, sharp and foreboding, lined its head and back. Its teeth, sharper than the craggy rocks that bordered the pool, gleamed menacingly. But its eyes, deep and ancient, bore into mine with an intensity that was almost curious, rather than threatening.

For what seemed like hours, we simply stared at one another. The world around us faded, and there was only the Taniwha and me. I felt an understanding pass between us, a silent agreement that my intrusion into its sanctuary was forgiven, and I was one of the few chosen to witness its majesty.

Then, with a splash that sent waves rippling to the pool’s edges, the Taniwha disappeared into the depths.

The journey back to my luxury hotel in Rotorua was a blur. All I could think of was the creature I had encountered, the privilege of the meeting. And in my hand, I clutched the drawing I had started, now complete with the image of the Taniwha, a testament to the magic of that day.

That night, as I lay in my plush hotel bed, I looked once more at the drawing, realizing that in Rotorua, the line between myth and reality was beautifully, hauntingly blurred.