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Endless speeches, smoky food and no sleep. To a lot of Pakeha New Zealanders that’s all staying on a marae means and that’s only the ones who have actually done it. To those who haven’t, it sounds a bit too much like a punishment. A place where your very presence is a rebuke. Who needs it? So we stay away.

But Americans are going and Canadians, Australians, Japanese, Brazilians and Europeans. They were just some of the nationalities represented when I was at the Rakeiao Marae at Lake Rotoiti and they thought it was 'cooo-al.' Bless them. Sometimes it helps not knowing the difference between a poi and a patu.

Besides, the Ngati Rongomai tribe at Rakeiao Marae loves to fill them in. It’s their job and it’s their business, which has created employment for at least 30 members of their extended family for seven years now. Plus it’s a bit of fun as well.

The marae welcomes both overnight visitors (manuhiri) as well as those who come just for the concert and the hangi.

As first-timers they all receive a formal welcome that begins with the spine-chilling wero (challenge by one of the local warriors) followed by a karanga (call of welcome by one of the local women). At this point they begin to move into the meeting house where speeches and songs complete the powhiri (welcome ceremony). The visitors then speak in reply.

It all goes smoothly and probably rather more quickly than usual given the visitor’s tendency to brevity.

On this occasion two senior men on behalf of The Young at Heart from Australia and geology students from Alabama do the business and then rally their troops for a song. The Australians have put their own spin on Waltzing Matilda while the Alabamans have done the same with a local song.

The 'nose thing' (hongi) follows which symbolises that the visitors are now one with the people of the land. Then everyone settles into an evening of entertainment, blissfully unaware that their dinner is now under two feet of soil.

Preparation for the hangi began early afternoon with the heating of the river rocks on a pyre of wood. 'Traditional Maori railway sleepers' are also added to the rock pile since daily use of the rocks causes them to split and break. After about three hours the hot rocks and sleepers are transferred to the circular pit with a few sticks of native wood and baskets of food placed on top. Calico cloths are laid over the baskets and soil is shovelled on top. Let the cooking begin.

In the wharenui the group has been introduced to the haka, the long pois and short sticks (tititoria) and has had an opportunity to try them all. We’ve all had a good laugh at their expense and now we’re hungry.

Outside Kawakawa Hunia, who prepares the hangi, tests the hangi in the only way possible. He sniffs the air. In seven years there have only been a couple of occasions when the food needed to be put in the oven to finish it off. Kawakawa begins to shovel away the earth, which releases the aroma of steaming meat. The tourists join him as he unveils the baskets of perfectly cooked food.

I await their response with interest, partly because my memories of hangi tucker are of hunks of food all tasting the same – fumy with echoes of smoked pumpkin - and partly because I’ve already heard their leader’s lament that some of the group have been comparing our fast food unfavourably with the American equivalent.

To my surprise the smoky flavour is subtle and delicious and the meat moist. The Americans hankering for the fast food of their homeland declare it the best meal they’ve had in New Zealand. Make of that what you will.

Everything is steamed here including the pud with custard, cream and peaches, and including us. We’re driven out to god-knows-where, take off our clothes, put on our swimming costume and blindly follow our host, John (Tiakiawa) Tahuriorangi, in the pitch dark into what could be a running stream, though it could also be a pond in a paddock. At any rate it’s hot and heavenly and soporific.

The next morning at breakfast the group leader says the soak had an amazing effect. Even the hard-core gigglers fell instantly asleep.

John’s not surprised. "Why do you think we do it last, my friend?" he grins.

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