Mainland Heart Island

I don't know what it is about islands that sends me into the deepest contented daydream. Not the Fiji/Raro/Samoa most dream of, or the 'bloody Ibiza' some may dream of being, but the rugged, desolate yet proudly independent gems that encircle this country.

While I have been out to White Island, my backyard Whale Island remains a mystery to me, and I envy those who have just recently been able to partake in a joint venture between local bodies and visit. Secret bays, brand new perspectives of the land you have just sailed from, landscapes which may only define that one island.

Walking to the top of Mt.Manganui gives you the ability to see out to Mayor, down Matakana and up to Slipper. .

New Plymouth even gets little Sugar Loaf as a cherry on top of its land jut sundae.

I spend the final minutes of most flights orientating myself, picking the settled pockets of farmland from the island reserves, or convincing myself that I have never seen that particular island on a map before. Hauraki Gulf especially renders me clueless, even when studying a map of the area. It was exciting to note that Rotoroa Island (owners The Sallies ran a rehab centre, initially under the "Inebriates and Drunkards Act 1906", this drew to a close in 2005, where similar work was then carried out under a more 'bridging' type program so as not to isolate recoverers)has just become open to the public for visiting after the signing of a 99 year lease by society benefactors Neal and Annette Plowman. While I roll my eyes at the thought that there will be 5 or 6 small lifestyle blocks available, it does look like a worthwhile cause...although see my future post on why I think multi coloured umbrella "the arts" is being taken for a ride...anyway! The Coromandel.

When in Kuaotunu, I found myself bowing to Great Barrier, before visiting Coromandel for the first time and catching a glimpse of Waiheke. Great Merc and Red Merc seemed like parts of the mainland from Buffalo Beach, and Mahurangi from the Cathedral Cove walk carpark was tantalisingly close. .

Now that I'm back in the Hawke's Bay, I find myself remembering how in awe I am of the Mahia Peninsula; from here, it takes roughly 3.5 hours to get to the start of the metal. When it ends 45 minutes later, you're barely halfway. I'd love to go to Portland one day, and land some sweet, sweet fish for the table (I may bake loaves, who knows).

Last year the trip over the hill to Waimarama brought me to tears. Bare Island is so beautiful, particularly when seen for the first time by one sensitive redhead at a her favourite driving time: dusk. .

The Chathams. Well for goodness sake. They have their own timezone, and the trees are Tim Burtonesque if ever I've seen a Tim Burton tree.

When I reach Stewart Island, I will be ear to earring, knowing I've conquered Foveaux and summited Allen, done the Raikura track and skipped over to Ulva (does anyone else giggle just a little?). If I could swing an oyster and a yarn with Marcus Lush, then perhaps I'd consider stopping in Bluff, but we'll play that one by ear. .

Stupidly missing the fact that daily sailings to Great Barrier cease at the end of the extended holiday period in February, my Plan A for recent annual leave was relegated to the shredder. Oh how I would have loved to have scrambled atop Mt.Hobson, landed some sweet, sweet fish (again) for my beloveds and their mealplates, meandered on foot, or on the island's bus company which boast's the motto "We Get Everywhere...Eventually". But, the trip must wait, and instead I was treated to an absolutely brilliant week in the Coromandel, ending with a drive up through the Seabird Coast (thankfully NOT true to its name as we drove through) with a stop at Tapakananga and peering into the Ashby Homestead, finishing with a quick trip to Waiheke, to which I had not been before. .

Waiheke. I'm going to be honest. .

It was a bit weird. .

A suburb of Auckland, without the admission of being so. It didn't feel novel, or particuarly special, though I dare say it holds many hearts, just as benign places to some hold a piece of mine.

It felt like it used to be like Great Barrier, but proximity to the port of Auckland has worn it down. Parts of it were genuinely like a New Zealand film; non-era specific but erring on the side of nostalgia. I don't know, the beauty of an island in the eye of the beholder really, but I yearned for a few dinky baches here and there, and really what I got was something not too dissimilar to what Raglan is fast becoming: slightly lacklustre in the genuine department.

Give me the roadless Kawau any day (funny that Marcus Lush's island episode of North has just screened, I've been thinking of islands all week and nowhere near a television. No I'm not trying to be creepy.) .

When I was younger I read in a National Geographic the story of a man...Mark? who was bitten/chomped/near damn killed by a Great White near Campbell Island. Now, that place is barren. And yet, to land on it, have a quick walk, flop on the sponge scrub, chuck out a rod and take some not very professional photos with DOC signage as proof of my landing would be amazing. .

Am I secretly an Island Box Ticker? Maybe, but I'd rather that than be bloody Ibiza. .

Until next time!
L. .

Photo sources: www.whaleislandtours.com www.matakanaislandnz.org www.teara.govt.nz

Shame, shame, shame.

For the last...oh year now, I've been meaning to post another, well, post up here at my Whisky Bar. Relocating, life in general, living the good life and returning to print media has enabled me to procrastinate.

Timely then, that it is the media (and as it happens Ali Booth's and Eugene Dupain's kind words) that has finally had me go from tipping point to beating procrastination, jumping on the bandwagon and writing about, yes, Paul Henry.

I think the important thing when incidents like this occur is to try and separate emotion from argument: Paul Henry wasn't being emotional when he made those comments, he was rambling. It's easy to have an opinion, but take your opinion from the equation and it can be an interesting thought process.

The number of Facebook groups that have cropped up with Save Paul this and Bring Back Paul that and Boycott Breakfast etc etc must be heartening to Paul, if he in fact cares at this point in time. While it's a shame emotion drives people to comment rather than thinking, or at least attempting to think, objectively, I think it speaks volumes that the Paul Henry case is just the latest in what seems to be an ongoing saga of closest narcissists successfully bringing down someone who dares to push the envelope, who is unashamedly human with sometimes completely outrageous and against the grain views, someone who, overall, love him or hate him, did his job very well.

Ok, so my use of the word narcissists may or may not place me in the same non-objective group, and Paul Henry displays those tendencies as well, but unless you are the picture or piety, even if you are, you're human. You indulge every now and then. But alas, here is what I think, me, just one person, in a nation of circa 4 million:

1. The media (used here on in as a general term purposefully) have turned their back on one of their own in order to sell, gain ratings, and be part of a witch hunt. It's like we've travelled back to a place where religion dominates and if one doesn't agree or dares to be different they're burnt at the stake!

2. The media have capitalised on the fact that a little bit of knowledge is dangerous for the majority of people who take news items purely at face value. They also are very aware that people who are advocates for any kind of group/belief/stance will have the loudest voices, though not necessarily represent the vast majority of opinion.

3. The media are just as small minded. Three pages, the first three pages no less of the New Zealand Herald one day last week were full of Henry related news. It's a vicious cycle! I'm all for knowing about national news, but current affairs globally do also have a relatively high level of importance. Dare I say it, a little more important than a radical news anchor. Further to the three pages of news on the affair, it is worth noting the following:

i.Paul Henry has worked in some devastating areas with World Vision.

ii.He has worked as a foreign correspondent in conflict areas of the world. He has seen some appalling human behaviour. Such behaviour that would put misplaced comments at the back of anyone's mind.

iii.Henry travelled to the Republic of Congo to search for a New Zealand hostage. Anyone who researches merely by typing in Google "jungles of Congo" will read about terrorists and militia that frequented those joints.

4. Paul Henry said things that were wrong to say on public television watched by thousands of all walks of life. Fact. They were comments of a racist nature and were inappropriate. Fact. But Paul Henry is also the kind of person who, despite making/because he made outrageous calls, did his job above par. Made people smile. Made people wet their pants with laughter. Forced politicians to answer directly. Showed that he had no time for people that behave cold heartedly. But most importantly, the reason why Paul Henry made outrageous comments about others is because he knew full well he could laugh at himself. He knows what people think of him from one end of the spectrum to the other. I ask you this- if you are well educated, have enriching life experience, and can laugh at yourself as well as accept that others are going to laugh at you or disagree with your points of view, then aren't you the best kind of person to spark debate, make others think, make people stand up for what they believe in as opposed to pig-headedly bringing others down purely because they don't conform to what some people believe to be acceptable?

5. Paul Henry is a middle class white guy. Middle class white people make ridiculous comments that are thoughtless. Is this an exclusive generalisation? Of course not! Regardless of who you are, your ethnicity, your beliefs, there is no excuse for it. But when have middle class white people ever been the subject of racial ridicule? When Carthage was a world power?! When travelling to places like Eastern Europe, Africa, Asia, India, middle white class people may be stared at, pointed at, laughed at. Not to be ridiculed, but out of intrigue. The study of other humans that don't fit what you deem to be 'normal' is intriguing business.

6. There are people around the world who thrive on protesting, arguing, bringing people down, smugly enjoying the falling of one's reputation. It's hard to stomach the thought, but it is true.

I might be wrong about it all, but it is one opinion here, one set of thoughts. If Paul Henry turns out to be an openly proud racist bigot, I'll admit I was wrong and eat my hat.

See you later!

L.

PS. From Paul Henry's diary in Tibet, and fitting I might add for the current news:

In order to expedite the scribing of my daily mytherings I have created, and intend to patent a very clever and never before thought of scale. On my scale of 1 to 10, 1 is always shit and 10 is always marvellous, thus 5 becomes the average state of mind for a very dull but painfully satisfied human being. (Please God never let me be a 5). Diary quote from: http://www.everyhorizon.com/paul.html

HAPPY HOUR

1) http://img2.allposters.com/images/ISI/WL01.jpg
2) http://www.moscow-life.com/media/pics/trans-siberian.jpg

3) http://travelhouseuk.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/legendary_ghan.jpg
4) http://thehoff.files.wordpress.com/2008/08/jem.jpg
5) http://www.pink-floyd.org/images/front.jpg

6) http://www.jeongmeeyoon.com/images/mainimage_pink.jpg

Under Paris Skies...

As the days get longer, it’s only natural to get more and more…energised about summer. Instead of remaining a permanent resident in the doldrums, your plans for summer become cemented and you start replacing home baking with dried fruit and nuts as snacks.

Well, I have anyway.

In between fasting and doing a weekly BMI test spring somehow arrives. You still need a jacket, but it’s easily shed at lunchtime. Flowers seem to be brighter, and more readily available. Tulips, daffodils, other spring flowers (clearly haven't found my green thumb just yet...) seem to be at every dairy door, you even find yourself doing little skips. .

Well, I do anyway.
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I can’t help but get a little giddy and start imagining myself down the Champs Elysees, sifting alongside the Seine armed with newly purchased second hand silk garments, vintage jewellery, fresh bread and veg from the markets in my local Parisienne neighbourhood and heading back to some scody but ‘rustic’ ‘shabby chic’ studio apartment on Left Bank. I'll no doubt be dirt poor but be living the champagne lifestyle...

While I wouldn’t have taken up smoking, I’d say red lipstick will be cranking. You may even spot a faux beauty spot. Hopefully not, although one never knows how caught up in a fantasy one will get until they are actually living out their days in said fantasy.

And Paris is mine, soon to be a reality. Ever since I was handed my first text book ‘Ça Bouge 3’ I knew I’d be visiting France one day. Ever since I returned from the UK after staying in the Loire and travelling through the South of France, I knew I would live there. Ever since I studied curriculum theory, I even fancied working there to help promote relations between NZ and France re: education (I know, saving the world one high flying job at a time...)
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And now, Paris is a callin'!
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I cannot wait to be wide-eyed again. Living off the smell of a paté-laced canapé, knowing that the cliché tourist attractions are more than that to me, that they form part of the makeup that is my new city of residence. I love getting to know a new city. Travelling the public transport to get my bearings, work out the right routes to the places that will be stops in my routine, finding out how this suburb links in with that one etc.

So I guess here are some images that get me rather excited about the future! They may be irrelevant to you, they may spur you on, but I hope you all have something similar to focus on, whether it be Europe, Africa, the Americas; or a summer holiday, a new job or a new interest, this is the beauty of warmer weather: daydreaming becomes less about the dream and more about the day it all eventuates!

A bientôt,

L.