NZAF

Today is my fortnightly visit to the New Zealand AIDS Foundation on Willis  Street. It's housed in a very gracious three storey heritage building and the people whom I see there are delightful. 

A Canadian social worker had invited me on my first visit to take part in a new project they were offering, for newly diagnosed people with HIV to share experiences with a few oldies, like me. There is a good turn-out today and the conversation is always stimulating,different and sometimes challenging. Today was all three of these, as there is a totally different story for each person, and the big lesson is never, ever, be judgemental. Many different nationalities tell their story and everyone is rapt listening to something they had never perhaps even dreamed about. It is a salutary lesson and I always walk away feeling a little wiser, a little enriched, by hearing stories of some very brave people. This epidemic is still out there, albeit with fewer infections and near zero fatalities. The ultimate aim, is, of course, zero infections, but that is a long bow to draw. New Zealand, however, had a good response and the former Labor Government invested a lot of money into education which has paid dividends. But there are still new people every month discovering they have become Positive, and for many this can be a traumatic experience, even today, so sessions like this one I attend can be very useful indeed. 

The hour passes all too quickly for me and I have to leave early to attend my weekly choir, not too far up the road on the famous 'The Terrace'.

Two hours later and the rehearsal for our Christmas concert went well, and I am filling in the odd half hour before my bus leaves in the foyer of the James Cook Grand Chancellor Hotel, which is warm and welcoming on this cold wet and windy night. The cosy twin bench armchairs provide a discreet space to write and observe the goings-on. The foyer is in effect, the quickest and most used route to reach Lambton Quay below where all the buses leave from. There's an elevator which descends three floors to the arcade below, and it's a much used thoroughfare.

It's nearly time so I'll quit and not take a chance of missing the bus!

 

The day after...in PLUM

Two people die on Mt Taranaki is the headlines in the paper today. Kiwis are such adventurers and of course the weather can be so vicious. It was a sad story but one which will probably happen again.

As for my boring life, I've just come from my scooter man who's about to retrieve my broken baby. The verdict will  be later in the week. In the meantime I am 'a pied',which is very good for my fitness! So I am seated in the lovely Cafe Plum on Cuba enjoying a somewhat guilty third cup of coffee for the day,the previous  two at home of course. The sun is shining and people are really feeling that spring is in the air, hopefully for more than a day! Cuba remains my favourite of all Wellington streets, for reasons of cafes, the shopping, pedestrian malls, and really just great people to gaze at. What more can one ask of a city? I am glad to be a pedestrian again and perhaps I should remain so, who knows? Is an old man on a scooter that ridiculous?

Labour Day

Well a  lot can happen in twenty-four hours, even in downtown Wellington...

I'm writing this blog in a coach preparing for my first day out of town, at the quaint university town, or city, of Palmerston North, or just Palmy, as the locals fondly call it. The weather has fortuitously given me the thumbs up, it will be fourteen degrees and no rain, and no wind. I was rushing a little to catch the bus as it was my first time and I wasn't sure where it left from. But on walking quickly through the underground tunnel at the Rail Terminus I overheard someone say to their friend, 'oh, we've got lots of time' and immediately I slowed down knowing I was OK. They had requested arriving fifteen minutes early which I belatedly read on my internet print-out, but all was well. They are very gentlemanly here anyway and wouldn't leave without me!

The two and a quarter hour trip went fast, the countryside green and lush like the South of France. It is clear why the Europeans love emigrating here. We arrive right on time and I have about four hours to discover Palmy, albeit on a public holiday so the town is likely to be deserted. However I am pleasantly surprised as I walk down the giant boulevards. Someone had obviously designed this town and there are some old majestic Victorian buildings in good repair and still being used, like the elegant Regent Theatre which is staging 'Hairspray' at the moment.  Picked up a local paper and the said musical is well documented showing a young local talent being responsible for this lavish production. I'm sure it was a sell-out. The hope is expressed that Palmy won't lose his talent to the big world out there. I'm sorry to say, they most probably will. 

The township is delightful especially on this spring Labour Day holiday, which I am told officially marks the beginning of the warmer season. I stroll down the Main Street, reach the city square around which everything is planned, and walk on another block looking for the Wabi Sabi Japanese restaurant where I had planned to eat, that is if my rendezvous had been forthcoming, which it wasn't. I soon pass by the said cafe and it looks OK. 

I continue down the street and do a u-turn to discover another street full of cafes I had noticed earlier.

Here I notice a good place to have a coffee and snack, as I'm not too hungry. It is called 'Barista' and there is a warm buzz of conversation with a good mix of people, young students, families with kids, and oldies like me. The service is immediate and the coffee excellent. I would come again on another visit. My other goal today was to find the Cafe de Paris Inn, an interestingly named hotel with cheap accommodation where I might stay were I to return for another visit. I'm sure I will find it with no trouble. 

However back to my big weekend which started on Saturday...or early Sunday morning at 4 a.m. to be precise. I was woken by a quiet but insistent knock on our outside front door so I stumbled out of bed, threw on some clothes and opened the door to a tall blue uniformed man, a policeman. Thinking my scooter had been blown into the bay I asked what had happened. He then asked me if my name was Paul, and  told me my scooter had been stolen. The two young thieves had been accosted on Grafton Road not too far away where neighbours had alerted the police about a noisy pair of youths going crazy with two stolen scooters. He asked me politely to come with him to try and turn off the motor with my ignition key. On arrival it was to no avail as they had destroyed the ignition barrel and the key wouldn't work at all. Luckily we discovered that covering the exhaust with a towel would stop it. Suffice to say I was a bit shocked but we left the scooter there, as the boys had destroyed the headlights on hot-wiring the engine. I then came home to try and resume a few hours sleep as I would have to wait till Tuesday to get it picked up anyway, and then there would be a court case. Possibly I would get damages to pay for the repairs, I was told by the constable, at  least I hope so. My poor scooter was not a pretty sight. However Constable Dale Horner was impeccable in his treatment of the 'event', as he called it, and told me the police station would in due time contact with me so I needed to keep a record of cost of repairs etc. Such is my life now in Wellington with the veil of innocence lifted! Still it' s not the end of the world.

The next day I spoke to my neighbour below me, who was probably woken by the affair. She commiserated with me and immediately offered to house my scooter in her garage, which was a generous offer indeed. I hope I won't need it however, as when it is repaired it will be under lock and chain. My naiveté is finally at an end, lol!

So there was the beginning of an interesting long weekend. Now back to Palmy....

After coffee I discover the Palmerston North Museum and spend an hour profitably looking around at their special exhibitions. What really attracted me was a video, a continuous movie of interviews with people with certain 'disabilities'. It becomes bleedin' obvious that these people shown here are more real than many of the puppets who live in mainstream society. See picture below. Ben Morris who has Down Syndrome wants to be an actor, and feels great doing it. Creativity is the secret to so many of life's problems and this is shown admirably in this  video. The video's title is 'Take a moment with us.' I was so happy to see it and I certainly took several moments to savour it. There is good work to be done in this area which I worked in many, many years ago. Who knows I may be able to contribute again. I'll keep you posted.

Saturday night of the Long Weekend...

I'm afraid I may  regret staying in Wellington this Labour Holiday weekend. Apparently it empties faster

than a sick man's belly in Bali. I am in Sweet Mama's Kitchen on Courtenay Place and believe me this Mama has personality. I have passed by its bulging doors quite often, but never had the temerity to try and get a seat. It is always full of young people and there are also the young who run it. They serve large plates of food, sometimes too large - basic good grub I suppose you'd call it. I opt for a corn chowder seafood soup which my neighbour opposite is having and it looks OK. I settle down with a Saturday  Dominion Post and wait for it to arrive. It is passable good, and quite filling, just what I need to sustain me for my next Saturday venture.

It is the top Italian movie of the current Festival, which was also the opening movie, and it will be my last.

It's called 'Welcome to the North' and it's touted to  be a comedic romp, a doubtless copy of the hugely successful French movie of a few years ago, Bienvenu Chez les Stychs. I don't hold out too much hope as, like its counterpart, it has been too popular. Just last night I was totally wrong footed when I misguidedly went to my favourite cinema the 'Lighthouse on Cuba', to see Tom Hanks' latest monstrosity, Captain Philips. It was a movie about some Somalian 'pirates' taking over a US cargo ship off the the African coast. The 'feel-good' part was the great American Navy coming to its rescue, but at the same time killing all six all of the Somalian fishermen 'pirates' and sentencing their captured  leader to thirty-three years in an American gaol. It was Cowboy and Indians at its worst and I don't know what morbid curiosity kept me in my seat. I felt the audience was on my side as well, as they all got up to leave as the credits began to roll. I blame my listening to a reviewer on Kiwi radio who must have been in cahoots with the cinema owners. One star at the most!

Hopefully tonight's Italian fare will at least redeem that disaster. Let's hope so. Today is still cold and windy but the rain has gone . It's scheduled to return to-morrow unfortunately so I'll be staying at home with a book. Monday is my day bus trip to Palmerston North, which I hope to be at least diverting, but with my present luck, it may turn out to be an empty cup!

Photos of the character filled caff called Sweet Mama's Kitchen

And below at the Paramount Cinema, my last taste of the Italian Film Festival, there will be a party!

Another day at the office...

Visiting Body Positive on Courtenay Place, hereafter known as BP, I am, as always, treated to a cuppa and biscuit by the very worthies who run this excellent establishment. My good friend L, just arrived back from a brief home visit to PNG, is their great front-of-house man. They do a great job educating the public about HIV and also being a general support system for those who are living with HIV, now certified as a manageable, if chronic, disease. The centre in Wellington also looks after the various remote country areas where people as well as being isolated, live in an impoverished social  environment which is often alien to their well-being. It is situated at the hub of action on the corner of Courtenay Place and Tory Street, near to where the best food store, Moore Wilson, caters for the many Wellington  gourmets, and where many excellent restaurants also hang their shingle.

As I have an hour before my choral rehearsal begins this evening at Correctional Services ( the regular church venue is previously booked!) I decide to pass it in a building of some architectural heritage, but long since gone to the fate of a fast food outlet whose I name I will refrain from mentioning. Suffice to say it will be my first and last visit to this establishment.

After my conversation with the people at BP I am now offering my services at a Palmerston North get-together in a couple of weeks, possibly also a visit to Wanganui, a coastal town of note on my return trip. I am really keen to see New Zealand's country areas, which is where the essence of the country lives and breathes, the rural life being the historical bread and butter, i. e. sheep and dairy, which was the basis of the Kiwi economy.

 

In this above photo the building on the right is where I am now sitting, on the corner of Cuba and Manners Streets. The early trams are now replaced very efficiently with trolley buses, alleviating the need for rail tracks in the sometimes narrow streets. The hills where the first University, called Victoria, was established, and still exists, rise up at the rear of this historic photo decorating the walls of this dubious eating house but which validates my visit.

Newtown 'Indian'

' Heavenly Customers,' the sign says, loyal friends of Curry Heaven. Here I am taking refuge having not been able to find a local cafe in Newtown to sit and watch. But a Mango Lassi beckons, and I am not disappointed.

 Newtown, my earlier 'suburb of choice' for residence, never really got there, and in retrospect, would not have been a good result. It has proximity to everything, the hospital especially, but is essentially Asian/Indian/ Maori in character, which is really very Wellington, but does not have yet, the 'achieving' feeling which is so encouraging. Roseneath, where I did end up, is upper-end socio-economic, vastly different, but with no village. Its village, I suppose, is the city, merely twenty minutes away.

 I notice on the other side of the street to this Indian cafe, Wellington 'Halal Meats'. The  Middle East is well represented here also. I reflect on where I was last night, a polar opposite at Victoria University at an inaugural lecture on Architecture at the Hunter Chamber, a very impressive Victorian building welcoming the gallant and the great to bear witness within its hallowed walls.

The commemorative lecture was predictably academic, and also delivered in a monotonous tone which only served to make its subject less interesting. A subject which could have been fascinating, but which just didn't cut it, for me, any way. The vote of thanks, on other hand, woke up the rather somnolent audience and this speaker, an English professor newly arrived in Wellington, showed exactly how a speech should be done. With verve and audience connection, he embraced the listeners and elicited a more than warm applause, given more for his speech, I would think, rather than that of the honouree!.

Another, i-Pad user has come into the Indian caff for her evening curry. A Wellingtonian of a certain age, probably well travelled, certainly weather beaten, she too is playing with her i-Pad. I wonder how many of us lonely singles are around, now married to our 'Apples'!

Te Papa on Sunday

After an exciting if exhausting night of Scottish Dance last night I am recovering at my favourite Arts spot, Wellington's renowned and worthy museum, Te Papa, Our Place. I managed to fit in some veggie shopping at the Sunday market next to the museum, so it is convenient to have a rest on the fourth floor in their very comfy coffee lounge and look at the visitors and also the exhibitions. There is an Aztec exhibition on at present although today is not my day for that. Will just catch up on some of the many other attractions that I haven't yet seen. Also as there is Wifi here so I am doing my first research into BnBs in Vancouver for next April. So far it looks promising and I am already getting a bit excited. It is the traveller in me, always ready for a new adventure. Having Bostonian Fir in the house is also an incentive as she understands my urge, not so the other flatmate who may well be on the way to cohabiting with her new boyfriend. Not that she would admit it.

The day is beautiful and people are out in droves. However not the ones I danced with last night at the annual Scottish Country Dance romp. It was in a Memorial Hall, a large green building in the nondescript suburb of Newlands,  which hosted the annual newcomer dance  and it was packed to the rafters. So much so, that many times we were dancing with people in the next set who just happened to put out a hand or two in executing a pas de basque! It was, of course great fun and people were very friendly as they all love to dance. Proficiency certificates were given to young dancers who had passed a requisite level of aptitude. We all took a plate for super, more chocolate mud cake from me. The accompanying band was a three piece, keyboard,  fiddle and double bass. They were very effective and I must say I was very surprised to be greeted by the keyboard  player who is the conductor of my choir. As I may have mentioned, she is a multi talented woman, also a minister of the Anglican persuasion, and a dedicated Scottish Country Dancer so I discovered. Also an accompanist. It was nice to catch up with her. The evening finished after eleven, after starting at seven thirty, so it was quite a long period of dancing. And tonight more of same,  but ballroom. It is a nice change from the  hectic  team dancing of last night.

You will see from the photo I am sitting under the famous world beating motor cycle, just opposite the elevator, where I am planning to meet my Hobart friends when they arrive later this week on their cruise of the Land of the Long White Cloud.  No-one should come to Wellington and not experience the jewel in the crown that is Te Papa. I will enjoy showing them this and then strolling along the waterfront to check out the rest of the many joys of this wonderful city.

Saturday organic market at St Paul's

But first a breakfast on Wakefield Street to celebrate the arrival of spring - the eternal optimist! I leave home before nine as the place is in mini turmoil, we had two house guests last night, one expected and one the result of flights cancelled due to the gale force winds. The latter was A's son who was given the couch in the TV room but opted for the more comfortable floor.  The niece had the guest bedroom and A, whose sickness by this time had been completely forgotten, was in mother mode, fussing around like a hen. Perhaps her visit to the doctor yesterday was exactly what she needed.

My cafe of choice was Mama Browns and it is Mexican fusion, the owner telling me that his upbringing, Mexican - Japanese - Kiwi, resulted in a wide range of tastes. Its earlier incarnation had been the Bagel Bakery, a US franchise which soon went bust with a lot of golf playing being enjoyed by  the principals.... not the way to go in the highly competitive Wellington restaurant scene. He is now salvaging his losses and this venture, only three months old,  has a very good chance of success. The coffee was perfect, I even had two, and it was served at the right temperature with a house made biscotte served balanced on the top of the cup, see photo. 

All in all, a good Saturday morning experience, with the warm sun streaming through the windows and a full day stretching ahead. The market, home for rest then big night of Scottish Dancing at distant Johnsonville.  My first NZ dance in my kilt!

As for the organic market, nestled beside the imposing orange coloured walls of St Paul's, it was abuzz with energy and music. The Argentine Tango is well and established in W and a one metre ninety lad was effortlessly transporting his lithe mixed race partner with twirls and lifts making the willing   audience gasp in admiration. All this with a tiny loudspeaker accompanying their sensuous moves under the low hanging branches of possibly an ancient oak tree in the courtyard of the cathedral. It was quite a scene and I captured it with my ever-ready camera for future reference. 

I made a few purchases, it is not a big market, just some locally grown asparagus and strawberries which survived  the recent  awful weather. I then discover my recent find of the Hungry Bin, worm composting to perfection, and have another chat about its undoubted benefits. I will eventually make that purchase.

Then on the scooter to a beautiful ride home past the many attractions of a spring Wellington morning on the waterfront, the Te Papa Museum not being the least. I pull myself away knowing I have a big night ahead.

Cafe Scopa -HOT!

Well, I'm here to tell you, it's summer. Springtime has been and gone and today the boys have taken off their shirts and are jogging barechested along Oriental Parade. A little more modestly I am sitting in the window at cafe scopa, a lemon ginger honey drink  at my ready and feeling the heat of the sun's rays. Perhaps  it's just that the hole in the ozone layer that makes eighteen degrees feel like thirty. Wellington in the meantime, is rejoicing in a quiet sober Kiwi way, the great success of their literary daughter Eleanor Catton, who just carried off the Man Booker Prize, at the youngest of all ages of twenty eight years. And it seems like she was a blow-in for the prize. She's back here next year for the writers' festival and may make a few lines in the Dominion Post. But she is nearly $100 grand richer and her career has taken off. Probably due to the fantastic creative writing course established at Victoria Campus  quite a few years ago, of which she was a graduate. Again, New Zealand punching well above its weight.

But here am I still reading the Irish Colm Toibin books. Did he win the Man Booker, or Booker as it was called then? He probably did, or certainly deserved to, as his writing I find is perfect. His understanding and description of character is faultless and he reaches into the depths of the psyche without   so much as a soft breath. I am enjoying his 'Blackwater Lightship' novel at the moment, can't actually put  it down, so I have it here at scopa before I'm off to my  mentoring group at NZAF in half an hour. Then the choir, and on it goes. 

Springtime, at last.

Warm weather, finally, or is it just a tease, things change so fast in this windy paradise. But today, touted to be eighteen degrees, seems real enough. And flatmate A has the flu so she's gone to bed. Forgive my cynicism but this old ploy for having days off when you feel like it has been around since Adam, and I don't know how this A thinks I can believe her, but I play along with the charade, what can you do, especially when today she scrunches up all her blonde locks and sniffles her way to and from the kitchen making hot lemon, honey and ginger drinks. Yesterday, her first sick day, which she had announced she would be taking the day before, (as there were people from work who were really sick), she was up and about washing linen and redesigning her room, then spent the afternoon shopping for a new tablecloth, perchance to show off to the niece coming to stay on Friday. Never have I seen her so busy and achieving. I'll have to think about what I may say to her when she gets over the 'illness', but then she will never admit it, such is the power of self-persuasion. I suppose I'll just forget about it, and practise my philosophy of non-interference.

So back to my perfect day, at least that can be so, if I make it perfect. Blogging is a good start, and then a long overdue letter to Minneapolis, in preparation for my pilgrimage next April. Ooh, I forgot to say, I finally booked and paid upfront, my return flight with Air Canada, to Minneapolis for the Springtime ECK Seminar next April. So good to have that done, at a reasonable price including a week in beautiful Vancouver on the way home.

 Btw, I booked through a new, for me, cyber booking company based in Brisbane, such a centre for young Turks. The website is called BYOJet, was very minimal in booking exigencies, so clumsy me was able to do it quite easily. This is now something to look forward to in the new year, always good to have. 

Now to do some writing...

Calm again!

I couldn't resist showing you the return of peace to our beautiful Evans Bay. Radio reports tell of repairs going on all over the island, so I wish them well.  Luckily here the sun has returned to bless us and I am back on the scooter, enjoying to the full the bayside bliss. Although I do plan again today to catch another Italian movie. Will keep you posted.

In the meantime just heard that in Whangerei (pron. Fungeray) the good work by the army in sandbagging the river has saved the town from flooding, one hundred and eighty residents can now return to their homes. Another example of kiwi resilience in the face of possible disasters. They are renowned for it. This example is just par for the course.

Yes, another Italian movie, as promised. This time an Italian conspiracy, uncovered, or not quite, as no-one ever knows the truth in Italia! It is called Piazza Fontana, about the bank bombing in Milano in 1969,and who did it, and who covered up. So many were 'hit', the truth will  never be known, but this movie covers a few options. The CIA, Italian Right Wing, Italian anarchists, you name it. It is darkly shot as befits the subject, and shows Italian crookedness at its best. Superbly acted, over two hours but you don't notice it, certainly worth the price of a ticket.

 Reminded me of my brief but memorable time in Milan, not long after this bombing took place, in 1972. My place of residence was the Hotel del Corso, two minutes from the fabulous Duomo cathedral, and was the hotel of choice for the brigade of international models who regularly descended   on Milano, for work, and a lot of fun. There was not much innocence in the  air however, and a gorgeous 'working girl' I met in the hotel elevator was evidence to that. She also walked away with my generously offered, at a good price, full length musquash fur coat I had purchased in London. They were the rage in the seventies, and I was a fashion victim, and also a model. Such was life in the fast lane in Milano, and the Mafia was never very far away. I must say I did enjoy it, and have a juicy tale of Venice which I promise I will keep for another blog. 

Italian movies at the Paramount

There may not be a huge Italian population in Wellington, but no matter, the film buffs love their European movies, amd pick some good ones too. Already I've caught two very different   and entertaining examples of the Italian movie industry, and its not very flattering to the Italians, or to Italy. But having just returned from a holiday there early this year, I can vouch for the fact that Italy today is in a mess, and even a laughing stock for many. But they can laugh at themselves as their movies show.

The first movie was called Mozzarella Stories, naturally stemming from the Italians' love of their national cheese, made from Buffalo milk. A black comedy, lots of blood, a bit of sex, corruption of course, but this time aimed at the Chinese, the movie pokes fun at  family dynasties, Italian pop music, and essentially is a laugh-out-loud romp with some excellent cameo performances, and also good ones from the lead roles. Enjoyable but not a great Italian movie. 

My second choice was totally different, and successful in a very curious way. Funnily it also involved China, it seems finally Italy has allowed China in to help their hopelessly corrupt economy survive, or not! The heroine called Shaun Li, an immigrant factory worker, is beautifully played, as is her romantic attachment, who is also an immigrant, albeit, thirty years in Italy, from the former Yugoslavia. It is sensitively directed, touching the racist behaviour of some red neck Italians, and shows the simple beauty of the fishermen earning an honest and hard living, in the fast sinking, yet still wondrous city of Venice. No schmaltz here, it is an excellent rendition of real life and people's affection in today's economic basket-case of Italy. A good movie.

Hurricane

Well a day is a long time in Wellington. Yesterday was nearly a harbinger of spring, but today, check the photos, is a day of wild wind and streets closed. Trees were blown down, electricity cut, and the idea of spring is remote. My plans cancelled for today, I bunk down, do some domestic chores, and get to my blog. The weather here is a potent force and just can't be ignored. 

Chances are this awful weather will persist until late tomorrow. Need to get myself going so hope the sun  shines. Received an email today from Madrileno Emilio Esteban. A young man searching for postage stamps. It's nice to see someone like me who also appreciates snail mail. Hope he writes to me too! Am also in the process of booking my US trip in April next year for the ECK Seminar in Minneapolis, with a return stopover in beautiful Vancouver.

 It's forty five years since I was in Vancouver in 1969. I still have vivid memories of waking up in my tiny ship's cabin and peering throught the ice covered porthole to a wharf bedecked with snow, but also   covering hundreds of Citroen cars patiently waiting for delivery to their expectant Canadian owners.

I had been thirty days waiting for that moment, working in the engine room of the HollandAmerica line freighter on my quest to reach foreign shores, no matter where.

 I was, of course, on my way to Paris, my then, Soul City. But it was Vancouver the aperitif, and it didn't disappoint. I rapidly got my ticket of departure from the captain, as work-aways did, and took my heavy trunk and many bags ashore, having no idea where I would spend my first night on this new continent, except I was heading south, to San Francisco, where I had the address of a the sister of a friend from Sydney. I didn't then know that the Boscaccis were multi millionaires. But in the meantime I had to find a hotel in Vancouver for the night. The streets were crisply iced and the shop windows enticing with their warmth and colour, of many, I naively surmised, European hues. This was such an international city, especially for a young Aussie with a strong French bent. Just right for me, but not for long. 

As I entered my chosen cheap hotel, I stood back to make way for a trolley being wheeled out, seemingly with a body draped over it. 'Another O.D,' I heard someone grimly mutter, as I opened the elevator to go to my welcome room and shower. this was my gentle but telling introduction to the North America of 1969, something which was echoed later that year when months later, I reached my next stage, New York city.

Pranah for Brunch

Sunday is here...market on the bay and brunch with E and G, my two earlier 'flatties' when I first arrived in W. E's  choice, a typical Newtown caff called Pranah, you get my drift,  with cheap and easy New Age food, popular with the locals, but quite tasty.

They arrive half an hour late which is the woman's self-proclaimed right, and we start to catch up. It is three months since our last get together.

All good with Aussie G, Norwegian hubby just got a job, and they have settled well into their new home at Island Bay, even brought their dog from Brisbane to live. But with E, there are work problems at Montessori School, she also just got over a severe illness, and is moving back to Beijing, where she previously taught English at an International School -good money there. 

I am not surprised. E is a typical New Zealand girl who has had no luck in the  marriage department. She's too intelligent andI'm afraid wants the impossible, the perfect match. But here my lovely Pippy, E's cat, comes into the picture, she, Pippy, might need a new home, so I put up my hand, just in case. Pippy is such a delight, and features on my Facebook profile sitting on my chest!  But E is not too sure if she wants me to have her beloved cat. Such is life for a single person with a pet. B

Our  lunch draws to a close, I need a moment to myself before our Community Radio spot at five. So home for a nap.

Later...

The spot went well, but no-one rings in with interest. Perhaps no-one is listening. Time will tell.Quick recovery at Midnight Espresso with a lemon, honey and ginger pick-me-up and then on to a night of Latin  Dancing, Cha Cha and Samba, two of my favourites. A good turn-up at Thistle Hall at top of Cuba Street. It is always a good and fun evening. Always learning something new. A new week dawns.

The Brooklyn Bakery

Saturday in Wellington

Finally the sun shines and the clothes are drying on the outside line..not mine but F's who desperately needs her work outfits for Sunday. Having been out of action with food poisoning or the like for a week, she's now better and even went to the Synagogue this morning so she is A0K.

 I decided to go to organic Market she recommended at St Paul's Cathedral, also to have a look at that piece of architecture, then on to the Green Fair, how to use ecology in the home at the Exhibition Centre on the quay which I have never visited. Well,  the market was nearly over, but bought some good asparagus and spinach and then visited the Anglican Cathedral  which was quite impressive in a modern sort of way, built 1896. As cathedrals go, it is young.

The Green show was excellent and I am now seriously thinking about a new NZ designed worm farm and composting bin, on wheels. It looks super efficient and better than my old Bokashi I left  in Hobart. There was also a NZ designed Bokashi which looked a lot better than mine anyway. Also a water ionizer caught my eye, I just love spending money!

Took home the brochures to consider my verdict. I am in the process of booking my flight to Minneapolis for next April and am spending 2.5 grand on that, so arguably I am a bit shy of more expense now.  After a shot of wheat grass juice in honour of Anne Wigmore, I move on to the Brooklyn cafe, my cafe of choice for Saturday morning.  Deciding on a grilled haloumi with avocado and salad and am happy with  that, although it is eaten already before I think to take a photo. The presentation was high and drizzled with balsamic vinegar.I feel like I need a coffee so I asked for a flat white, which was one of the best I've had in a while.

Checked out the Saturday paper and see the Italian Film Festival has arrived and I may make that my goal for tonight. I'll check the details on the net, but something about Mozarella sounds gastronomically interesting anyway. It's on at 8.30 so let's hope the weather stays off tonight and I can go by scooter. It has been so wet recently I have  forgone my favourite mode of transport. Tomorrow I have the radio show and dancing so it is all organised. Time passes quickly in Wellington and there is always something else to do. Oops, I must get fresh bread  and milk at Moore Wilsons on my way home, the best food store in Wellington   by far. The Brooklyn cafe is very child friendly btw, see photo.

A recent rainbow outside my house - they come regularly.

Cafe Can Can

You can't get more French than this cafe in Newtown. It is tucked away at the end of a nondescript arcade but when you sit and taste its patisseries you know you have crossed the Rubicon, you are in France, and possibly Paris, where this chef used to work, and wait...at the fabled Hotel Crillon. 

Just to drop names for a moment, my only visit to that esteemed hotel was in1972. It was for afternoon tea with a certain personality. I was on my way to London and had been living the past eight months or so in Spain, Cataluna to be precise, in the native village of Salvador Dali, Cadaques. 

Actually Dali and wife Gala, were my neighbours, and we, my partner and I, sometimes visited The Egg,  for Sunday High Tea. They were only one kilometre away at Port Lligat.

 I know most of you won't believe me, but it's true, and the Hotel Crillon, Place Vendome, was, as many know, Dali's favourite crash-pad in Paris, and having tea in the foyer was one way he entertained his myriad of friends /acquaintances, of whom, at one stage in my peripatetic life, I apparently was one. So my patisserie at the Crillon, forty years later, is now echoed in Newtown, Wellington New Zealand!

Anyway, back to Cafe Can Can, I was to meet E my old hostess from my first Wellington visit, for lunch, but, typical, she reneged at the last minute citing work she had forgotten. C'est la vie, mais peu importe, I was there to have a French experience, see photos. A roulet of venison, followed by a brioche of raspberries and pistacchio nuts. And a great coffee. 

Such is lunch in lower Newtown on a Thursday afternoon. Now on to a Kiwi movie at the Brooklyn on the Hill More later...

Mr Pip

Saturday night in Wellie - at the movies. After all, the Lighthouse Cinema in Wigan off Taranaki St would have to be one of the best around. It has very comfy two-seatercouches for all clients, only about seventy seats in all, really like a large living room, very large. It is gently tiered and everyone has an excellent view of the screen and there are no advertisements before the movie, but they do tease the early arrivers with a quick movie-trivia quiz on the screen to test the die-hards.  One really feels part of the family at theLighthouse. Of course many bring in their wine glass, or choc-tops,  which they have ample space for on the side armrests to each 'couch'. Going alone of course I had to share with a stranger, but a cushion is thoughtfully provided to make the necesary polite space between the two. It is a well behaved audience and the usher makes a speech before each screening. Tonight, it is a sell-out, he says, Mr Pip being a Kiwi productuon and just recently released,not yet in Australia. People eagerly await the opening credits but there are the trailers to see while the inevitable late comers arrive.

It is indeed an excellent production, lusciously shot in exotic Papua New Guinea, and theLondon scene  replicated by a very English Christchurch lookalike.  It is the story of a New Zealand school teacher, although  in the movie represented by an Englishman, who takes his Papuan wife, depressed after the loss of her new born baby, back to her native Bougainville, where he is the only white man, and he is invited to take the post of school teacher, as the the copper mining conglomerate has taken over the island and it is under a military regime. 

This benign middled-aged Englishman brings to his appreciative class of young, and old, a reading of Charles Dicken's Great Expectations, and the major character, the orphan Pip, becomes the centrepiece of the story. It is a beautifully rendered tragedy, written through the eyes of a young Papuan girl, who transposes herself into the Dickensian era, and who finally, after visiting Dickens' home in England, returns to teach in the war ravaged Bougainville. It is an award winning story, and may well become an award winning movie, with the exotic and unknown PNG being the background to this timeless coming of age story. Five stars.

However you will see from these photos of the wind swept Cook Strait outside my home, that I am, in effect, in my bed-study, witnessing yet another 100km an hour gale force wind in Wellington Harbour. It is aleady October and the wintry conditions have not yet abated - it is perfect weather to stay home and write this blog, as venturing out, which I must do later, is something which I must prepare for. Like Pip in Great Expectations, Kiwis are adventurous and intrepid, and are prepared to brave any situation which may occur. Think the first climbing of MtEverest, by a Kiwi naturally. Who else would have had the fortitude to scale those amazing heights. I feel very small in New Zealand, as the Elements here are very great.

Fidel's on Cuba

At Fidel's and it hasn't rained all day. Spent the moning in bed with a sore neck and decided to see the doctor tomorrow, little good it'll do but I need some attention. Into the city by bus, called to see the landlord but not there in his Dairy. Haircut beckons in Cuba and Danny is conveniently free and with a long chat about his marital woes I get a hair cut and repair to Fidel's along the way, to have a juice and cake before the evenings adventures.

Fidel's is a little more upmarket than Midnight Espresso, but much the same genre. A little more self aware and the people are there sometimes to be seen I feel. it is also larger and has a big outside area for smokers, so it is popular with the Castro crowd!

I sit at the window seat and watch the crowd pass by, colourful and carefree, and always worth a look. Opposite is the Socks Queen, presumably selling all sorts of socks, but who knows, it could be anything. Cuba is like that, totally unpredictable, the slouchiest crowd and then the perfectly dressed dapper gent with three piece suit and two-toned brogues fronts up to the ATM.  It's Thursday night so Cuba will be jumping tonight. Am now on way to Pos Support group for out of townies, they asked me to attend and be supportive... After that is the Glamaphones and then home to a well earned rest for tomorrow. Wellington is certainly a city which people live in, and enjoy.

Spring into Wellington

Back into the swing, or should I say, Spring, of Wellington. Hot honey, lemon and ginger teas at Midnight Espresso, hunting for bargains at Belgian Dan's Junk/Antique shop in Ghuznee Street, finding the perfect black candles at the Candle Factory just around the corner...these are a fewofmy  favourite things. 

Train ride this morning to Porirua to collect the two framed prints I ordered last week for A. Perfectly executed I trundled them in the busy school holiday filled train back toWellington, a mere twenty five minute run, but an hour wait for the next bus home to Evans Bay. So the necessary coffee fix at the Station Cafe, where the same blonde serveuse as last time I was there with another painting, a nude, asked me if it was a nude of me this time, to which I replied, of course. She smiled with, she said, 'memories of past times'.

Home for a few phone calls and lunch before back into town, this time by bus, as I've discovered I have aggravated a shoulder wrench by dancing on Sunday night. Riding the scooter just exacerbates it so better rest for a while. Scottish Country tonight will be a lightweight affair now, as it needs rest.

Midnight Espresso, is, as ever, filled with happy chatting people, very young tonight. The music cool as always, is as  relaxing as you would want in an unpretentious, delightful way. My fragile shoulder just

serves to remind me of my age.

I take time for the first time to register the quite intricate murals next me in this busy caff, realising that so much  creativity went into its inception. I also see  mini catastrophe down the room, a tall aluminium milk shake is upturned all over the bag, table and floor of the two young beings just about to savour its taste. Late teens, unkempt blonde hair stuffed into a gum-nut beanie made of fluffy cream wool, her butch dressed girlfriend, plaid shirt, red suspenders hanging from torn jeans, is just a sweet as a butternut pumpkin. They busy themselves at trying to wipe up the milky mess, all the while giggling to themselves. No sweating the small stuff, they successfuly clean up with the aid of a swiftly arrived tea towel from the attentive waiter, who is very smiling and sympathetic but lets them do all the work. Besides, he has enough to do, the place is full and he seems the only one to serve.. 

Another titian blonde strides in, long romantic curls framing her very pretty face, as she steals in to use the facilities here. I'm sure that Midnight Espresso has been used for a lot of different activities in its long history. My shoulder continues to ache and I wonder whether I should indulge tonight in the dancing. I may just appear and apologise I think. Nothing to prove there, an early night would suit me fine.