Lighthouses in New Zealand

Today for something new I went to a book launch at the Wellington City to Sea Museum. It  was a marvellous coffee table book - a beautifully published collection of rare scenes of historic lighthouses throughout NZ which are no longer serviced  by the traditional lighthouse keepers, although one was in attendance who had looked after six of the said lighthouses in his long career.

They were extraordinarily beautiful shots and I hope one day to buy the book, when I have a coffee table that is! The museum itself is also worth another visit, to learn more of Wellington's extremely colourful history.

Which is exactly what I experienced later that same evening at a showing, entry by Koha, (donation) at the Film Archives in Taranaki Street.

This was an excellent documentary called 'Who's counting?' by Canadian Oscar winning woman, Terre Nash, about a Kiwi woman, one of the first post-modern feminists cum politician that NZ produced in the seventies. In 1978 she was the sole female Member of Government, and single-handedly, on the issue of no nuclear ships in NZ, brought down the Nationalist government. 

Her name is Marilyn Waring and she is a redoubtable lady, now a professor at Auckland University of Public Policy, gender studies and generally how to fix the world.  Waring's major book, widely sold and which gave her instant notoriety around the world, is called 'If Women Counted' and has gone down as one of THE feminist tomes of the twentieth century. Invited to the UN and to Canada to talk, she showed how the world has been corrupted by Keynesian thinking and how economically the women in the world are actually not accounted for if they are not part of the Gross Domestic Product, which is what all world economies are based upon. This actually persuaded the UN to rethink its policies, thus activating some relief in third world countries. 

It was a fascinating and must-see documentary. Waring  was so much in demand, I think, she just had to return to Auckland to gather her wits together. At twenty-three  she had been the youngest elected woman member of parliament, and represented Raglan where she also stopped the development of a gold mine which all the locals did not want. She is literally the local heroine.

The launch by the photographer of a spectacular coffee table book of Lighthouse photographs in NZ

 Four hundred Santas do a Charity run on the bay

A Lemon drink at The Library....

A young Farrah Faucett is serving the cocktails tonight and is cool when I ask for a hot honey, lemon and ginger drink. This bar has such a mixed clientele I think they cater for the unexpected, and do very well because of it. It serves the most exotic cocktails and is the most unpretentious bar, typical of all down-to-earth establishments in Wellington. From five to seven it is quiet and a good place to write while I wait for the day to cool down.

Looking at Bunnings through The Library window.

The Chef, the Barman, the Waitress, at The Library

National Theatre London

The Cuba Lighthouse has sucked me in again, this time for the 50 Year's celebration of the English theatre world - a must for theatre lovers I would dare to say. La creme de la creme they say, so here I am, theatre groupie from way back. 

But first a quick report from one of W's good Chinese Restaurants, called Chow. We were being sensible, as Monday night is 'Two for One', a deal used in a few places on a Monday night to bring in the crowd. Well, they were lining up for this one, and I am told they are full every night. And I wouldn't be at all surprised as the food and service was fantastic. There was a band of young waiters/resses, very attractive and attentive, and the food arrived promptly and was super-tasty, and affordable, with the best octopus I have had in ages. So Chow is now on my list for another Monday. The restaurant scene in Wellington just gets bigger and bigger, and happily the quality stays the same, very high to fabulous.

We were six at Chow,  from our 'Six On Six' of course, and a satiated bunch we were as we stumbled down the stairs later in Tory Street. And glutton me, I had a RV at 8pm already booked at the Cuba Lighthouse Cinema for a special screening of the English National Theatre's 50th birthday (only because this was the one night available, with a strictly limited release). It should be excellent.

 But more news from the dinner, my adventure-to- be at Vinegar Hill for the New Year is shaping up to be just that, quite an exciting experience I hope. Whatever happens, it will be different.

I can't wait, but first, a look at fifty years of the English National Theatre.

Two views of the Lighthouse foyer, always inviting, with a great smell of fresh coffee always assailing the senses.

Comparisons are odious

Today is approximately four months to the day that I arrived on these Shaky Isles and I must say I have not one iota of regret. So I am daring to look at the reasons I find Wellington, NZ more in tune with me than I found Hobart, Tasmania.

Comparisons are odious, as surely some ancient Greek Philosopher once said, in enshrining one's obvious individuality to be of the essence of life. However cities are different, as are countries, and the similarities between Hobart and Wellington are what first attracted me to both places. Firstly they are both capital cities, both have practically the same population, you can walk the city easily in an hour or so, and they were settled on the water for trade and accessibility. They are both predominantly Anglo-Saxon in population, but here the similarity ends.

The convict origins in Hobart left such a strong mark on that very pretty town, and these origins remain an effective part of its psyche, as much as the locals might deny it. What eventuated in Hobart after the freeing of the convicts to become 'settlers' was very different to what happened after Captain James Cook circumnavigated these 'shaky' islands in 1769 and the first Europeans arrived here in the early eighteen hundreds. One seminal influence I believe, was the anguish and injustice experienced by the hundreds of women in the  infamous 'female factories' in Hobart, which have left an imprint on the female population which is possible to see even in these days of the twenty-first century. 

Nothing like this existed in Wellington, indeed the arrival of the very free settlers was exciting and they wanted to appropriate this wonderful land, buy it cheaply of course, from the Indigenous Maori population. The Waitangi Treaty, thought by some to be quite unjust to the Maori, still gave the Maori certain rights which of course the Tasmanian Aborigines never dreamed about getting, and in some cases, still don't have. It is sad to see the state of Indigenous culture, on the whole, in Hobart, although there are some very active pockets of people still trying to rectify the horrific White Australia Policy, which made the country a laughing stock amongst the free developed nations. 

Wellington, on the other hand, had a vibrant economy stemming from the great resources of land and imported animal stock, that's sheep, cattle and dairy. The wealth was much more evenly distributed and the results created a faraway little piece of Britain and Europe, with the Maori looking on and trying to make sense of it all. And trying to keep some of their land,  one would presume. They were not given much say in Government, and still aren't to a large extent, but they are present and acknowledged, and the Maori Language is everywhere, and on the uprise. 

Where are the Australian Aboriginal languages? Practically extinct, with some hope being given only due to a lot of work being done by some few valiant Indigenous educationalists.

This kiwi 'coolest little capital', as it is monikered, has since grown to being a very multicultural city, vibrating with enthusiasm, mad about sport, punching above its weight in IT, cinema, and so many of the arts and sporting fields. There's a palpable feeling of pride in being a Kiwi, and although there are surely many proud Taswegians, I know of many downtrodden unhappy ones, seeking refuge in the bottle and other ways of forgetting where they came from. Such is not the case here, and will never be. Although there are certainly the rich and the poor, it is nowhere near the same as in Tassie, where it is well known the the majority of wealth in that tiny green island lies with about four families. And they are keen to keep it that way. The model to emulate in Tassie is the 'great Aussie battler', who is so often the loser. This is very much not the case in New Zealand, although, granted, there is a strong history of talented Kiwis deserting the shaky isles for the bigger bounty in OZ. 

Enough ranting, I do love both countries, by the way!

The popular Kiwi Bookstore chain

Below, young people lining up for a fresh juice in the Readings cinema complex.

Thistle Hall

The first official day of Summer, and it was warm, and quite sultry, befitting the Tango that H led us on tonight at my ballroom class at the quaintly named Thistle Hall.  This regular Sunday night practice is always so energising, mainly because of H's undeniable and constant good humour and consummate skill on the floor. If I ever become a great ball-room dancer it will be thanks to him! Lol!

Also this afternoon we had an ECK workshop on presenting stories so that people may learn something about their spiritual lives. The workshop, with ten people attending at Flashdog Studios was a great success, and then with an evening at the Dance Hall, it finished quite a weekend. 

Christmas is now around the corner and it will be Sydney for the ECK Seminar in no time in January. I must continue to make every day count. Tomorrow I hope to see James about my scooter repairs. Lots to learn there!

Oops! Before I finish this blog just a warning for similar simpletons like myself on the internet - don't subscribe to Wishplay.net in order to get 'free' music downloads. 

First of all, we know there's no such thing as a free lunch, and there's no free downloads with this mob either. They take your Credit Card details assuring it is bona fide, they they will debit you in the future if you want to buy something. But immediately my Visa card was debited with forty dollars and later searching the net I discovered many other complaints about this scam. So credit card cancelled, and another lesson learned, I hope. It's so hard for a true believer like me to think there are crooks in the world who want to take your money dishonestly, what a true NAIF am I!

Until next time, I'll just stick to the dance floor I think!

Trying the Tango at the Thistle Hall on Cuba.

Seatoun Housewarming

The last day of November - this month has flown like an eagle and I can't believe the Silly Season is upon us, and I have started it with a party, the first, and last, I feel sure. The lovely Corrections Ladies opened their wide and generous doors to the hitherto unknown neighbourhood at Seatoun, a suburb an hour away by bus, but ten minutes by car, as I was to discover on being offered a lift home by K, here below in photo. There were an interesting bunch there, a few choristers, but mainly other friends of the hosts. I  spoke at length with three, all men, and totally from different worlds.

I overheard a distinctly Irish brogue, so I moved nearer and spoke to N, sipping a beer and looking quite alone, although his delectable Kiwi wife wasn't far away and soon joined us. But N had a story and it briefly went like this. Like so many Irish he had quit the green isle for richer shores, this time NZ. He had ridden the Celtic Tiger to big money, but also lost it, with some enterprise only an Irishman would have considered. Like buying a decrepit sixteenth century castle out of Cork and trying to restore it in an economic bust time in Europe. But who was to know this, the Celtic Tiger had been rampant, for a while anyway.

 N then emigrated to NZ. Skilled in IT, he was very employable and wanted to work like crazy, meaning about sixty hours a week, whereas the Kiwis went sailing after forty. He also had a stint in Saudi, crazy days, and then the Philippines. He made big money, and lost it, which is where his castle and the restoration came into play. Eventually he found a beautiful Kiwi bride, married her and had a babe, a mortgage, and a castle costing heaps. He's still smiling and like Edith Piaf, has no regrets. He is also renovating his home in Seatoun, next to the party house, the neighbours whom he just met today. He is laconic and whimsical, like many Irish, and the lifestyle in W suits him just fine.

The other guy, I'll call G, was living in Melbourne, an ex-pat from Auckland, an actor. So I saw why he had moved countries. My age, he was staying with his sister who is in the choir with me, she had told me he would be there. Spent some time in London in early seventies, tried the theatre scene there, too tough and no money, I agreed with him on that, so finally he moved to Melbourne where he managed to make a reasonable living. He was happy enough, comes home occasionally to visit sis and discover the beauties of New Zealand he had forgotten about. I fear he is lost to the final beauty of this country, having been seduced by the bright lights too many years ago. Once a thespian, always a thespian.

The third, and perhaps most interesting is K, in photo below in his world of creation, under the house his father built by hand, fifty years ago. He is a wood craftsman, a guitar maker to be precise, a trained and well qualified musician, and he was there with his eighty-eight year old Chinese born, but Russian mother, who was quite the character of the party. K doesn't fit in with the world, is a dedicated pacifist, a vegan, and is happiest with his computer generated wood saw he calibrates to the finest millimetre to make the exquisite sounds of the guitar, used normally, he assures me, to creat a violin. He generously insists on driving me home when I tell him was taking a bus, or two. It is indeed much faster, and in ten minutes I am home, mulling over an interesting afternoon. Three men of a certain age, one married, the other two finding their way in an unpredictable world. I wanted to tell them about the HU, but I don't think they would have been interested.

Today, I've just come from the HU, talking with like Souls about experiences some would call weird, but which we call spiritual. You just can't separate the spiritual from the everyday, it's in everything, if you pause to notice.

Below, the Seatoun Vicarage, straight out of Jane Austen! This house is just across the road from the party house - they seem to be living on different planets! 

The Laundry on Cuba

...I forgot to tell you, I just discovered another fab cafe on Cuba St, called the The Laundry, more later!

Below....father-love at Macca's, where I just had a chai latte, possibly my last, as it is tasting pretty reconstituted, like most things in this awful fast-food palace.

World AIDS Day

Well it was evident from the gods on high that the Red Ribbon Day would be a success. The day was sunny and not even too windy so the bucketeers went forth with great gusto. I volunteered and was sent to the big supermarket New World, only a couple of blocks from BP, and it was fascinating to have the opportunity to read the public, and their purses,  as most were unashamedly generous.

 I say that because people are strange when it comes to donating in public, some do not like to be seen doing it, and some are just downright stingy and avoid eyeballing you completely. However that is the tiny minority as the Kiwi public today showed that they are generous and caring, and colourful.  I  was constantly entertained by the passing throngs of shoppers, especially as it was a  Friday afternoon, and near to Christmas, albeit four weeks away. There was a lot of beer and wine going out in the shopping trolleys and not a few magnums of champagne.

The Joy of Giving with Lesley

In the pub...

Later that evening I repaired to the Four Kings pub on Courtenay Place for a farewell drink for young  J who is returning to England. Rather sadly, as he has made such good friends in Wellington and loves the city to bits. 

His workmates and pals joined him for a few jugs of beer and I stayed for a short while to meet and chat with his two Irish friends, Louise and Connor from Cork and Tipperary, both of whom say there is a mass emigration going on in Ireland at present, with great unemployment there. They seem very happy to have moved to NZ to escape it. I decide soon after to leave gracefully as the young people will be enjoying their farewell drinks, which quite possibly, may be many.

The gale force wind has come back upon Wellington and I am making my way home before it gets too strong. It has been a tiring but very interesting day.