R.I.P. M.J.

You have basically rocked my world, well, for my entire life, I watched Thriller on MTV as a toddler, played your tapes over and over and over as a kid and I still play you on my iPod. Wherever I am, when you come on, you can guarantee that I will be dancing.

Matariki

Matariki literally means the ‘eyes of god’ (mata ariki) or ‘little eyes’ (mata riki) and refers to the Pleiades, or Seven Sisters, constellation which reappears in New Zealand very low in the north-eastern sky just at the tail of the Milky Way in the last days of May or in early June. The reemergence of the stars indicate the next year's harvest. If the stars are brisk and clear, the season will be plentiful, if they are dull and blurry it will be sparse. However, there is no specific, set date to celebrate Matariki, depending on the iwi, some celebrate it as soon as the stars are spotted, while others wait until the rising of the next full moon, or alternatively the dawn of the next new moon (June 24th).
The myths of Matariki vary greatly depending on the iwi, Some say that when Ranginui, the sky father, and Papatūānuku, the earth mother were separated by their offspring, the god of the winds, Tāwhirimātea, became angry, tearing out his eyes and hurling them into the heavens. Others say Matariki is the mother star surrounded by her six daughters, Tupu-ā-nuku, Tupu-ā-rangi, Waitī, Waitā, Waipuna-ā-rangi and Ururangi.
One account explains that Matariki and her daughters appear in the end of May to assist the sun, Te Rā, whose winter journey from the north has left him weakened, this obviously coincides with the winter solstice and the slow ascent into longer days. Since the new year occurs at the start of winter, it is commonly a time of reflection and planning for the new year, as well as a time to appreciate the past.
To date, Matariki is not a recognized holiday in New Zealand (which is pretty fucked) but in 2001 the Maori Language Commission teamed up with the Ministry of Education and the Museum of New Zealand to highlight the importance of Matariki as an integral part of Maori language regeneration.

Napier Wit

Napier has been described as the city with “two souls” because, in a way, it is two cities. The first Napier was a quaint seaside Victorian town that was destroyed on February 3, 1931 when a massive earthquake (7.8 on the old scale) and subsequent fire razed the town. The city lay in absolute ruins. The people decided not to reconstruct their beloved town as it had been but to redesign a stronger and more modern city that would rise like a phoenix from the ash of old. The second Napier was completed just two years after the quake. The resurrected city enthusiastically embraces art deco and downtown unfolds before you beautifully symbolic, geometric and bold.
It's a little too yuppie for my taste but almost redeems itself with its quirky cafes and independently owned art galleries. After we filled our eyes and minds with art we headed over to the museum to learn about the town's history, we visited NZ's National Aquarium and watched a very flirty diver feed the sharks and stingrays, we sampled some decadent chocolate at the local factory, strolled through the dilapidated old cemetery, walked through the town's multi-tiered botanic gardens, took a “scary” night tour through the old prison (the one part I didn't like was being locked alone in a cold and pitch black cell) and finally kicked our feet up at the beach-side hot pools. A delicious winter day in a charming anachronistic city.

Captain Cook's Retarded

We have arrived in Gisborne, or Cook Country (as I like to call it), it is here that they worship Cook like a god. The town is chock-full of monuments and museums glorifying the relatively new deity. Personally, I'm outraged. I now present a brief exhibition of Cook's imbecilic legacy via the names of places he "discovered" (ahem, I mean) encountered:

Bay of Plenty- because the Maori gave him stuff
Bay of Poverty- because the Maori didn't give him stuff- take that Maori people!
Doubtful Bay- because the ingenious Cook said it was doubtful the winds would blow his ship out to sea
Doubtless Bay- because, "this is doubtless a bay", he said using his superior, otherworldly intelligence
Bay of Islands- because there are islands in the bay- "I seen 'em" he no doubt screamed, drooling spastically over the deck

Cape Kidnappers- because someone in his exploration party was (say it with me)...kidnapped

On top of his pathetic excuse for creativity, he was also vain and boring
Mt. Cook, the Cook River, Cook's Beach, Cook's Cove and the Cook Strait (to name a few)

Some others that I suspect, but can not confirm, were named by New Zealand's favorite mentally deficient explorer
Worser Bay...because Cook's grammar is worser than his originality
Sandfly Bay- oh wait, let me guess
Ocean Beach- you don't say
The list goes on...
Sandy Bay
Whale Bay
Paradise
Black Beach
Blue Lake
Stony Bay

Desolation Meets Serenity up New Zealand's East Coast

We decided to take the long way to Gisborne by driving up the scenic (and ridiculously windy) coastal highways. We were met by brilliant sunshine, crystalline streams, majestic cliffs, idyllic beaches, feral ponies, women screaming, dense fog, a church with a bloodstained pulpit (the reverend was hanged, beheaded, then, if that weren't enough, his eyes were gouged out and eaten), rusty abandoned cars, creepy elderly mannequins and cows completely at a standstill on the highway, twice. Sans the bizarre happenings, the east coast is renowned for it's wide open spaces and small populations. We would often drive for stretches of over 60 kilometers (37.3 miles, if you wondered) and not see another human being, which is eerie on an island so small. It's also heavily Maori, namely the Ngati Porou tribe live along the coast while the Tuhoe dominate the interior. We have already seen a dozen or more Marae (elaborately carved Maori meeting houses) as well as tons of bilingual schools. The east coast is in no way a tourist draw, admittedly, we drove through entire towns before we realized we had, so I feel Katie made the right decision in leading us to this clandestine and often unexplored region. That evening we landed at the ghetto fabulous Te Araroa Holiday Park complete with rundown toilets, rusted vehicles, windows that don't close, a lady that sells fish and chips out of her caravan and many other eager and chatty permanent characters (residents).
The next morning we roused ourselves at 550am in order to be the first people on earth to see the sunrise that day. This involved a terrifying drive through the pitch-black on narrow, unguarded cliff-side dirt roads for about an hour. It was here, in the absolute middle of nowhere, that we ran into our French (or outerspace) friend Romain (another post will be dedicated solely to this strange, strange French giant) naked in his van. As the dawn neared, it became apparent to us that we weren't going to see much on account of the ominous gray skies. We sat in the car (not wanting to walk up the mountain to the lighthouse), counted down to the sunrise, of which we saw nothing and then took the dangerous track back to the highway. The day was rainy, cold and gray. We visited an Anglican church whose interior was decorated with Maori carvings, we stopped in Ruatoria, famous for it's politically active Maori population, many of whom subscribe to Rastafarian religion. (The white folks around here warned us not to linger in this “dangerous” area, but having lived alongside the Bronx for over a year, I felt I could handle it) We ate delicious, flaky and warm bacon and egg Ruatoria pies and continued on our monochromatic journey. We bypassed the longest pier in New Zealand and some famous beaches on account of the billowy fog. We drove through the wee town of Whangara and alongside Wainui beach (both featured prominently in the wonderful book/movie The Whale Rider) and arrived in Gisborne before noon.

Why I Adore Anthony

He is always so adorably cheerful in the morning and he makes the best breakfast
He is an artistic genius
He can rock people's faces off and melt their brains
He intelligently challenges ideas and beliefs
He brings me whiskey when I get laid off
He unashamedly loves Taco Bell and KFC
He never complains when I made him listen to Tori Amos in the car for hours
He never gets mad when I fall asleep during the first 15 minutes of a movie
He is an excellent teacher
He doesn't mind spending 20 hours a day in bed sometimes
He is hilarious
He makes the best faces

Trivial Matters

Our last night in Papamoa/Tauranga we decided to have a bit of hometown fun and try our luck at New Zealand trivia. We assembled a hodge-podge team of international elite, named them the Drunken Clams, and grabbed beers all around. I dreamily reminisced about The Squire and Trivia Dan as well as Spanky's and that trivia master who eats too many hamburgers and is never impressed with our cheeky answers as we failed to answer a single New Zealand politics/cricket/rugby question correctly. Out of 19 teams we came in an (I feel) very respectable 14th and won the drawing for a $25 bar tab.

Simply Beautiful

Fall is my favorite season and in my mind autumn days burn fiery red memories and their searing yet chilling winds linger on into the winter. It was on one of these memorable yet rare fall days that we decided to climb Mount Maunganui. The Mount sits on the end of a long skinny inlet, surrounded by water on three sides. As we sluggishly climbed to the summit the warm sun competed with the icy air and crunchy leaves swirled hypnotically around the path. From the top we could see the town Mt. Maunganui, White Island, Tauranga and our home, Papamoa. It was stunning and serene. As we climbed back down we had to stop for a flock of passing sheep and once we had made it to the base we sat on the white sandy beach and ate coconut gelato. Perfect.

Unwinding Amongst the Kiwis

On Friday, we were finally released from the fuzzy, citrusy shackles of the kiwi factory. In the last fifteen minutes of work, our bosses sent ping pong balls with cute messages written on them (“no hanky panky”, “well done” and good on ya'”) up the conveyor belts and we proceeded to pelt each other with them until the last bell of the season heralded its sweet dulcet sounds of freedom. We were giggly and elated, like children on the last day of school, as we left work that day, grateful to never again return.
That afternoon the pack house hosted a Hangi, which is a traditional Maori barbecue. A hole is dug in the ground, firewood is placed over it in a crisscross pattern and rocks are laid over the wood. The fire is lit and the wood eventually burns away, leaving steaming hot rocks. At this point wire mesh baskets filled with different types of meat, potatoes, kumara, and stuffing are lowered on to the rocks and covered with damp bedsheets (bedsheets are not wholly traditional, obviously). The entire lot is buried in the ground and left to cook for a few hours. What emerges from the earth is a smoky, earthy shmorgasboard of delicious. But before the Hangi was ready there was always the Kiwi tradition of drinking heaps of booze.
We walked into the factory which had been totally transformed for the Hangi. The entire upstairs had been cleared out and replaced by a bar made from giant wooden crates and green kiwi boxes, there were tables made from old crates placed on their side, many with a few kiwis still left in them. Our normally grumpy coworkers were laughing and drinking and smoking and dancing, donning skirts and makeup in lieu of hairnets and latex gloves. And drink we did, let me tell you, middle aged Kiwi women know how to let loose. By the end of the party I was stumbling around the fire and no doubt slurring my words as I bid my lovely coworkers goodbye showering them with hugs and well wishes.

Top Ten Beam Moments

In no order whatsoever

1. Seeing Iggy Pop's 60+ year old body spasmodically writhe around the stage
2. Making the ground shake with our dancing at the Nancy
3. Drinking with the Coney Island Hot Dog eating contestants
4. Painting your face on the steps of Union Square
5. Marvelling at your mother's 10,000 Christmas decorations (my fave, the foil star)
6. Getting the boot at the Continental
7. Happy hours at Company
8. Spritejitos at Coney Island
9. Endless GChats at work
10. Being your chicken friend bagel for life

Beesin and Boozin

Interesting fact about bees, they are one of the few animals that get drunk willingly, hell, they love it. While I was picking grapes I found many a dead bee, their tiny little arms clutching the berry while their heads were stuck as far inside the fermented grape as they could get.

They had drank themselves to death.