Highlights in no respective order
kite-related
1. Adlib intellectually stimulating conversation about peak oil and Derrick Jensen with kitemaker Ted Howard, who later show me his chooks and permaculture garden
2. Kitelady Julie reopening her shop so I can take a look at various specimens while she combs her database and books for information and contacts that would be of help to me
3. Finding raupo.
culture-related
1. After missing a hitching point and returning once again to Rotorua confounded, I stumbled into someMaori kids from the bush and got invited to their village. I had foresaken "assumingly farfetched" interest in seeing that part of the country and people who still subsisted on the bush (not even knowing they really existed) . After letting go to discouragement, I found my enthusiasm revived.
2. Sheepfarmer, spiritual therapist, free lance photographer, McDonald's manager, journalist, schoolbus driver, ex-thai boxer, violin teacher, child psychologist, family doctor, pacific islanders, teacher, travelling salesmen, jewelery artisans, bee balm makers, post office driver, dept of conservation workers, maori locals, builder...others who have offerred me rides, invited me into their homes, played tour guide, and entertained me with their funny kind of humor and generosity, from all whom I have gain insightful eye into kiwi life. Some random occassions I can recall: a heart pulse treatment from a lady returning from a workshop in the alternative therapy, treated to hokey pokey ice cream from a bus driver remembering a happy salmon dinner in the Pacific Northwest, ...
3. Experiencing traditional Maori food, both in preparation and palette as well as ceremony at birthday hangi. Peeling bush vegetables the day before and seeing the Maori appetite for sweets the day after(diabetes is high amongst Maoris ). Some of the most interesting food include rotten corn ( left fermenting in sugar bags in a running stream for months), wild boar, Maori yeast bread, raw fish in coconut juice, steamed stuffing and bread pudding, and crab salad.
4. Listening to the haunting melodies of Tu Hoe songs sang by the schoolchildren
5. Playing with the kids of Ruatahuna (exchanging scary haka faces, basketball, netball) and placating their endless curiosities and telling them for the upteenth time I'm not Japanese and no I don't know Yoko (a Japanese man fluent in Maori who made origami with the kids several years ago).
6. Venturing deeper into the ancient Te Ure Were bush to say hello to a rata tree (which resembles very much my old friend Metrosiderous polymorpha "Ohia")
7. Teaching a child and Tu Hoe elder how to play mancala.
8. Turning my hosts on to pumpkin gnocchi.
9. Eating Marmite spread on toast with cheese-thick slabs of real butter.
10. Trying the various fish and chips. i.e. pineapple fritter, snapper, groper, blue cod, kumara chips ...
11. Buggying through streams.
12. Discovering a place where horses and rivers still roam wild.
13. Finding out the best places for certain foods. Best oven baked muffins serve with fresh cream at little known govt cafeteria. And the most amazing falafel with tabouli sauce at Kebab diner.
14. Watching a special screening of 'As In Heaven' after closing time.
15. Shoc-Chocolates. dark organic chocolate in various flavors: lime, paprika, strawberry and black pepper.
16. Kia Ora! Be Alive! My two favorite Maori words.
17. Reading the stories of Pukenui ("puke=stomach" nui=big) and his adventures (inc. that of kitebuilding) in Wellington and Rotorua's library Maori children section.
Overall travel 1. coincidences 2. how things can work out so perfectly 3. how just being open to the possibilities leads to realities that defy doubts and discouragement 4. intimate connections and exchange of stories, having someone who initially seemed unfriendly warm up to you, to learn that more often than not the wariness stems from shyness 5. a full on discussion about 1080 to a physician from time he gave me a lift to when he dropped off, we're still debating through window as he is driving off 6 . running into old friends 7. finding my way into the heart of strangers and them into mine 8. the raw pure magic of being absorbed in a moment so endorsed with beauty
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
An Unexpected Treat
In my continued search for kite making materials, I found myself welcome into community of Tu Hoe, relatively isolated community ofMaori. The Tu Hoe are the among the very last people who still speak fluent Maori and actively engage in select traditional customs. It was in the Te Ure Wera Valley, when I was holding out for slim possibilityof retrieving raupo from a storehouse in Rotorua that it appeared coincidentally. As it turns out, the most elusive of kitemaking materials, raupo grew in abundance at the creek adjacent to my sleeping quarters. Upon collecting the other essential ingredients, I set out ot make my first manu taratahi.Upon its completion, I bestowed it to my hosts as it is tradition among Maoris (as also practice by Cowichan of Canada) to give their first away. Such tradition encourages the creation of a second serving to affirm memory through practice.
In my continued search for kite making materials, I found myself welcome into community of Tu Hoe, relatively isolated community ofMaori. The Tu Hoe are the among the very last people who still speak fluent Maori and actively engage in select traditional customs. It was in the Te Ure Wera Valley, when I was holding out for slim possibilityof retrieving raupo from a storehouse in Rotorua that it appeared coincidentally. As it turns out, the most elusive of kitemaking materials, raupo grew in abundance at the creek adjacent to my sleeping quarters. Upon collecting the other essential ingredients, I set out ot make my first manu taratahi.Upon its completion, I bestowed it to my hosts as it is tradition among Maoris (as also practice by Cowichan of Canada) to give their first away. Such tradition encourages the creation of a second serving to affirm memory through practice.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
me, with my first manu taratahi (three point kite) inside wharenui "big meeting house"
Te Ure Were Valley, New Zealand Oct 06
note accompanied the kite gift
Manu Taratahi, raupo, toetoe, harakeke
The art of Maori kitemaking had been lost and has only recently seen light again. Kites are a symbol of freedom, hope, and youth for me and I fancy taking part in their construction. The beauty of traditional Maori kites lies in their natural simplicity.
The coincidental discovery of 3 essential ingredients all growing in Ruatahuna brought my kite making dreams to reality. The raupo (bullrush), used for covering has eluded me since my arrival in New Zealand. was found in abundance at a creek in Meriam's and Richard's property. Toe toe (native pampass grass) used for framing proved unusually difficult to find here. I did not realize how lucky I was to stmble upon some lone stalks on a hillside in the dark. It would be many miles in the next morning light til I spotted more near the school grounds. With the harakeke (flax) to bind, I set out to make my first manu taratahi-three pointed kite.
During my stay, the days have been windless or filled with force 5 gales, not the idela conditions to test the fragile kite. I am confident however, with correct bridle adjustments, the kite can grace the sky-fly. I hope others will be encouraged to make manu taratahi, it is a great way to play and dance with Tawhirimatea.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Taingi
My Maori friend tells me that one of the best way to experience the culture is to attend a taingi “funeral”-that’s when all the tidings and people come out. Of course you cannot plan one of those and one would not hope.
Who knew that during my time in New Zealand, I would witness the proceedings of one of the most significant taingi in Maoridom, the passing of the Maori Queen. The Tu Hoe gathered their elders and with the neighbors in the surrounding valley started the pilgrimage to pay their respects. I would learn later they waited in line amongst thousands before sunrise and did not reach the podium until almost midnight.
My Maori friend tells me that one of the best way to experience the culture is to attend a taingi “funeral”-that’s when all the tidings and people come out. Of course you cannot plan one of those and one would not hope.
Who knew that during my time in New Zealand, I would witness the proceedings of one of the most significant taingi in Maoridom, the passing of the Maori Queen. The Tu Hoe gathered their elders and with the neighbors in the surrounding valley started the pilgrimage to pay their respects. I would learn later they waited in line amongst thousands before sunrise and did not reach the podium until almost midnight.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Mer stated:
"Men like 'Rich' are a dying breed. Men who are soft-hearted, yet better not cross them, you'd be in trouble. I know, if anything happen to us, if we did not have any money, we'd be ok, cause he would go out to the bush and fend for his family."
The truth in her comment about these dwindling breed of people and their rare skills struck me in a sad way.
During my brief time living with the Tu Hoe, I have come to admire the self sufficiency and resourcefulness of people brought up in isolated surroundings. There are still those living amongst the Tu Hoewho can spend weeks on end carrying on in the bush without rations, navigate their way without fancy compasses and maps, use horse hair to sow up wounds inflicted upon their hunting dogs by wild boars, distinguish types of native wood by how it burns, know the best type of fire to construct for different purposes, i.e. cooking boar meat, smoking fish, radiating light, or heating,- but they are few.
"Men like 'Rich' are a dying breed. Men who are soft-hearted, yet better not cross them, you'd be in trouble. I know, if anything happen to us, if we did not have any money, we'd be ok, cause he would go out to the bush and fend for his family."
The truth in her comment about these dwindling breed of people and their rare skills struck me in a sad way.
During my brief time living with the Tu Hoe, I have come to admire the self sufficiency and resourcefulness of people brought up in isolated surroundings. There are still those living amongst the Tu Hoewho can spend weeks on end carrying on in the bush without rations, navigate their way without fancy compasses and maps, use horse hair to sow up wounds inflicted upon their hunting dogs by wild boars, distinguish types of native wood by how it burns, know the best type of fire to construct for different purposes, i.e. cooking boar meat, smoking fish, radiating light, or heating,- but they are few.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
A tale
So, it is just me and Kouro left to fend for ourselves when the familyleaves to pay their respect to the royal family at the Hamiltonpalace.
Kouro with his braided long hair reminds me of a wizenedIndian chief. I am not the first to make this observation. He couldappear intimidating for his daunting size. However, I know the better.I remember two amusing occasions, one, catching Kouro bunny hoppingafter his mokapuna "granddaughter" and another stumbling into himcolliding through the doorway a flustered boyish grin on his face andeyes filled with delight, sticks and leaves strewn in his hair anddown the back of his fleece, apparently he had been chasing wild boarwith his dogs in the bush. On top of these observations, he hasexhibited gestures evident of immense consideration andthoughtfulness.
On typical nights past, we just band by the fire and Kouro tells meabout how you can tell the type of wood by the way it burns or the proximity of a wild boar by the different traces it leaves at different season. Sometimes he talks about his adventure tourism venture and the interesting array of visitors over the years including native americans on a spiritual pursuit and German building apprentices who overused concrete. I recount the places I visit during the day in search of kite materials, some energetically strange. To the last bit, he smilesknowingly, not commenting much further than saying that I stumble ontoa tapu area and something about prophets. Other than that, kites don't usually make it into conversation.
Most nights, we all juststare at the fire for hours after dinner until sleep starts todescend; whereby I bury the embers the way Kouro has shown me so they' restill good in the morning. Tonight, I am occupied with weaving.Tonight Kouro seem lost in thought. He cannot sleep and misses hiswife. I am criss-crossing flax around raupo, making progress on themanu taratahi by the manuka burning fire. I am comfortable in the silence.
Kouro voice breaks through it. He says he misses his mom. This confession takes me by surprise...images of Maoris as fierce warriors trumpet through my head. My brief time with theTu Hoe have already overrided many preconceptions. I pause my weavingto give Kouro my full attention. And he begins to tell the story ofhis mom, of how she only had one good arm, he demonstrated how sheplayed the guitar strumming with one and manipulating the frozen oneinto chord positions on the bridge. How as a kid, he use to sleepbeside her holding his mum\'s paralyzed cold arm in hopes of keeping itwarm.He had a song he wanted to dedicate to her. He started to sing andstrum the guitar on his lap, beautifully.
Speechless, I let it be,... before trying to inadequately express tohim how beautiful, so touchingly beautiful that was.I listened intently as he continued to talk about the injustices tohis mom, how she died so young, so strong and stubborn, and how tothis day he still misses her. He\'s never stop. I love my mom, he saidsimply.
I sat in silence afterwards, still feeling deeply touched by the poetry of his words so full of feeling from his heart. I felt tremendously honored but grately pitied that there was not more others around to hear or some mechanical device that could capture a story told so eloquently.
The dedication and love he felt for his mom I also felt for my mom. So I began to tell him her story, her struggle and her journey home.
By the end of it all, we were both in tears staring at the fire. The tears quickly turnd to tears mixed with sniffling laughter upon realizing how silly we looked.
I often think back to this moment with absolute amusement and a genuine warmness of heart. Raw. Open. Beautiful. The feelings wrought forth, I will never forget it.
So, it is just me and Kouro left to fend for ourselves when the familyleaves to pay their respect to the royal family at the Hamiltonpalace.
Kouro with his braided long hair reminds me of a wizenedIndian chief. I am not the first to make this observation. He couldappear intimidating for his daunting size. However, I know the better.I remember two amusing occasions, one, catching Kouro bunny hoppingafter his mokapuna "granddaughter" and another stumbling into himcolliding through the doorway a flustered boyish grin on his face andeyes filled with delight, sticks and leaves strewn in his hair anddown the back of his fleece, apparently he had been chasing wild boarwith his dogs in the bush. On top of these observations, he hasexhibited gestures evident of immense consideration andthoughtfulness.
On typical nights past, we just band by the fire and Kouro tells meabout how you can tell the type of wood by the way it burns or the proximity of a wild boar by the different traces it leaves at different season. Sometimes he talks about his adventure tourism venture and the interesting array of visitors over the years including native americans on a spiritual pursuit and German building apprentices who overused concrete. I recount the places I visit during the day in search of kite materials, some energetically strange. To the last bit, he smilesknowingly, not commenting much further than saying that I stumble ontoa tapu area and something about prophets. Other than that, kites don't usually make it into conversation.
Most nights, we all juststare at the fire for hours after dinner until sleep starts todescend; whereby I bury the embers the way Kouro has shown me so they' restill good in the morning. Tonight, I am occupied with weaving.Tonight Kouro seem lost in thought. He cannot sleep and misses hiswife. I am criss-crossing flax around raupo, making progress on themanu taratahi by the manuka burning fire. I am comfortable in the silence.
Kouro voice breaks through it. He says he misses his mom. This confession takes me by surprise...images of Maoris as fierce warriors trumpet through my head. My brief time with theTu Hoe have already overrided many preconceptions. I pause my weavingto give Kouro my full attention. And he begins to tell the story ofhis mom, of how she only had one good arm, he demonstrated how sheplayed the guitar strumming with one and manipulating the frozen oneinto chord positions on the bridge. How as a kid, he use to sleepbeside her holding his mum\'s paralyzed cold arm in hopes of keeping itwarm.He had a song he wanted to dedicate to her. He started to sing andstrum the guitar on his lap, beautifully.
Speechless, I let it be,... before trying to inadequately express tohim how beautiful, so touchingly beautiful that was.I listened intently as he continued to talk about the injustices tohis mom, how she died so young, so strong and stubborn, and how tothis day he still misses her. He\'s never stop. I love my mom, he saidsimply.
I sat in silence afterwards, still feeling deeply touched by the poetry of his words so full of feeling from his heart. I felt tremendously honored but grately pitied that there was not more others around to hear or some mechanical device that could capture a story told so eloquently.
The dedication and love he felt for his mom I also felt for my mom. So I began to tell him her story, her struggle and her journey home.
By the end of it all, we were both in tears staring at the fire. The tears quickly turnd to tears mixed with sniffling laughter upon realizing how silly we looked.
I often think back to this moment with absolute amusement and a genuine warmness of heart. Raw. Open. Beautiful. The feelings wrought forth, I will never forget it.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Te Arikinui Dame Te Atairangikaahu
My Maori friend tells me that one of the best way to experience the culture is to attend a taingi "funeral"-that's when all the tidings and people come out. Of course you cannot plan one of those and one would not hope.
Who knew that during my time in New Zealand, I would witness the proceedings of one of the most significant taingi in Maoridom, the passing of the Maori Queen.
The Tu Hoe gathered their elders and with the neighbors in the surrounding valley started the pilgrimage to pay their respects. I would learn later they waited in line amongst thousands before sunrise and did not reach the podium until almost midnight.
My Maori friend tells me that one of the best way to experience the culture is to attend a taingi "funeral"-that's when all the tidings and people come out. Of course you cannot plan one of those and one would not hope.
Who knew that during my time in New Zealand, I would witness the proceedings of one of the most significant taingi in Maoridom, the passing of the Maori Queen.
The Tu Hoe gathered their elders and with the neighbors in the surrounding valley started the pilgrimage to pay their respects. I would learn later they waited in line amongst thousands before sunrise and did not reach the podium until almost midnight.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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