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The Vatwa will be popping up in Rome at the Galleria Arte Roma Design in early January 2026. < Back Ciao Vatwa 14 Oct 2025 The Vatwa will be popping up in Rome at the Galleria Arte Roma Design in early January 2026. The Galleria Arte Roma Design will play host to a select number of Vatwa portaits as part of a pop-up exhibition in early January 2026. Coordinated by Blank Wall Gallery, the exhibition will feature both print and digital artworks from a range of international artists for a limited time, on show in Rome's central Piramide district. < Previous Next >

The lion was just metres away now. “Look, he’s trying to find some shade so the meat doesn’t rot quickly,” whispered my guide, Nicholas. In the big cat’s mouth was a Maasai calf, being unceremoniously dragged across the plain towards a desert date tree. It was nature at its primeval best in Kenya’s most famous game park. < Back On Safari in the Masaii Mara Sunday Star-Times 2 Feb 2016 The lion was just metres away now. “Look, he’s trying to find some shade so the meat doesn’t rot quickly,” whispered my guide, Nicholas. In the big cat’s mouth was a Maasai calf, being unceremoniously dragged across the plain towards a desert date tree. It was nature at its primeval best in Kenya’s most famous game park. I was in the Maasai Mara in Africa’s Great Rift Valley, my first stop on a quest to see the Big Five. Not content with going to just one reserve, I’d also committed to the Mara’s lesser-known siblings: Nakuru National Park, Samburu National Reserve and Aberdare National Park. Nicholas was both my guide and driver, working for the safari company Seven by Far, and right now he was about as excited as I was. “Whatever you do, don’t open the door,” he added with a grin. The CB radio crackled softly as he spoke in Swahili to the other drivers. A gaggle of Land Cruisers gathered. Our shutters clicked, our mouths gaped. The lion glared back, baring his fangs, not impressed at all. Picking up the calf by what was left of its bloody neck, he dragged it further away through the long grass. One by one the Land Cruisers left. Then suddenly the radio was active again. A leopard had been spotted darting into a croton bush as a vehicle approached. By the time we joined the scene some of the drivers had been waiting for half an hour for it to emerge. Sure enough, the leopard – one of Africa’s most elusive predators – slunk its way out of the bush to the nearby waterhole before disappearing again. But the great Mara wasn’t finished with us just yet. There’d been one more sighting, so I held on tightly, standing under the popped roof as we raced back the way we’d come. A Thompson’s Gazelle had had the unfortunate pleasure of being hunted down by a coalition of cheetahs. The mother and her two camouflaged sons were only visible when they poked their heads above the dense foliage. As dusk approached the evening show ended and it was time to make our way back to the lodge. After spending a month in African huts with no electricity, no running water and no phone coverage, I’d decided to treat myself and stay at top-end accommodation. First up, the Sarova Mara Game Camp, winner of the World’s Top Luxury Safari Camp 2015. “Whatever you do, don’t open the door,” he added with a grin. “Karibu!” My host Nancy was all smiles. “Welcome, we’ll show you to your tent.” Huh, a tent? What the hell? OK, so I have to admit this wasn’t the “we’re-all-going-camping-whether-you-kids-like-it-or-not” type of tent. It was more of a bure complete with outside deck, wooden flooring, ensuite, bath, writing desk, complimentary toiletries, safe, wardrobe and all-important water. At night it even got ‘turned down’ with mosquito nets dropped, soft lighting switched on, and a hot water bottle left in my bed (yes, I know, in Kenya!) It made continuing my journey very difficult. While the Maasai Mara was great savannahs speckled with trees, Nakuru was the complete opposite: a forested reserve encompassing a lake. Hidden within the park itself was the aptly named Sarova Lion Hill Game Lodge, where I was welcomed with a refreshing face cloth and glass of fresh juice. Game drives in Kenya are usually early in the morning and then again late in the afternoon – the best times to catch the wildlife feeding and moving. This time however, the safari didn’t start so well. An Africanized Honey Bee took to me and Nicholas spent a good few minutes removing the venom stinger from my back. “If you thought that sting was a shock,” he said, trying to cheer me up, “wait ‘til you see this.” I really wasn’t in a cheering up mood. We drove past some impala. “There, look up.” High in front of us was the reason why so many tourists come to Nakuru. A lioness was casually stretched out on branch, paws dangling in the air (like she just didn’t care), oblivious to all who had stopped below her. Unique to this park in Kenya, Nakuru is one of the few places in the world where lions have learnt to climb trees. After about 30 minutes of her semi-dozing we moved on to Nakuru’s other rockstars – the black rhinoceros. Notoriously shy, and for good reason, we only got to see the rhinos from a distance but watched for long enough to appreciate their grazing ways. They were under the vigilant eye of the Kenyan Wildlife Service, whose armed wardens we encountered throughout the park, ready to fight poachers who would kill these animals for their horns. Kenya’s most famous game warden was Baba ya Simba (Father of Lions), known to us as George Adamson. George and his wife Joy adopted a young orphaned lioness that they named Elsa, who they later released into the wild. Joy’s book about their story, Born Free, went on to sell 5 million copies, was turned into an Academy Award-winning film, and won a Grammy for its eponymous theme song. I was headed to where it all started, Samburu National Park, and to get there I needed to cross the Equator. “Do you want to see the water demonstration?” asked the young man with the patter of someone who had done this before. “We are on the Equator now. 20 metres north you will see the water swirls through the hole in this bowl one way, and 20 metres south of this sign, the opposite way.” Sure enough, just metres into the Northern Hemisphere the water was draining clockwise. Down south it swirled anti-clockwise. On the Equator it went straight down. “Would you like to see my friend’s shop?” came the not unexpected follow-up. For probably more than I should have paid, I bought a carved stone memento. We were on our way north again through the cool highlands and lush farms dotting the landscape. Samburu is one of a troika of parks that includes Shaba and Buffalo Springs National Reserves. Best known for its giraffes and elephants, it also has the Ewaso Ng'iro River with its many and large crocodiles. A lioness was casually stretched out on branch, paws dangling in the air (like she just didn’t care). “Jambo! Welcome to the Sarova Shaba, home of Born Free. If you like you can view the crocodiles later from your window. But first, some lunch.” I’ve got to say, Kenya’s safari lodges really have their hospitality down pat. There is so much food on offer – Western, Kenyan, Indian – with three all-inclusive meals every day that you have to make sure you don’t go home with ‘excess luggage’. It was in Samburu‘s bush land that we had our closest encounter with elephants. We weren’t very far down a lesser-used track when a matriarch appeared – elephant families are lead by an older female – to assess the situation. One by one the other family members came out, the mother putting herself between us and her calf. She was smart, not wanting to challenge us but slowly moving into position to ensure we had to reverse. To see these remarkable, beasts so close, and to have them walk past just metres from you gives you a sense of what giants they are in the wild. The most graceful animals we encounted in Samburu were the giraffes. Gentle, pensive, deliberate, they loped into view reaching up to branches with their foot long black tongue. To hear them chewing softly with nothing else around was mesmerising. I was suddenly divided about whether zoos were a good idea or not. There was one more game park to visit. We headed back towards Nairobi, into the hills again and then out the other side, coffee plantations replacing fields of grain. As we rounded Mt Kenya the roads became smoother and busier, the shops more western and larger. Our next destination was Treetops Lodge in Aberdare National Park. “We did have you down for Room 19, but have upgraded you to the room next door. You may have heard of it, the Princess Elizabeth Suite.” I was shown to the exact same room a young princess was staying in when she found out that, due to the passing of her father, she was now Queen Elizabeth II. I wondered if Her Majesty looked out onto the same scene I was witnessing now. Like guests checking in, the elephants and buffalo arrived at 6pm on the dot, circling the watering hole in front of the hotel. Not that I needed to worry about missing them; the hotel has an ‘alarm’ system: one buzz for hyenas, two for a leopard, three for rhinos and four for elephants. At one stage I counted over 60 elephants in 5 different families rutting up the dirt with their trunks to lick the salt. For the first time in my life I went to bed with the sound of elephants snorting and roaring outside my window. Did touring the different game reserves work out for me? Yes, I got to see the Big Five – the African Lion, Leopard, Buffalo, Elephant and the Rhino – plus cheetahs, giraffes, zebras, hippos, baboons, monkeys, gazelles, dik diks and onyx. As Nicholas dropped me off in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi I felt a little sadness that the safari was all over. For the last time I got out of what had been my daytime home away from home. Nicholas smiled as we firmly shook hands, knowing that I had just experienced the greatest wildlife destination on the planet. Details Emirates flies from Auckland to Nairobi, via Australia and Dubai (24 hours). Most safari tours start in Nairobi but you can take domestic flights to get to your destination quicker. Roads in Kenya are good until you get near the parks themselves, where they change to unsealed. There are a variety of options available depending upon your budget and needs. For the discerning traveller, the Sarova Group offers award-winning game camp and lodge accommodation throughout Kenya. These include full board with all meals, premium rooms and cultural and game drive offerings (www.sarovahotels.com). Treetops Lodge in Aberdare National Park is the only lodge of its type in Kenya (www.aberdaresafarihotels.co.ke/treetops). Self-drive is not recommended due to the state of the roads, and you’ll miss out on the wisdom of guides. Safaribookings.com is the best place to start planning your trip, with over 1600 operators listed. Seven by Far (www.sevenbyfartourskenya.com) offers tours from 4 to 14 days, including the parks mentioned in this article. Most of the day will be spent in your 4x4, so don’t forget to put on insect repellent and have spare memory cards and batteries. Before you finish your trip take home a piece of Kenya with you – be it an ebony carving or a hand made silk scarf. While high-end lodges do take MasterCard and Visa, cash is still king. Tipping is expected, prepare to give 100 Kenyan Shillings per bag ported (approximately NZ$1.30). Make sure you have enough small notes with you. Usually the only additional costs you will have to pay for are drinks and other extras such as massages and washing. It is rare to find ATMs outside of the major cities. More Information: www.magicalkenya.com. Original publication: Sunday Star-Times < Previous Next >

Y’all not from round here, are ya? Ain’t nobody drinks Budddd. This is Shiner Bock country, sir.” And with that the barman passed over a golden-labelled bottle of ale. I was in Luckenbach, Texas, population 3, a small town in the Hill Country west of San Antonio. < Back Deep in the Heart of Texas New Zealand Herald 3 May 2016 Y’all not from round here, are ya? Ain’t nobody drinks Budddd. This is Shiner Bock country, sir.” And with that the barman passed over a golden-labelled bottle of ale. I was in Luckenbach, Texas, population 3, a small town in the Hill Country west of San Antonio. It was to be the starting point for an adventure deep into the heart of Texas, a road trip to discover the smaller side of the big state. The Hill Country is known as much for its wildflowers and Harley-hugging roads as it is for being in the Bible Belt of America – a place where God meets guns, traffic yields to longhorns, and TexMex and ribs are a staple diet. Even the towns have great names; you can travel to Welfare in the morning, visit Comfort in the afternoon and spend the night in Utopia. ‘Luckenbach, Texas’ was made famous by a Waylon Jennings song and is not so much a town as a gathering of buildings. Located just off Highway 290, the post office is also the general store and the saloon is out back. It’s renowned for its live music scene so we arrived in time to see the ‘picker circle’ – an improvised mish-mash of musicians who gather under an old oak tree and pass around a pick, each playing a song with the others joining in. "Da-da ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, diiinnng," the unmistakable sound of a banjo was slowly echoed by a guitar, "Da-da ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding, diiinnng.” Everybody chuckled at Duelling Banjos being played, and I half expected someone to call out “Squeal like a pig, boy!” as a nod to Deliverance. Thankfully it was not to be as the banjo player ended with a flourish before passing the pick to the young cowboy on his right. He broke straight into that ol’ country classic, “Cocaine’s gonna kill my honey dead.” It was time to explore. Not far from the circle in front of a wooden building sat Cassey, co-owner of the Snail Creek Hat Co. “Howdy, y’all look like you need a hat!” While I didn’t take her up on her offer I did ask about what’s in style. “Welllllll,” she drawled, “Over yonder you can see that they come in all shapes and sizes,” pointing to the audience. “I used to be able to tell a Texan from a Dakotan just by looking at their hat but now it’s about personal preference.” She and her husband Glen use water to shape the unstructured palm leaf hats they get in. “In West Texas they angle the brim like this,” she said, folding in the sides like a paper dart. “It means the hat’s more aerodynamic and the winds just pass right on through.” Much as I was tempted to buy a cowboy hat, I opted instead to see the real thing in action, and where better than the Cowboy Capital of the World. Even the towns have great names; you can travel to Welfare in the morning, visit Comfort in the afternoon and spend the night in Utopia. Bandera, Texas, earned its moniker after the Great Western Cattle Trail drives of the 1880s, where at one stage there were more cattle and cowboys going through the main street than all the other cattle trails in the United States. More recently they’ve had a number of rodeo champions come from Bandera, which just gives extra points to their town spurs. Everywhere you look there are authentic buildings, early Americana and signs advertising the next rodeo (Friday). We were here to see the most Western event of them all – the gunslingers shootout.Every weekend the Bandera Cattle Company celebrates its heritage with a re-enactment of real scenarios from the town’s past. Taking a seat on the bleachers behind the Visitors Centre we watched as the period costumed cowboys slowly took up their positions, one drinking ‘whisky’, another playing cards, and our host, Dennis, sharing some of the local history. “God damn, that wasn’t meant to happen!” Dennis had just shot himself in the groin with a blank. It looked like it hurt. “You’re as dumb as a box of hammers!” yelled one of his compatriots to much laughter from the crowd. The show went on for an hour, with kids having the chance to be deputised afterwards. It was enough motivation for me to take the plunge and go buy some cowboy boots. After much assistance I settled on a pair of Justin’s that have been produced since 1879, “Made by his daddy’s daddy and his daddy’s granddaddy before him.” Quite chuffed with my new purchase we rocked up to our accommodation, a Texan ‘dude ranch’. There are a number of dude ranches near Bandera that offer accommodation, meals and activities all rolled into one – think of it as AirBnB meets the Warkworth Rodeo. We chose the Twin Elm “For Western Fun.” As it was getting dark when we arrived the owner pointed us towards the campfire and invited us to join her for ‘s’mores’. S’mores are a Texan treat where you roast marshmallows over a fire ‘til they’re ohhh-so-gooey and then add them to a graham cracker topped with a slice of chocolate. With full tummies the next morning we took advantage of our surrounds with a horse ride led by some of the local hands. Wading through the Medina River, past the fallen trees and down the trail, we got to experience their daily life at a leisurely pace. Bandera was also where I discovered how deeply ingrained religion is. On the way into town we noticed a number of flags at half-mast. I politely enquired when we got there, “We saw some of the flags were at half mast, has someone important died?” The lady stared straight back at me and said, “Jesus”. It was Good Friday. Moving on quickly after insulting the entire state of Texas, our next stop on the small town tour was Fredericksburg. Established by a German baron in 1846 after signing a peace treaty with the Comanche Indians, the town is considered the capital of Hill Country. Fredericksburg’s main claim to fame is being the birthplace of Admiral Chester Nimitz who led the US Pacific naval effort in World War II. The town houses the fantastic National Museum of the Pacific War and it made me proud to see the New Zealand flag flying (at full mast). “God damn, that wasn’t meant to happen!” Dennis had just shot himself in the groin with a blank. It looked like it hurt. The best part of Fredericksburg however is just outside of town. It’s called Wine Road 290 and comprises 15 different wineries in the area. In Texas a winery does not necessary mean a vineyard; it could simply be wine retailer. We didn’t let a wee detail like that put us off as we slowly pulled in to The Vintage Cellar. We’d already tried some of the local Bending Branch ‘Thinkers Blanc’ so that was a mandatory buy, but what caught my eye was the “Pour It Forward” chalkboard. Like a ‘random act of kindness’, the idea is to buy someone a drink in advance by writing up an occupation on the board. Unfortunately, no one had written ‘Parched Kiwi’ but if I’d been a fireman, marine, zookeeper or teacher it would have been a very boozy afternoon. Leaving the Hill Country the next day we noticed that the landscape had changed, speckled with political billboards. Texas is staunchly Republican – represented by Senator Ted Cruz – and even here it’s hard to escape the slogans in the midst of an election campaign. Looking around as the last of the sun’s rays lit up the wildflowers on the side of the road, we passed a “Make America Great Again” sign. Something tells me that the locals don’t have anything to worry about. This land of cowboys has never had a problem being great. Details Stay: www.twinelmranch.com Getting there: Air New Zealand flies direct Auckland to Houston (14 hours); Houston to San Antonio is a 1 hour flight; Hill Country is a 1 hour drive away Websites: www.luckenbachtexas.com www.banderacowboycapital.com Visas: Apply online for the USA ESTA visa waiver for up to 90 days Location: Hill Country, Texas, USA Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

PHOTOJOURNALISM

“Salem has 400 years of history, yet all people want to talk about was the single worst year we ever had”. Our gregarious Witch City Walking Tour guide, Sean, with tongue firmly planted in cheek, introduced us to what put this Massachusetts town on the map – the Salem Witch Trials. < Back A Spell in Salem New Zealand Herald 8 Nov 2023 “Salem has 400 years of history, yet all people want to talk about was the single worst year we ever had”. Our gregarious Witch City Walking Tour guide, Sean, with tongue firmly planted in cheek, introduced us to what put this Massachusetts town on the map – the Salem Witch Trials. The source material for numerous movies, novels and articles, most Kiwis first heard of Salem from the pages of The Crucible. While Arthur Millar’s play was an allegory for the 1950s communist witch-hunt in the United States, the book firmly positioned Puritan New England as a place of division, suspicion, and hysteria. Sean continued as the rain softly started to fall, his booming historian voice describing the paranoia of the times. “From February 1692 to May 1693 the trials took place, as children having fits and contortions accused those around them of doing the Devil’s work.” Leading us by lantern light, he paused outside the Salem Witch Trials Memorial. The memorial, dedicated in 1992 to mark the 300th anniversary of the trials, comprises granite slabs etched with the names, dates, and execution of each of the innocent victims. By the end, 19 people were found guilty and hung, and a further 5 died in prison including the infant daughter of one of the accused. 71-year-old Giles Corey who refused to enter a plea was pressed to death by heavy stones placed on him until his organs could no longer work. Salem has come a long way since the mass hysteria of the 17th century. Where once people lived in fear of spells, today they welcome them: the town is a magnet for modern-day Witches, Warlocks and Wiccans. Leanne Marrama is one of them. Co-owner of Pentagram Shoppe – “offering powerful witchcraft supplies, spell kits, and divination tools” – Leanne was happy to share what it’s like being a witch in Salem. “It all started in the 1970s with the arrival of Laurie Cabot. She was the first witch here, and we’ve been coming ever since!” Leanne’s shop was brimming with everything a good occultist needs: double-edged athame for ritualistic offerings, trithemius table of practice to conjure spirits, and the Fourth Pentacle of Mercury (best dedicated to use on Wednesdays within the first hour after sunrise). 71-year-old Giles Corey who refused to enter a plea was pressed to death by heavy stones placed on him until his organs could no longer work. “People think we’re weird and go home and make sacrifices every night,” Leanne opined. “But we’re not. We’re normal people who have families and kids and drive to work just like anyone else. It’s just that we follow a different religion and magickal (with a ‘k’) traditions.” Witches don’t worship Satan, they don’t do evil, but they do cast spells which are more like manifestations. The queue for Leanne’s shop was now out the door. As a registered psychic – all physics in Salem are required to be licensed – her shop was one of the busier ones in town. “I do up to 30 readings a day, sometimes it can be exhausting, especially in October”. Ahhh October, when Salem becomes more kitschy than witchy. Last year over 1 million people visited in the ‘Haunted Happenings’ month of Halloween alone, posing beside the Bewitched statue, buying t-shirts with dubious slogans, and going on one of the many tours on offer. Travel tip: put your name down as early as you can for a restaurant – the wait times are up to 2 hours long. Beyond the hustle and bustle of Essex Street and the gentle waft of legalised marijuana, another witch-adjacent business is leaving its mark on Salem. Black Veil Shoppe of Drear & Wonder is the town’s most famous tattoo parlour, co-owned by identical twins Ryan and Matt Murray. Hidden within Black Veil’s ivy-covered brick walls and beyond the darkened windows lies a world of thick smoke, dripping candles, and Poe-inspired prints. Macabre t-shirts of cats missing eyes hung under a neon ‘Lose Your Soul’ sign. A figure eerily appeared dressed in black: twin Matt. “Being here in Salem, we describe our style as ‘black & grey for the grim-hearted’”. Matt had been tattooing for over a decade, initially under the tutorship of his brother, and had appeared on the TV show Ink Masters. “You’ll see lots of death and mourning in our designs with a New England Victorian inspiration.” Matt and Ryan do all their image printing in the attic above and were preparing for the Salem Night Faire, an annual event “beyond the darkened pines in the haunting pioneer village.” Not wanting to hold him up any longer we bade farewell and stepped out once more into the light. For a town that dwells in the darkness, Salem’s non-witchy history is often overlooked: it used to be one of America’s wealthiest seaports, the Parker Brothers of Monopoly fame got their start here, and it’s the birthplace of the United States National Guard. But there is only one real reason to visit Salem: the single worst year they ever had. Details Where: 45min north of Boston on the i-93 and i-95 Destination Salem: www.salem.org Witch City Walking Tours: www.witchcitywalkingtours.com Black Veil: www.blackveilstudio.com Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

“Why Albania?” “Why not?” “What have they done to us?” “What have they done for us?” “Nothing….” “See, they keep to themselves. Shifty. Untrustable.” < Back Why Albania Let's Travel 4 Jun 2015 “Why Albania?” “Why not?” “What have they done to us?” “What have they done for us?” “Nothing….” “See, they keep to themselves. Shifty. Untrustable.” No, not a weird conversation about where to holiday but a scene from Wag The Dog, where Robert De Niro and Dustin Hoffman are deciding who America should go to war with. Thankfully it never happened, but if it had you can bet Albania would have been ready. Dotted along its coastline are thousands of concrete bunkers to protect it from invasion - the paranoid legacy of communist dictator Enver Hoxha. It had been 20 years since communism had died and I was in Albania to see how much the country had changed. To the outside world Albania is still a mystery; a former Socialist People’s Republic “somewhere near Greece where everyone is poor and backward and ride donkeys and the women have moustaches” (they don’t). Sure, it’s not the most advanced country in the world but that’s what makes it so unique. Where else would you see grass being cut on the main square with a scythe? Or a foreign street named after George W Bush? My quest to discover today’s Albania began in its capital, Tirana. In the 1990s the former mayor - himself an artist - came up with the idea of painting the ubiquitous apartment blocks different colours, to brighten up residents’ lives. As a result the city’s a lot more attractive these days, but it’s never going to win a beauty pageant. No matter, what Tirana lacks in looks it makes up for in character. From the never-ending cacophony of horns as three-wheeled trucks fight with motorbikes navigating Skanderbeg Square, to elderly men warily drinking tea to pass the time of day, the capital of Albania is truly a mish-mash of east meets west with a victor yet to be decided. As the capital, all roads lead to Tirana and you certainly know when you’re on them. “Pot-holed” is an understatement but bouncing up and down in the back of a furgon taxi adds to the sense of adventure. In typical Balkan fashion these shared taxis have no set schedule (nor departure point for that matter); as soon as they’re full, they’re off. I managed to catch an early morning one and only had to wait 15 minutes before the chugging Mercedes starting making its way to my next destination, Berat. After two hours of Albanian viba-train I was relieved to finally arrive. “Somewhere near Greece where everyone is poor and backward and ride donkeys and the women have moustaches” Berat is a charming 2400 year old Ottoman town with houses built one on top of another, earning itself the moniker ‘Town of a Thousand Windows’. I was excitedly met by my host and taken to his ‘welcome room’ for a shot of rakija (a fermented alcoholic drink that’s probably illegal elsewhere). The room itself was magic: traditional curved brick walls, pigeons cooing on the sill, strings of onions hanging from rafters, and the waft of slowly cooking lamb. Another rakija was poured. “Are you going to the Xhiro tonight?” he asked. “It’s Monday so it should be good.” He pointed down to the town. The Xhiro (pronounced ‘giro’), as it turns out, is one of the most curious rituals I have come across. At a time when we might be watching primetime TV the inhabitants of Berat are walking back and forth down a closed off boulevard, dressed to the nines like its 1987. Furtive glances are exchanged as Europop seeps from the cafes. This is dating, Albania-style. In a country where pre-marriage relations are frowned upon and the Western version of ‘going out’ is non-existent, the nightly Xhiro is the one opportunity to size up potential partners. Like someone? Your relatives can talk to their relatives. We joined in – the walking, not the dating – and amongst the fried sweetcorn hawkers and popped collars you could sense the locals enjoying themselves. Berat was also where I saw another sign that times have changed. Mount Shpirag, behind the entrance to the township, once had the name “Enver” (after the former dictator) spelt out in huge letters on the mountainside. Today they’ve been rearranged to spell “N.E.V.E.R” – a very large, defiant statement not to repeat the past. Of course not all of the past was bad. My guide, a Tirana native who had spent much of his life in construction openly opined, “Under communism, we always had a job. No matter how small. Now look around you.” He waved his arm across the square. Men of working age were sitting around doing not much. It was 2:30pm on a weekday. He did admit though that since ‘freedom’ he now had enough money to send his daughter to Germany to study which he would never have been able to do “in the old days”. The final stop on my journey was Shkodra, a town bordering Montenegro. With a castle above and lake below it prides itself as being a little more Balkan-esque than the rest of Albania. Certainly, it has its fair share of al fresco restaurants, tourist-oriented ‘lodges’ and fresh food stalls; Shkodra was a cosmopolitan surprise. One of my favourite moments happened just as I was leaving town and looking to spend the last of my LEK on some meaningful souvenirs. An old woman at the bus stop dangled some woollen socks in my face in the hope that this foreigner would buy them - despite me sweltering in the 35 degree heat. I followed her back to her knitting, and after much hand gesticulation I gave her cash, she gave me some socks, and topped it off with an Albanian ‘smile’. As the bus pulled out I gave her a wee nod, and thought about all the changes she’d seen. After 20 years, capitalism had replaced communism and pester-power had replaced paranoia. The Albania of old was no longer there and yet, as the country was finding itself – with infrastructure and systems still to come – I felt lucky to have seen the Albania of today, knowing that it’s special quality would change again 20 years from now. < Previous Next >

“The Pope, The Pope!” A construction worker was vigourously waving his arms and yelling at me. “The Pope, no entrada!” Seeing my obvious confusion, he came running over and introduced himself by way of tattooed name on his forearm. Pito explained that the attraction I had come to see, was closed, in preparation for a visit from the Pontiff. < Back Asia's overlooked Gem Copy Sunday Star-Times 6 Jul 2024 “The Pope, The Pope!” A construction worker was vigourously waving his arms and yelling at me. “The Pope, no entrada!” Seeing my obvious confusion, he came running over and introduced himself by way of tattooed name on his forearm. Pito explained that the attraction I had come to see, was closed, in preparation for a visit from the Pontiff. Pito and I were on the road below Cristo Rei of Dili, a magnificent statue of Christ with welcoming arms, standing atop a globe. Reminiscent of Rio de Janeiro’s Christ the Redeemer, the statue was built by the Indonesian Government during its occupation. “It’s OK,” Pito assured me, “I can tell you history.” The sun bounced off his dusty hard hat. The history of Timor-Leste (pron. less-tay) is a long and bloody one. After 400 years as a Portuguese colony, a coup in Lisbon encouraged the East Timorese to declare independence in 1975. In the lead-up there were border incursions by Indonesian militia, a prequel to a full-scale invasion. The film Balibo, about the five Australian journalists killed during those incursions and journalist Roger East who was executed, is an excellent, if gut-wrenching, watch. During the 24 years of Indonesian rule more than 200,000 Timorese lost their lives. Many Kiwis will remember that New Zealand was part of the UN peacekeeping force in East Timor after a referendum on independence in 1999. Private Leonard Manning of the New Zealand Army was one of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice, killed in action while defending the freedom of the East Timorese. While the suffering of the past is never far from the country’s collective memory, these days Timor-Leste is on friendly terms with its neighbours, is eager to prosper, and keen to show the world what it has to offer. A country of boundless natural beauty, it’s fair to say that intrepid travellers will get more out of it than someone who loves their creature comforts. Don’t get me wrong, there are 4-star hotels in Dili and Timor-Leste is gearing up for more tourism. But part of the charm is the unique opportunity to experience a country that hasn’t yet been commercialised. Even the arrival process is uncomplicated: you line up for a visa (US$30 cash only), you get your stamp, you walk around the corner, you pick up your bag, you buy a local SIM card (very important), and the next thing you know you’re in Dili. Getting around the capital is best done by microlet – colourful, numbered minibuses that follow set routes. They’re easy to hail down, and when you’re ready to get off you tap the metal handrail with a coin. It costs 25 centavos (about 40c) no matter how far you go. Getting around the rest of the country though, that’s another story, and usually requires your own set of wheels. I was lucky enough to have two Timorese, Guido and Cesar, take me to the easternmost point, Tutuala Beach. It really is off the beaten track. We were bouncing around so much on the deconstructed roads that my Apple Watch asked If I’d like to “Record indoor walk”. Our beachfront accommodation was the community-run Valu Sere, made up of simple rooms with thatched roofs, mosquito nets, and a light. We ate in the open-air dining room metres from the sea enjoying the fish Guido had picked out for dinner. The next morning, we hired a boat to take the 10-minute journey across to instagrammable Jaco Island. Part of the protected Nino Konis Santana National Park, the sand is so white, the ocean ridiculously clear. This is about as deserted a tropical island as you can get. Back in Baucau, the country’s second city, we stocked up on water to explore the nearby countryside in 30-degree heat. Our first stop was Gua Tujuh (the seven caves) where the Japanese fought from in World War II, and the Timorese resistance fought from during the Indonesian occupation. The mountainous landscape is dotted with numerous scenic points, but none as revered as Mount Ariana. At the top of some steep, concrete steps the wind buffeted us as we took in the 360-degree views and looked up to the statue of Maria Auxiliadora. Part of joy of travelling through Timor-Leste is sampling the local cuisine. On the way back to Dili we stopped at a beachside restaurant for some skewered grilled fish, unwrapped our katupa (rice wrapped up in coconut leaf parcels) and dug in with forks and fingers. The local food is very cheap, despite the official currency being US dollars. Timor-Leste now only accepts US $5 denominations upward and uses local Centavos for anything below that. Don’t worry though, it’s all interchangeable. Just make sure you have enough cash before you leave the cities. Select ATMs accept Visa – although they had run out of money after the weekend. Off the coast, Atauro Island looms large. A divers’ and snorkelers’ paradise, travel agents can not only hook you up with dive masters but also accommodation ranging from eco resorts to camping. Even if you’re not an avid diver, the water is so clear that a snorkel and mask is all you’ll need. Back in Dili the cacophony of horns continued as pedestrians skirted around the uncovered manholes. A Ranger full of nuns zoomed past, habits flapping out the open windows. In a country that’s 95% Catholic it’s no surprise that Pope Francis is visiting, the first Pope to do so since the late 1980s. Papa Francisco will get a very Timorese welcome, full of warmth and respect and love. He will get to climb the steps to Cristo Rei and look out at Asia’s newest county. And I’m sure Pito will be there, calling out to him. Details Flights: From Darwin or Bali daily Tourism Timor-Leste: https://visiteasttimor.com/timor/ Original publication: Sunday Star-Times < Previous Next >

PROJECTS Māori Wardens Aotearoa / New Zealand There are approximately 700 Māori Wardens who play an intrinsic role in improving the wellbeing of whānau and communities in Aotearoa New Zealand. Māori Wardens are not police, but they have legal responsibilities under the Māori Community Development Act 1962 and they give their time to supporting communities. The guiding principles of a Māori Warden is respect, awhi, aroha, and whānaungatanga. Previous Next

In an exclusive interview with D-Photo magazine Guy Needham talks about the lengths he went to to get the shots for his upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia. < Back The Mentawai in D-Photo Magazine 19 Jul 2017 In an exclusive interview with D-Photo magazine Guy Needham talks about the lengths he went to to get the shots for his upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia. The article reveals what it's really like as a photographer where a contrast in culture is the least of your worries. Read journalist Adrian Hatwell's article here . < Previous Next >

See the exhibition about one of the world's most remote tribes, the Dani of Papua "One of Papua’s 150 tribes, the Dani live in the isolated Baliem valley where the smell of dampness hangs in the air, pushed down by the cigarette smoke and low cloud.” The Dani of Papua In the distant land of Papua, Indonesia, live the Dani tribe. Although thousands of years old, they were unknown to the rest of the world until 1938. Today they still live a simple life and, while not isolated from the march of modernity, their traditions and values have endured. Dani men are renowned for their formidable appearance – including wearing the horim or penis gourd. While most of the younger members of the tribe wear western clothes today, the elders still adhere to the old ways and the tribe embraces traditional dress when it comes to ceremony. See the exhibition Porto 12 - 26 June 2026 Address MIRA FORUM Rua de Miraflor, 155 4300-334 Porto Portugal Contact (+351) 929 145 191 (+351) 929 113 431 Opening Hours Wednesday to Saturday 15:00 – 19:00 miraforum@miragalerias.net guy@guyneedham.com ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER Guy Needham’s inquisitive worldview was shaped by growing up in rural New Zealand in the 1970s. Today he is noted for his international work with indigenous tribes, primarily drawing on themes of identity and place within cultural narratives. His work is a hybrid of photographic genres, sitting somewhere between documentary and portraiture. The simplicity of his pared-down style has been described as having both a quiet intensity and a subtle momentum. His images have been exhibited in New York, London, Paris, Berlin, Barcelona, Tokyo, and Athens, and been seen on the pages of National Geographic Traveler, CNN.com, Lonely Planet, SUITCASE Magazine, International Traveler, Portrait Magazine and AFAR.

A portrait of Kanamutico of the Vatwa tribe will be on display in the US for the first time, as part of the Griffin Museum of Photography's Winter Solstice exhibition. < Back Kanamutico meets Boston 28 Oct 2025 A portrait of Kanamutico of the Vatwa tribe will be on display in the US for the first time, as part of the Griffin Museum of Photography's Winter Solstice exhibition. T he portrait of Kanamutico looking out of his hut will be on show in the Boston gallery from December 5. One of the Vatwa tribe located in the Angolan municipality of Oncocua, he follows in the footsteps of the older men in the village who spend their days tending to crops and goats in the nearby fields of this semi-nomadic tribe. < Previous Next >

Every day, NGOs, charities and other on-the-ground organisations are working to make the world a better place. From environmental protection to economic development to disaster response, NGOs are at the forefront of assisting others in their time of need and helping them become self-sufficient in their own communities. PHOTOJOURNALISM NGOs Global Every day, NGOs, charities and other on-the-ground organisations are working to make the world a better place. From environmental protection to economic development to disaster response, NGOs are at the forefront of assisting others in their time of need and helping them become self-sufficient in their own communities.