TRAVEL Carnaval de Negros y Blancos Global El Carnaval de Negros y Blancos (Black and Whites' Carnaval), a five day party held in January, is the world’s biggest foam fight. The Carnaval is the loudest, longest and messiest festival in southern Colombia. The pinnacle of the Carnaval is the Grand Parade that falls on Dia de Blancos (The Day of the Whites) - but not before the celebration with flour bombs and talcum powder. Previous Next

The Hamar of Ethiopia opened last night in Auckland with Guy Needham sharing stories about Ethiopia and talking about the concept behind the exhibition. < Back The Hamar opens in Auckland 5 Aug 2016 The Hamar of Ethiopia opened last night in Auckland with Guy Needham sharing stories about Ethiopia and talking about the concept behind the exhibition. The opening was also covered by D-Photo magazine who reviewed it online < Previous Next >

“Li-ber-tat! Li-ber-tat!” The chant was sweeping across the square like a Catalan wave. The crowd ignored the soaring heat to remind the world that their pro-independence leaders were still in exile or jail. “Libertat-del-presos-politics!!” < Back Barcelona Nights New Zealand Herald 13 Oct 2019 “Li-ber-tat! Li-ber-tat!” The chant was sweeping across the square like a Catalan wave. The crowd ignored the soaring heat to remind the world that their pro-independence leaders were still in exile or jail. “Libertat-del-presos-politics!!” But we weren’t here for the politicians; we were waiting for one of city’s most anticipated traditions - the Castellers de Barcelona. Dating back to the 1800s, these human towers originated in southern Spain and have been gleefully adopted by Catalonia. “Do you think we’ll become part of the foundations?!” chuckled my new American crowd-friend. Before I could answer, dozens of mauve-shirted castellers surged forward, pushing us apart. As they jostled into position, the big men lined up in four directions to form a base. Like an organic mass of human endeavour the climbing began. Feet on shoulders, hands on sashes, arms on waists. Squinting up, we could make out a young girl in a red helmet scrambling towards the top. The crowd was told to shush. Plaça de Sant Juame fell silent as we held our collective breath. Then there she was, eight levels up raising her hand at the top of the castell, and the cheering erupted again. This was, after all, the peak of La Mercè. La Mercè is Barcelona’s ‘festival of festivals’, a tribute to the Patron Saint Virgen de La Mercè who is credited with ending a plague of locusts upon the city. What began as a religious observation in the Middle Ages is now a heady mix of street theatre, dance, music and pyrotechnics with over 2,000 performers taking part. I was one of approximately 1.5 million visitors expected over the five-day festival, and being the geek I am I downloaded the app, threw on some walking shoes and off I went. The wide-ranging schedule meant killing time between the afternoon and night activities but luckily I had two Spanish friends to keep me company in the sun-drenched Plaça Reial – Señor Paella and Señorita Cerveza… The crowd was told to shush. Plaça de Sant Juame fell silent as we held our collective breath. Well-rested after a few hours of listening to live music, I left for the next event with some trepidation. The waiter’s words were ringing in my ears: “You are going to wear protection, si?” Walking briskly to the closed-off Via Laietana I could feel the energy rising in the dusky air; the Correfoc de la Mercè was about to begin. Bang, BANG! A gang of silhouetted devils and fire-breathing dragons danced towards us, spouting flames and tossing fireworks. I realised too late why I needed protection, as sparks shot out from the devils’ pitchforks and landed in my hair. Owwww. The smoke, the sparklers and the drums made the fire-run totally addictive and very surreal – somewhat apt in the city of Gaudi. Of course, Gaudi and Barcelona are nearly always mentioned in the same breath. It’s hard to walk the Catalonian cobblestones and not be in awe of his curvy creations. While not officially part of La Mercè, the night experience at Gaudi’s La Pedrera certainly should be. La Padrera is Spanish for ‘the quarry’, which reflects the amount of stone used in building this monumental house that is officially known as Casa Milla. Constructed between 1906-1912, it was Gaudi’s last building before he spent the rest of his life working on La Sagrada Familia (un-fun fact: Gaudi was killed by a tram). The smoke, the sparklers and the drums made the fire-run totally addictive and very surreal. As expected, La Pedrera brings to life Gaudi’s fascination with marrying nature to architecture: an attic shaped as the spine of a whale, pillars based on palm trees, water tanks in the form of snails and balconies that look like seaweed on waves. The non-linear lines and organic shapes continue all the way up to the rooftop terrace where the night illumination begins. In true Gaudi style he didn’t just create chimneys, he created warriors. And it’s on these rooftop warriors that a 20 minute audio-visual show projects the rise and fall of civilisations, the immensity of space and the origins of life itself. Noting that the UNESCO-listed building is now run by Catalunya La Pedrera Foundation, our guide explained that, amazingly, below us still lived three families who have tenancy for life – including an elderly lady and her dog that has its own rooms. Suitably impressed post-show we wandered around the terrace, taking one last glance at La Sagrada Familia’s lit towers as sirens faded off in the distance. It was finally time to return to earth, having enjoyed being at Barcelona’s Mercè. Details Getting there: Fly to Barcelona via Singapore La Mercè festival: Held annually around 24th September, child-friendly and free Other activities: Guadi, paella, shopping, flamenco Visa: No visa is required for New Zealand nationals for stays up to 90 days. Travel tip: Book tickets for all museums and Gaudi buildings well in advance. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

Fresh on the back of winning silver in the 2020 SGIPA International Photography Awards, Hadzabe Girl has been selected from amongst 2000 submissions to be part of the Center of Photographic Art's 2021 Juried Exhibition < Back Hadzabe Girl at Center for Photographic Art 9 Apr 2021 Fresh on the back of winning silver in the 2020 SGIPA International Photography Awards, Hadzabe Girl has been selected from amongst 2000 submissions to be part of the Center of Photographic Art's 2021 Juried Exhibition As well as being displayed in the CPA gallery in California, the Dickens-esque image will be published in the 2021 MJE catalogue along with 40 other chosen images. < 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 >

Goroka Boy, an image taken in the central Highlands of Papua New Guinea, has been selected for Praxis Gallery's international juried Portraits exhibition. < Back Goroka Boy goes to the United States 14 Apr 2020 Goroka Boy, an image taken in the central Highlands of Papua New Guinea, has been selected for Praxis Gallery's international juried Portraits exhibition. The exhibition "celebrates the aesthetic and conceptual considerations involved in the creation of the portrait: revealing personal narratives or new anthologies through the artistic representation of the subject" and will run from 22 May - 15 June in Minneapolis. < Previous Next >

As the road softly curved under a canopy of maples, rusty reds and golden yellows tumbled to the ground. A solitary man, belt braces strapped over his checked shirt, stood out against the wall of crimson trees. Tailgate down on his Chevy pickup, twin American flags bookending his sign, his bottles of homemade liquid sweetness magnified the sun’s rays. < Back Falling for New England New Zealand Herald 25 Oct 2023 As the road softly curved under a canopy of maples, rusty reds and golden yellows tumbled to the ground. A solitary man, belt braces strapped over his checked shirt, stood out against the wall of crimson trees. Tailgate down on his Chevy pickup, twin American flags bookending his sign, his bottles of homemade liquid sweetness magnified the sun’s rays. This is how you sell maple syrup in Vermont. Fall, as the Americans call autumn, is a golden season in New England and nowhere more so than the Green Mountain State. Ironically, it is when these mountains lose their colour that the ‘Leaf Peepers’ come out to play. Every year thousands of tourists take to Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts in an effort to catch the most vibrant yellows, burnt bronzes and deep oranges. The trick though, is the timing. ‘Peak Fall’ doesn’t send out a calendar invite in advance, and the degree to which colours change depends on the season before. If the summer is too dry the leaves will change early; too wet and they suffer from fungi and insect attacks. Then, warm sunny days and crisp nights are needed to bring out the bright hues, as the green chlorophyll breaks down and red pigment begins to emerge. Fall’s colour change begins in the higher, cooler areas first and typically runs north to south, so from late September to mid-October people get in their cars and take their chances. Among the destinations: Smugglers Notch, Vermont’s first designated Scenic Highway. At times a narrow sharp-turning lane carved out between boulders and birches, it was here that Mr Maple Syrup was selling his wares. He’d driven 30 miles that morning to find the most picturesque spot on the Notch, but not before his young granddaughters had helped out by ‘testing’ the syrup for sweetness. To the south of his glistening bottles lay one of Vermont’s most quintessential villages, Stowe. A picturesque destination when nearby Mount Mansfield is covered in snow, Stowe is also a beacon for photographers in the fall. Its white church punching through a carpet of colour is the classic New England picture postcard. The trick though, is the timing. ‘Peak Fall’ doesn’t send out a calendar invite in advance As popular as it is pretty, don’t be surprised if you end up sad-faced outside a Stowe restaurant whose earliest availability is next Wednesday, or if you have to queue to enter a boutique store. Thankfully there is more on offer in Stowe like the Annual Pumpkin Chuckin' Festival. Timed for the month of Halloween, the highly competitive event involves three rounds of launching trebuchets to hurl pumpkins as far as possible until they become… squash. Vermont’s Route 100 has long been described as the most scenic road in New England, and even the casual visitor can appreciate its beauty. Quaint red barns stand guard between rolling hills, as the light dapples onto covered bridges. Tourist attractions in their own right, Vermont’s covered bridges are typically made of timber trusses with the majority built in the 1800s for livestock and pedestrians. The reason for the roof? To protect the wooden decking and siding from the harsh elements and rot-inducing rain. Not content with just one covered bridge, the southern Vermont town of Woodstock has three of them. Named ‘The Most Beautiful Town in America’ by Traveller Magazine, and blessed with seriously impressive foliage and charming film-set-worthy buildings, you can see why it’s on many an autumnal itinerary. Woodstock is also a magnet for mountain bikers, turning their head on a swivel, hands hovering over brakes, as they soak in the colours on the outskirts of town. But not everyone welcomes the influx of insta-tourists. In neighbouring Pomfret, Windsor County deputy sheriffs have set up checkpoints after locals voted to keep tourists out, fed up with the damage to the environment, trespassing and trash left behind. Thankfully that behaviour is few and far between and it’s yet to be seen whether the ban will be repeated next fall – or expanded. Across the state line in New Hampshire, things couldn't be more different. The Saco Ranger Station warmly welcomes visitors at the beginning of ‘The Kanc’ - a 34-mile stretch of oaks, aspens and ash trees linking the towns of Conway and Lincoln. Officially named the Kancamagus Highway after Chief Kancamagus who was a leader of a confederacy of native American tribes, The Kanc is the #1 scenic route in all of New Hampshire. The HOGs know it. Harley after Harley roar into the bends, not a helmet to be seen, leather-clad nature lovers living the state motto of ‘Live Free or Die’. At picnic sites they’re joined by Bostonian day trippers and hard core hikers, all appreciating the burst of colour in the White Mountain National Forest. While there is no cellphone coverage in much of The Kanc you can pick up detailed maps at the ranger station for some old-school orientation. The first notable point of interest is the Rocky Gorge Scenic Area where a footbridge leads you past the hornets' nests to a slight hill, revealing shimmering Falls Pond. Six miles on and there’s another reason to pull over: Sabbaday Falls. A short walk from the trailhead takes you to an outstanding waterfall and emerald pool where you can appreciate the fresh scent of crisp leaves drifting down the river. White Mountain National Forest has another Notch on the fall belt - Franconia Notch. Recognised for its scenic vista of Echo Lake surrounded by deep shades of orange and red, the best vantage point is from Artists’ Bluff. Be warned: it’s a steep uneven climb to the rocky outcrop and the track does get busy, but once you reach the top it’s like your phone filter is already set to vivid. Sometimes nature doesn’t play ball. Earlier this year floods hit parts of New England, adding to the woes after a particularly harsh cold snap. While not too detrimental to the changing leaves, this was not the case for other crops. A majority of pumpkin patches were destroyed after being underwater for two days, and the traditional pick-your-own-apples became a ‘next fall’ thing to do. Even the most hardy of corn was affected, with some of the region’s family-friendly corn mazes not opening this season. Thankfully all was not lost, as every restaurant worth its pumpkin still offered its take on New Hampshire’s official state fruit: pumpkin spiced latte, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin chilli, pumpkin fudge and the ubiquitous fresh pumpkin pie. Of course, if pumpkin isn’t your thing and it’s time to take a break from all that stunning scenery, you don’t have to go far to find bacon pancakes drizzled with home-made, driven 30-miles, tested by granddaughters, maple syrup. Details Plan well in advance as accommodation books out early, and try to avoid weekends if you can The best time for viewing is in the mornings before the heavy traffic and after any fog clears Drones generally aren’t allowed over the national parks so check restrictions before you go. Some park stops require a $5 day pass that can be purchased from a ranger station Vermont Tourism: www.vermontvacation.com Stowe, VT, tourism: gostowe.com Visit New Hampshire: www.visitnh.gov Kancamagus Highway: kancamagushighway.com Smugglers Notch State Park: https://vtstateparks.com/smugglers.html Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

In one swift motion the taxi driver heaved my suitcase into the boot. “Do not worry, I am strong!” she laughed, flexing her biceps. Sabrina was my unofficial welcomer to Isola di Procida, a 4km2 speck of land in the Gulf of Naples. < Back Salve Procida Herald on Sunday 1 Aug 2026 In one swift motion the taxi driver heaved my suitcase into the boot. “Do not worry, I am strong!” she laughed, flexing her biceps. Sabrina was my unofficial welcomer to Isola di Procida, a 4km2 speck of land in the Gulf of Naples. The only female tassista on the island, she had taken over the taxi business from her father. “Uh-uh,” she warned jokingly when I reached for my seatbelt, “We are friendly drivers here – no need for that”. Often overshadowed by its flashier neighbours of Capri and Ischia, Procida (pron. PRO-chee-dah) is where Italians come to relax. “You come for holiday? It is very quiet here, no boom-boom-boom like Ischia. You like the quiet, no?” A traditional fishing village since the 17th century Procida is so beautiful that images of it adorn Naples Airport. Named Italy’s Capital of Culture in 2022, the island dotted with beaches and bays has two main towns: Marina Grande, where the ferries arrive from Naples, and the stunning fishing village Marina Corricella, where I was staying. “Salve!” beamed Vincenzo, the welcoming host of Callia Rooms B&B. A Procida local who has travelled extensively, Vincenzo enthusiastically explained what was nearby, where to eat, and what to see. Waiting in my room was a complimentary bottle of prosecco and much appreciated water. A few hours later and keen to explore the island I Whatsapped my new best friend, Sabrina. “Andiamo!” (let’s go) she beckoned, waving me over as she stubbed out a cigarette. Winding through the narrow streets – side mirrors folded in – we started at the highest point on the island, the fortified Terra Murata. The view from the top was jaw dropping; a picture-perfect postcard of Marina Corricella’s kaleidoscope of colour, looking out to the boat-filled bay framed by the Mediterranean Sea. Sabrina nodded with pride, explaining that the pastel-coloured houses were originally painted that way so fishermen could recognise their homes when returning from sea. Passing where the daily fish markets are held at Marina Grande, we drove east to Spiaggia di Pozzo Vecchio, nicknamed Postman’s Beach after the 1994 film Il Postino . Small and pebbled, it is less popular than the nearby black sanded Ciracciello Beach with its choreographed sun umbrellas and overhanging cocktail bars. At the southern end of Ciracciello lies the nature reserve of Isola di Vivara, an island connected by a causeway but with restricted access due to its protected status. Travelling across the island, gated villas and hidden groves began to appear, before the stone roads descended to compact houses once again. “Ciao, ciao!” called out Sabrina to two women chatting across balconies, their washing lightly flapping in the wind. Most Procidani , especially those born here, know each other and there is a palpable sense of community. “When we go to Naples, we are easy to pick out because we have a different dialect.” Following closely behind a couple of Vespas we made our way back to Marina Corricella, where Sabrina dropped me off with a cheery “A rrivederci!” . I made my way down one of the four steep stairways to a restaurant Vincenzo had recommended, Il Pescatore. Before arriving in Italy my food research consisted of watching one episode of Stanley Tucci’s Tucci in Italy , when he visited Procida for its… lemons. Unlike the mouth-puckering citrus we know, limone pane are grander, more bulbous, with the tart flavour replaced by a subtle sweetness. The waiter brought out insalata di limoni procidana (lemon salad) before masterly tossing the chilli flakes into the limon, as if it were a scene from The Talented Mr Ripley. Of course, I had to finish the evening in that most Italian way, pistachio gelato from the waterfront’s Chiaro di Luna . The next morning it was time to see the island from a different perspective. “New Zealand! I was in Auckland three times when I was second engineer for P&O,” announced our boat captain, Christian. With two other passengers on board, we circumnavigated the island over a couple of hours as Christian pointed out the caves, cliff formations and ruins that were only visible from the water. Back on land the sun was punishing. It probably wasn’t the best hour to walk up to Procida’s landmark abbey, Abbazia di San Michele Arcangelo. I was nearly tempted to have a break - “Free limoncello shot if you dance your way to the truck” the sign said. Originally built as a Benedictine Monastery, the 1000-year-old building was deserted by monks in the 15 th century due to constant pirate attacks. Later dedicated to Saint Michael the Archangel, over the centuries it has had ecclesiastical works of art, an intricate wooden box and gold ceiling, and numerous frescoes added to it. By pure coincidence the abbey was playing an even bigger role this evening - the starting point for Catholic Processione del Corpus Domini through the streets of Procida. Luckily for me the procession was to pass by Vincenzo’s Callia Rooms. School children led the way, holding up a banner for world peace, followed by clergy in yellow, red and aqua blue vestments, before the Archbishop of Benevento (who was once a pastor on Procida) came into view, walking under a four-poster canopy. Local dignitaries were next, but it was the Procida musical band, playing amongst the hundreds of faithful that received the loudest applause. As the procession stopped at various waypoints, remarks were celebrated with fireworks, colourful flashes in the night sky, sparks fading back to earth. And then there were the explosions, one after another after another wowing the procession. It turns out the Sabrina was only partly right - Procida does have some boom-boom-boom after all. Tips & tricks Procida is a 40minute SNAV hydrofoil boat trip from Naples The island, while compact, has many steep steps so be prepared and wear good shoes Sundays are still traditional, shops are closed and locals treat it as a day of rest If hiring a scooter or motorbike to travel the island, make sure your insurance covers it Plan ahead: https://www.visitprocida.com/en/ Originally published in Herald on Sunday < Previous Next >

Oh my god, he’s going to do it!” screeched the American teenager to my left. Sure enough with a quick wave to the crowd, a furtive glance downwards and a tuck of the pants, over he leapt. One of Mostar’s bridge-jumpers had just taken the plunge into the icy Neretva River below. I’d just witnessed something that wasn’t possible two decades before. < Back Leap of Faith The Press 12 Feb 2013 Oh my god, he’s going to do it!” screeched the American teenager to my left. Sure enough with a quick wave to the crowd, a furtive glance downwards and a tuck of the pants, over he leapt. One of Mostar’s bridge-jumpers had just taken the plunge into the icy Neretva River below. I’d just witnessed something that wasn’t possible two decades before. In 1992 the Bosnian town of Mostar, until then a peaceful mix of Muslims, Serbs and Croats, self-imploded; a microcosm of all that went wrong in the former Yugoslavia. Neighbours who had fought a common enemy turned on each other. The pointlessness was summed up by one act: the destruction of Stari Most – Mostar’s old bridge which had stood for over 500 years was destroyed by Bosnian Croat shells. I was in BiH (Bosnia & Herzegovina) to see how the country had progressed since the Bosnian War. What I found was a vibrant, friendly culture and people that only respected, but also remembered, the past. “Never Forget ‘93” is painted on a rock. Bombed out buildings house trees where once windows were. Cemeteries have the same year on the headstones. And yet, the country is warily finding its own way in the world and once again attracting visitors. While Mostar itself is a relatively small town it is one of the most visited in the Balkans. Known for its alley of coppersmiths, where the sons and daughters of coppersmiths before them have toiled, the ‘clang clang clang’ nearly drowns out the Europop wafting like the smell of burnt coffee. “I have been here with my brother for 17 years,” said one proud artisan. “We started after we stopped fighting. These are the tools of my father”. Showing me his family symbol on the bottom of a plate, he demonstrated how each tool creates a different indent while explaining that “imported stuff in other stores could never be pretty”. I walked away with a copper bowl, a shiny, hand-crafted, story-infused memory of Bosnia. The memory most of us have of Bosnia of course is the nightly news 20 years ago, dominated by Sarajevo. For nearly four years the city was under siege, surrounded by Bosnian Serbs who wanted it as part of a Greater Serbia. Today in The Hague sit those being tried for war crimes for the shelling and snipers that made Sarajevo unliveable. Zig-zagging across the street for fear of being shot. Queues for water and bread. Every tree cut down for firewood. And football fields converted to graveyards. When the 1993 Ms Sarajevo contestants held up a banner saying “Don’t let them kill us”, they were crying out to the world. When the 1993 Ms Sarajevo contestants held up a banner saying “Don’t let them kill us”, they were crying out to the world. The city had one way in and one way out, a tunnel to the UN-protected airport. We decided to tour it.It wasn’t long before our tour guide was on the verge of tears. She apologised for her emotion and had to stop at the tunnel entrance. “We found out our friends had died because they didn’t come to school. I had many friends… die. It was very sad to be 8 and lose friends”. Her English was broken but not because she didn’t speak fluently. 11,541 civilians were killed in the siege. Today’s Sarajevo is a symbol of resilience, buzzing with tourists-a-plenty. Its pedestrianised areas are filled with chain stores. Old men play chess, young couples kiss passionately and kids cry over spilt gelato. The charm of the old town is still there with restaurants serving up shots of rakia (40% distilled alcohol) and hot plates of cevapi, a moreish grilled lamb dish in open kebab bread. < Previous Next >

On the East Coast of New Zealand lies the township of Tikitiki. Rural and isolated, it is a poster-child for parts of the country that have been left behind. In 2014 Guy Needham returned to where he grew up. The sight of decrepit buildings and desolate spaces motivated him to embark on an ongoing project. Originally a cathartic ode to his childhood called "The Paper Came the Next Day", his deep connection with the town is evident; the images reflecting both physical and emotional isolation. PHOTOJOURNALISM Documentary Tikitiki, New Zealand On the East Coast of New Zealand lies the township of Tikitiki. Rural and isolated, it is a poster-child for parts of the country that have been left behind. In 2014 Guy Needham returned to where he grew up. The sight of decrepit buildings and desolate spaces motivated him to embark on an ongoing project. Originally a cathartic ode to his childhood called "The Paper Came the Next Day", his deep connection with the town is evident; the images reflecting both physical and emotional isolation.

Final Touches, from The Huli of Papua New Guinea series, is making an appearance at Berlin's Jarvis Dooney gallery throughout April. < Back Der Letzte Schliff geht nach Berlin 17 Apr 2019 Final Touches, from The Huli of Papua New Guinea series, is making an appearance at Berlin's Jarvis Dooney gallery throughout April. It is part of the gallery's innovative and interactive Postcard Salon, challenging both expectations of the exhibition space and giving audiences a new way to engage with art and discover new artists. < Previous Next >

Members of Culinary Local 226 blocked traffic on the Strip in front of the Cosmopolitan hotel to protest stalled contract negotiations with management. At least 104 people were cited for obstructing the roadway during the protest, which closed parts of Las Vegas Boulevard for 50 minutes, Las Vegas police said. PHOTOJOURNALISM Protests Las Vegas, United States Members of Culinary Local 226 blocked traffic on the Strip in front of the Cosmopolitan hotel to protest stalled contract negotiations with management. At least 104 people were cited for obstructing the roadway during the protest, which closed parts of Las Vegas Boulevard for 50 minutes, Las Vegas police said.