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< Back Shades of Otara to show at Studio One 14 Nov 2014 Studio One in Ponsonby has confirmed that Shades of Otara - a documentary series three years in the making - will be exhibited from 25 May next year. The monochromatic work is designed to draw on themes of identity and place, balancing quiet moments of contemplation next to entrepreneurialism. < Previous Next >

PROJECTS Nature Global A collection of images off animals in the wild - from the plains of the Serengeti to the falls of Iguacu. Previous Next

< Back Six Tribes donates to Barcelona 23 Apr 2021 Following its inaugural showing at Atelier Güell, a limited number of Six Tribes prints will be on show in Barcelona from April 24 to May 15 at the gallery. The show in the historic Raval area will feature images from Papua New Guinea to Ecuador to Kenya, with proceeds to go to supporting the gallery. < 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 >

< Back Chania International Photography Festival 25 Jun 2018 Two of Guy Needham's images from his Mentawai tribal series will be part of the inaugural Chania International Photography festival in Crete. The two images, Aman Teutagougou and Iman Ipai, were taken in 2017 in the rainforests of Indonesia. They'll be on show from 28 August to 5th September at the Grand Arsenali in the old town of Chania. < Previous Next >

“Seriously man, what are you wearing?” My friend Fernando was jacket shaming me in the Valencia arrivals hall, not-so-subtly pointing out how hot it was. “What is wrong with you?!” With mock indignation I removed my jacket – and then proceeded to sweat profusely anyway. < Back Viva Valencia Sunday Star-Times 29 Nov 2025 “Seriously man, what are you wearing?” My friend Fernando was jacket shaming me in the Valencia arrivals hall, not-so-subtly pointing out how hot it was. “What is wrong with you?!” With mock indignation I removed my jacket – and then proceeded to sweat profusely anyway. It’s been nearly 20 years since 25,000 New Zealanders came through the same arrivals hall, enduring the Valencian humidity during the 2007 Americas Cup. After the cup moved on most Kiwis didn’t hear much about Valencia – that is, until last October’s devastating flood. In a city that has over 300 days of sunshine a year the speed of the rising floodwaters came as a shock, leaving over 230 dead and billions of euros worth of damage. It wasn’t the first time either: in 1957 the Turia River flooded so badly that the Franco government permanently rerouted the river three kilometres away from its original course. The Turia’s old riverbed was the starting point for my exploration. Now a sunken verdant park in the centre of the city, the 9km long Jardín del Turia is full of trees, running tracks, fountains, a football pitch and – most impressively – an oversized climbing structure that when viewed from above is a giant Gulliver pinned to the ground, sword and hat beside him, with Lilliputians (actually, humans) climbing all over him. Jardín del Turia is not only a living breathing artery, it’s also a direct path to Valencia’s top attraction: Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències (City of Arts and Sciences). Designed by Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava the stunning futuristic complex is considered one of the 12 Treasures of Spain, up there with La Sagrada Família and the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao. Fernando looked at me looking in awe as we walked through the whale-like spine of the interactive Museu de les Ciències, while behind us stood L'Oceanogràfic, the largest aquarium in Europe. The star of the complex is without a doubt the spectacular L'Hemisfèric – a building ‘made whole’ as a huge human eye when reflected in its surrounding pond. I half expected to see Westworld’s Charlotte Hale step out of the Delos headquarters (IYKYK). My modernist bucket filled, we made our way back to the Juliet balconies and ornate doors of the old town, Ciutat Vella. In medieval times it was surrounded by the Muralla Cristiana (the Christian Wall) and only two of the original 14th century gates still stand, one being Torres de Serranos. Initially built to defend Valencia from siege, over the years it has been a prison for knights and nobles, hosted official ceremonies for Kings, and even protected artworks during the Spanish Civil War. I paid the princely sum of €2 and climbed to the parapets for a panoramic view of the Valencia’s Gothic, Romanesque and Neoclassical architecture. The old town’s one-way streets below were extremely walkable if somewhat deceptive. “If it’s big enough for a car, expect a car,” advised my friend Sarah, as we shared what looked like wide footpaths with e-scooters, Segways, and electric Peugeots. “Look, see that?” she said, pointing to a manhole cover. “There, above the crown…”. The shape of a bat, wings spread, sat atop Valencia’s coat of arms, stamped into the cast iron cover. Legend has it that in 1238 a noisy bat awoke King Juame 1, warning him of a surprise enemy attack and giving him time to defeat the Moorish invaders. Despite the interesting history lesson it was the odour emanating from below that caught my attention. My hosts, both in olfactory denial, had obviously got used to Valencia’s sewerage smell long ago, but ‘Spain drain’ is real and the city’s antiquated pipes are particularly pungent during humid weather. Not that it was putting off any tourists; the clacking of suitcases across cobblestones only stopped when visitors paused to admire the street art in front of them. An urban canvas of walls, shutters and roller doors, Valencia’s El Carmen neighbourhood is an eclectic mix of graffiti by taggers such as Deih, Hyuro and Xelon. David de Limón’s masked ninja peaks out from behind lamp posts, while Disneylexya’s large scale Latin-American illustrations cover entire walls. Urban art is such an integral part of the city that the contemporary gallery Centre del Carme is holding an exhibition on its origins. Art has long been part of Valencia and nowhere more so than Iglesia de San Nicolás de Bari y San Pedro Mártir de Valencia, or San Nicolás for short. Having pre-purchased tickets to this 750-year-old church we didn’t have to wait long before picking up our audio guides. And then we looked up. Nicknamed the ‘Sistine Chapel of Valencia’, San Nicolás’ ribbed-vault ceiling is simply magnificent. Painted in Baroque frescoes that stretch all the way from the altar to the baptismal font, depictions of archangels, saints, apostles, and cherubs look down upon the headphone-wearing visitors below. Like many a historic site San Nicolás is using 21 st technology to introduce a new generation to its attractions. We stayed for La Luz de San Nicolás, an immersive video show that transforms the Gothic architecture with beams of light, projects heavenly flowers across the frescoes, and fills the nave with divine ethereal music. Impressive as it was, Fernando wasn’t sure that the already beautiful church needed it. Three short blocks away was a more traditional slice of Valencia, the Mercat Central. Like Barcelona, Valencia has its own language – Valencian – and here a market is not a ‘mercado’ but a ‘mercat’ and there is none bigger than the Mercat Central. Pescaderos (fish mongers), fruiters (green grocers), and pastissers (sweet sellers) all have their sections but it is the charcutiers who are the busiest. Under hanging legs of jamón ibérico, Jose Vicente was handing over prime cuts accompanied by local cheeses, catering to customers ducking in during the siesta. Ahhh the siesta. Valencia still honours the afternoon rest period although not for sleeping these days, with the majority of small-to-mid-size shops closing between 2-5pm then reopening until 8pm. Even the shops that don’t have split shifts remain open late, before the al fresco restaurants start filling up quickly for dinner. As you’d expect for the birthplace of paella, food holds a special place here – Valencians eat five times a day – so it was only right that we went to one of Fernando’s favourite eateries, Kiosko La Pérgola. Perched up on barstools we ordered two large bocadillos, half and half sandwiches of beef tenderloin, ham, cheese, tomato, bacon and salsa verde, which were promptly cut in half again giving us eight minis. Eating over the hum of the kitchen, we watched servers enthusiastically leaning out to talk to locals and visitors alike. Unlike other Spanish destinations, visitors are welcome here (side eye emoji to Barcelona), and although Valencia is the country’s third biggest city at no stage did it feel overcrowded with tourists. Even the Line 3 metro back to the Aeroporto was busy but not packed with travellers. In the departures hall I hugged my tour guide farewell, thanking him for showing me the best of Valencia. It was time to put on my jacket again. Original publication: The Post < Previous Next >

Before you pull out the atlas, a word of warning: Patagonia isn’t officially a 'place' as such. Rather it’s the name given to an area spanning southern Argentina and Chile, and everything you have heard about it – barren, windswept, sparse and beautiful – is true. < Back Spires of Patagonia The Press 13 May 2011 Before you pull out the atlas, a word of warning: Patagonia isn’t officially a 'place' as such. Rather it’s the name given to an area spanning southern Argentina and Chile, and everything you have heard about it – barren, windswept, sparse and beautiful – is true. Patagonia is also exceptionally remote, with the remotest of the remote being the small frontier town of El Chalten. A far cry from the wide avenues of Buenos Aires, El Chalten was only established 30 years ago as a base for those seeking out the jagged spires. Complete with roaming dogs, micro-brewery and no ATMs, this was to be the starting point for our Patagonian adventure. To be honest, I didn’t have any great expectations on the glaciers, mountains and lakes nearby; I just assumed they would be similar to our Franz Joseph, Cook and Hawea. How spectacularly wrong I was… Our very first excursion brought home that this was no ordinary part of the world. The majestic Perito Moreno Glacier, a blue-iced mammoth more than 6 stories high and 3kms wide is one of the few advancing glaciers left in the world. It is also one of the most spectacular. We stood on our boat awestruck as it cracked and creaked, piercing the quiet before ice broke off to thunder down into the waters below. Later there were even more opportunities to “ooh” and “ahh” from the myriad of walkway lookouts designed to show off nature’s splendour. While that day was relatively easy the next few would be a little more challenging. Patagonia is a climbers and hikers mecca, and for us this was going to be an active holiday. Eight to nine hours a day walking up to 25kms meant it did help to have a moderate level of fitness. Our first real trek was to see the fabled Cerro Fitz Roy, a mountain that the native Tehuelche thought was an active volcano due to the cloud constantly around it. Located in Argentina’s Parque National Los Glaciares, Fitz Roy is a photographer’s dream that is perhaps only eclipsed by two stunning lakes – the emerald green Laguna Sucia and the reflective blue Laguna de Los Tres. As we stretched back to take in the view, suddenly our feet didn’t seem so sore any more. The next day it was time for a close up look at the quintessential Patagonian peak, Cerro Torre. It was hard to believe that yesterday’s vista could be surpassed, yet three hours later we were standing in front of a glacial lake which had icebergs floating to shore. It was all simply a little too surreal. Our guide explained that we were extremely privileged to have seen the mountain at all. Patagonia is quite rightly known for its changeable weather and more than once did we have to pull out our Gore-Tex jackets before stuffing them back into our packs just as quickly. Chilean Patagonia is a slightly different beast from its Argentinian cousin, with grassy pampas, gushing waterfalls, craggy rocks, pebble lake beaches and of course, mandatory glaciers. At 51° South is the massive Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve that forms part of the 16,000 square kilometre Southern Patagonian Ice Field. It is about as close to the end of the Earth as you can get. The star of the show is the immense Torres del Paine, a trio of pure granite towers standing over 2800metres tall that dominate this former sheep estancia. Home to two famous walks – the W (of which we took a whole day just to do one of its sides) and the full Circuit – Torres del Paine (pronounced pie-nay) is high on the ‘must do’ list for any serious hiker. It’s well equipped with refugios along the trial which are a welcome respite from battling the 90kmh winds that suddenly change your plans for the day. Just as spectacular as the scenery is the park’s wildlife. We were fortunate enough to spot a group of Andean Condor rising, rising, rising up through the valley floor only to circle above what remained of a puma’s kill. The carnivorous condor has the largest wingspan of any bird in the world, 3 metres, and with its 3km eyesight (yes, that’s 3 kilometres) and endangered species status it is one vulture not to be messed with. Its prey in this case was a young chulengo, the offspring of the llama-like Guanacos who roam freely across the national park. Protected from mankind, the greatest threat to male guanacos are other male guanacos who protect their territory by chasing them to bite their testicles. The star of the show is the immense Torres del Paine, a trio of pure granite towers standing over 2800metres tall Less brutal are the red and grey foxes – small, fast, solitary creatures living in the steppe. Feeding on lizards and rodents, it’s not often you’ll see one in the wild long enough for it to stay still in one place. The bird life was also vastly different. Stopping to fill our water bottles in one of the many glacial streams along the way, the tap-tapity-tap of a native woodpecker earning his lunch brought smiles all round. Even the humble owl – in this case the Pygmie Owl – was no stranger to hunting. We awoke one morning to find one proudly clawing what looked like a decapitated mouse, before he fluttered off to share his breakfast. Having a good base is vital for this part of the world, and for us it was a campsite in the shadow of the Towers of Paine. While the site was basic we got to experience both the local culture and food. Sipping mate through a metal straw from a gourd was a highlight, but nothing compared to the whole lamb slowly barbequed on a metal stake for an entire day. If you’re a vegetarian sometimes it’s a little tough in South America. It wasn’t all bad though – not far from our site was a concession to home comforts in the form of a proper bar and restaurant where they served up lovingly warm Chilean reds to those of us weary from another day. Staggering back at night we took a moment to turn off our headlamps and look up. Layers of stars were stacked one above another; a sky so clear and pure that it was a pity to bid it adios and reluctantly make our way back to civilisation the next day. < Previous Next >

“In the olden days,” began Apinelu, a tone of longing in his voice, “it was never this hot. Never. Now everything has changed, not just the sea.” It was a very still 33° and my earlobes were sweating. Welcome to the small island nation of Tuvalu. < Back Where the Ocean meets the Sky New Zealand Herald 2 May 2017 “In the olden days,” began Apinelu, a tone of longing in his voice, “it was never this hot. Never. Now everything has changed, not just the sea.” It was a very still 33° and my earlobes were sweating. Welcome to the small island nation of Tuvalu. “Tomorrow I take you out to the islands, less crowded, more local,” he chuckled. We were driving around Funafuti, the densely populated capital and I’m pretty sure I was the only tourist here. To answer your ‘where?’ question, Tuvalu is 1000km north of Fiji, an archipelago made up of six coral atolls and three islands nestled under the Equator. It used to be one half of the Gilbert & Ellice Islands before it became independent from Britain and dropped the Ellice name. These days it’s better known for being the poster child of climate change. It’s fair to say that Tuvalu is unlike any other islands you’re likely to visit: small, isolated, beautiful, sleepy and sinking. I was here to explore the country and see what it was like on the frontline of global warming. Arriving in Tuvalu is an experience in itself. After two and a half hours flying over the Pacific the wheels are down but there ain’t no land. Out of nowhere appears a thin airstrip – lagoon on one side, sea on the other – and the passengers let out a collective breath. It seems all of Funafuti is here to welcome us: kids waving, locals on motorbikes, and officialdom waiting in front of the world’s smallest airport building of Immigration, Customs, Quarantine and Baggage Claim all rolled into one. The exit door leads to a slower pace of life. Even the wind seems laid back here, as heavily-burdened motorbikes putt along at 20kph, hammocks in pandanas trees get a solid work-out, and schoolchildren kick rocks along the road. Apilenu had to laugh, “No need to rush, eh,” his arm resting out the window as we meander up the main island, Fongafale. Tuvalu isn’t really set up for tourism but there is one must-see: the Funafuti Marine Conservation Area. Unfortunately Apilenu had injured himself so it was up to his neighbour, Villi, and my new friend Kato from Tuvalu Overview (a climate change NGO) to take me into the lagoon. Tuvalu is unlike any other islands you’re likely to visit: small, isolated, beautiful, sleepy and sinking. “See that island over there,” yelled Villi over the outboard motor, “that is where our families go for picnics.” It was seriously, ridiculously beautiful. The whole lagoon was. Motu after motu (island) of swaying palms on white sand beaches, stark against the puffy white clouds and azure sky. “But this one we’re coming up to, not so good…”. Tepukasa Vilivili was nothing more than sand on coral after its vegetation had been washed away over the last 20 years. It was a sobering reminder of the challenges facing Tuvalu: rising sea levels, coastal erosion, king tides, increasing tropical cyclones and drought. We boated on to Funafala, an islet inhabited by 5 families and a church. Kato knew some of the locals from his work planting mangroves there to stop the erosion. Greetings were exchanged but no one got off their sleeping mats – it was too damn hot. On we went and eventually Villi dropped me back at the main beach just in time for a sundowner at Vaiaku Lagi Hotel, the only one in town. The hotel has a pleasant outlook to the horizon that is only broken by foreign fishing vessels. Commercial fishing rights are one of Tuvalu’s main revenue sources; the other being the “.tv” internet domain name which the Government sub-licences for millions. By the next day I‘d learnt my lesson and started exploring before the harsh sun hit. “Hi palangi!” the kids yelled out; the adults were more circumspect and simply noded and raised their eyebrows in a cool Pacifika way. I knew I was taking a chance walking around when thunderstorms were predicted and soon enough the weather turned. The rain was intense. “Hey you, come here.” A man was hurriedly waving me towards his house, cigarette in hand. “That’s better,” Suauili said, with a big beaming smile. “We need this rain eh, but it won’t last.” It didn’t. “You know in Kiribati they have water from under the ground, but not here. Too salty now.” He lit another cigarette as his nephew played with my camera. We chatted about New Zealand. “You know the ‘borrow pits’?” he asked, referring to the huge ground holes that had been left when construction materials had been taken, and which had subsequently turned into cesspits of garbage. “New Zealand filled those in. Didn’t have to but they did. And they filled over the dump too. You have a good Government.” The rain cleared and it was time to head back. As the sun lazily went down, my ears pricked up. Singing! Not just any singing but Tuvaluan hymms, men and women alternating with highs and lows, harmonies escaping through the open slat windows of the nearby church. The men were sitting crosslegged dressed in their Sunday best, while the women fanned themselves and tried vainly to keep the children still. Greetings were exchanged but no one got off their sleeping mats – it was too damn hot. Religion plays an important role in Tuvaluan life with 98% of the population being Protestant. Many have faith that God will never let their islands disappear. It says something for their positive nature that despite being able to run off the names of cyclones like old friends – Bebe, Ula, Pam, Winston– they are absolutely committed to staying in Tuvalu and no one wants to leave. When it came to me leaving though, I didn’t have to go far. My lodge was next to the maneapa (meeting house) that was next to the terminal. But before the plane landed the fire truck sounded its siren, a signal for everyone to clear the runway. Yes, when not in use by the two flights a week the runway becomes a racing strip, volleyball court and dog park plus a road cuts through the middle of it. A cursory security glance in my luggage, a check of my name off a list and I’m allowed to return to the lodge. “Wouldn’t happen at Heathrow," observed a fellow passenger. But neither would the customs officer handing me back my passport with, “Oh, you sunburnt!” Despite my peeling forehead, Tuvalu really was a surprising pleasure. If you’re after the cocktails of Denarau or Gallic treats of Noumea then Tuvalu isn’t for you. There are no credit card facilities, no resorts, no duty free stores and no all-inclusive excursions. What you do is up to you and who you make contact with. As Apinelu would say, this is what the Pacific used to be like, “in the olden days.” Details Requirements: New Zealanders do not need a Visa but do need 6 months validity on their passport. Getting there: Via Fiji. Fiji Airways flies from Suva to Funafuti 2-3 times per week depending on the season. Check with your travel agent. Weather: Temperatures vary between 28° - 32° every day of the year. Try to avoid the Western Pacific Monsoon Season between December and March. Currency: Australian Dollars are the offical currency of Tuvalu and there are no credit card facilites in the country. Be prepared with cash. See: Funafuti Marine Conservation Area requires a AUS$50 permit and the boat ride will cost you AUS$200. Stay: The government-owned Vaiaku Lagi Hotel or the family-run Filamona Lodge next to the airport www.filamona.com Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

“38!!” laughed Alison, when I asked her the population of Ngawi, the small fishing village we’d just set out from. We were aboard the fishing vessel Elan skippered by her husband Andrew, who had generously agreed to take me for ‘a spin around the point’. < Back Palliser and Pinnacles New Zealand Herald 22 Mar 2022 “38!!” laughed Alison, when I asked her the population of Ngawi, the small fishing village we’d just set out from. We were aboard the fishing vessel Elan skippered by her husband Andrew, who had generously agreed to take me for ‘a spin around the point’. ‘The point’ was Cape Palliser, the southernmost tip of the North Island, which at 41°37’ South is further down the map than Blenheim and Nelson. Just an hour and a half from Wellington, I’d decided to make the most of a weekend of cancelled concerts (thanks Covid) and explore Southern Wairarapa. Ngawi, the nearest township to Cape Palliser, is known for two things: crayfish and bulldozers. Not natural bedfellows you may think, but the steep incline down to the ocean has led to innovation. Bulldozers line up on the shingle beach with custom-built trailers carrying their boats which are then reversed into the sea. Andrew is one of Ngawi’s eight commercial fisherman, catching crays for live export while keeping the fishery sustainable. As the boat rounded the cape and we watched Fluttering Shearwaters feeding on a school of kahawai, Andrew turned and pointed, “There!” A pod of playful dolphins cut across our bow on their own little mission to the bay. Beyond their splashes lay the misty headlands, sea spray drizzling the glistening hills under the morning Sun. The Caterpillar high track was waiting for us when we came in. It took skill to steer a fishing vessel straight into the middle of a semi-submerged trailer, but Andrew did it without a second glance. After saying our farewells we wandered off; New Zealand’s only red and white striped lighthouse beckoned us. Ngawi, the nearest township to Cape Palliser, is known for two things: crayfish and bulldozers. First lit in 1897 the Cape Palliser Lighthouse today is unmanned and automated, standing sentry over a foreshore that has claimed scores of ships and dozens of lives. “Right, let’s do this”, said my partner as I eyed up the Led Zeppelin-esque stairway. 7 minutes and 250-odd steps later we were next to the giant cast iron lamp. Its double white flash started beaming not long before we were treated to an ethereal light show as the most fiery of sunsets painted the Kaikouras pink. The following day we were off to visit another landmark, the Putangirua Pinnacles. Thousands of years old, Lord of the Rings fans will recognise them as the backdrop for the Dimholt Road. While they’re not ‘You Shall Not Pass’ territory, you will need a decent pair of shoes to do the 1½ hour walk across an irregularly marked trail of loose rocks, shingle, riverbed and scrub. Standing in the gorge of these badlands (an actual geological name) it’s hard not to be mesmerised by the light clay hoodoos (another actual geological name) throwing long shadows down the valley. The Pinnacles are popular with day trippers and campers alike; in fact, the whole of Palliser Bay is dotted with campervans, converted buses, house trailers and tents. ‘Those who know’ make the most of the freedom camping, surf casting and left hand point break. The ability to just pitch up is ideal for an overnight stay, especially since it’s not easy to find accommodation for a single night as most places require a two night minimum. Many of those campers had followed the same journey we had: leaving Wellington on State Highway 2, crossing the Remutaka Range, before sliding into Featherston. Often ignored on the way to bigger towns, it’s worth stopping in Featherston for C’est Cheese alone - an award-winning cheesemonger (with their own brewery!) who have such treats as Blue Monkey and Chilli Cheddar. Through the window you can see cheeses being made, and samples are there for the tasting. For me though the highlight was the shop next door, a collection of “oddities & delights, art & bibelots” housed in the quirky Mr Feather’s Den. Featuring everything from local crafts to mid-century furniture to taxidermy, it was the surprise find of the weekend. Onward to Pirinoa (and the last petrol pumps before Cape Palliser), we came across an Aladdin’s Cave in the form of The Land Girl which opens up to be a fully-fledged clothing, upholstery and gift store. To find that they do good coffees in this former blacksmith’s shop was a godsend. Don’t tell anyone, but the freshly toasted pulled beef sandwich is by far the best I have tasted in a long time. Once you hit the rugged coastline the scenery is so spectacular that it’s hard to keep your eyes on the road – but believe me, you need to. Beyond the curved one-land bridges, river fords, cliff hugging lanes and road cones separating you from the sea, lies a ‘sealed’ road of a different kind. Cape Palliser is home to New Zealand’s largest fur seal colony and they’re not afraid to wander into your path. The best place to see them in their natural habitat is Matakitaki-a-kupe Reserve, sharing the Māori name for Cape Palliser meaning “The gazing place of Kupe”. Now it was shiny, wet, googly eyes that were gazing – seal pups only a few months old taking a break from a wave swept rock pond. Now it was shiny, wet, googly eyes that were gazing – seal pups only a few months old Conscious of not wanting to get between the sucklings and their protective mothers we didn’t venture too close, but sure enough, the inquisitive ones bounced and flipped towards us. Too cute to look away from, we spent a good couple of hours watching the seals roll, flop, hide and bark, honk and grunt the afternoon away. It was getting late and time to head back to Ngawi where we had a hankering for some of the local cuisine. It was hard to go past Captain’s Table, Ngawi’s original food caravan. “What’s good” I asked the kid serving, whose head barely reached over the top of the counter. “Fish ‘n’ Chips!” came a slightly familiar voice. Alison beamed out from behind the fryer – it was only fitting that we ended the day with one of the 38 locals. Details Getting there: Self-drive from Wellington 1.5 hour See: Cape Palliser lighthouse, fur seal colony, Ngawi, Putangirua Pinnacles Eat: Captain’s Table, The Land Girl Stay: Freedom camping, local Air B’n’B, Lake Ferry Hotel Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

< Back Digital Photo Magazine's photo of the Day 4 May 2017 One of the images in the upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia, has featured in the US magazine Digital Photo as their Photo of the Day. The image of Aman Ipai smoking was taken in his longhouse (uma) doorway using natural light against a dark interior backdrop. < Previous Next >

< Back NZ Camera 2023 10 Nov 2023 Lokop Mabel, one of the elders of the Dani tribe in Papua's Anemoigi village, features in NZ Camera 2023. The intimate, relaxed portrait of him has been selected for New Zealand Camera 2023 - a collection of outstanding photographic images from all genres . The hard cover, full colour coffee table book is the Photographic Society of New Zealand's flagship publication and you can purchase a copy here . < Previous Next >

We clap our hands for many things, but until this year I’d never actually applauded the sun going down – that is, until I was at Ipanema. < Back Brazil Rediscovered Que Magazine 26 Apr 2011 We clap our hands for many things, but until this year I’d never actually applauded the sun going down – that is, until I was at Ipanema. In homage to a certain tall and tan and young and lovely girl, I was at this iconic beach to see the Procession of Lemanja, an African-Brazilian religious pilgrimage to honour the god of the sea. Often dwarfed by Rio de Janeiro’s New Year celebrations, the festivities involve women clothed in white, throwing flowers into the incoming tide as they try to avoid the crashing waves. As more and more locals and tourists gathered on the cliffs above to watch, we lifted our heads to take in the last rays of sunlight. When the big orange ball finally disappeared below the horizon, spontaneous applause broke out and you just couldn’t help joining in. It was, after all, a dazzling display in the world’s sexiest city. While Ipanema’s golden sands are the playgrounds of the rich, beautiful and occasionally sunburnt, locals prefer its more famous neighbour. Amongst the bikini-clad bodies on Copacabana, are kids from the favellas, who just want to play in the waves like you and I used to do. Brazil is massive – bigger than mainland United States – so for this trip I’d limited myself to Rio de Janeiro, Iguassu and Sao Paulo: the fifth largest metropolis in the world with a teeming 20,000,000 people.Away from Rio’s ubiquitous hotel towers are its less visited old suburbs, including Santa Teresa, best explored by taking the creaking bonde tram. As we rattled through the cobblestone streets, the beats of 1960s bossa nova echoed out beyond the grilled windows, the rhythm of samba tempting us to sway. But something else beckoned more strongly – the all-encompassing arms of Cristo Redentor. In a country that has the largest Roman Catholic population in the world, this iconic statue is more than just a tourist attraction. Built in the 1920s, on the top of the Corcovado Mountain, the monument towers 700 metres above the city and offers breathtaking panoramas. A word of advice: the best views are early in the morning, before the mist and clouds roll in. It was mist of a different sort that we encountered at Iguassu Falls. Taking a jungle boat to the edge of Garganta do Diablo, ‘The Devil’s Throat’, we were swallowed up by a thunderous spray that soaked us to the skin. The rapid thrill of the wash gave way to the click of cameras as we neared the plummeting 200 foot falls. It’s worth dedicating time to see the 270 odd falls from both the Brazilian and Argentinian sides. Surprisingly, it wasn’t just the almighty falls that were a highlight; the animals that call Iguassu home were simply stunning. Never before had I seen so many beautiful butterflies resting on a shallow pond; nor seen a bird look at me quizzically, as if to ask “what do you want?”; or a family of raccoon-like coati casually wandering down the main track. After a sweltering day of 35 degree heat and 100% humidity it was time to return to town for a cooling caipirinha, the national cocktail of Brazil. Although Rio is the best known and Brasilia is the capital, it is the powerhouse city of Sao Paulo that makes the Brazil go round. ‘Sampa’ (as the locals call it) is like a city on steroids. With five times the population of New Zealand, it also has over 5,000 high-rise buildings, is the 10th richest city in the world and has the largest fleet of helicopters on the planet. I was even invited into the cockpit of one for sale on the 6th floor of a shopping mall. My companion wanted to get away from the concrete jungle so first stop was Ibirapuera Park. Walking around the lakes you’d have little idea that across the way was one of the biggest cities in the world. The locals obviously love it, judging by the amount of cycling, rollerblading and skateboarding going on. The stylised street art on the walls of the Museum of Modern Art adds a real sense of fun to the park. 'Sampa’ is like a city on steroids. With five times the population of New Zealand, it also has the largest fleet of helicopters on the planet. It was a little late when we decided to visit the bohemian suburb of Vila Madalena. As we got out of the car, once again, the sound of music caught our attention. This time we decided to follow the sound. We stumbled across the back alley where the music was coming from – a samba school practising for Carnival! It only cost a few reais to enter and suddenly we found ourselves literally swept up in the madness of drums, dancing, flags and whoop-whooping. The beats went on and on, with everyone joining in, until it was one huge, carefree moving mass of hands in the air. When the samba finally finished and we got our breath back, it was time to eat al fresco. Within minutes we had two waiters fussing over a hotplate placed on our table. We were to have churrasco beef, cooked in front of us, washed down with a couple of cervejas. It looked and smelt good. Thinking back now, that dish on a warm summer night was a metaphor for Brazil - massive, tasty, colourful and slightly unexpected. The perfect way to end a trip to South America. Top 5 not-so-known Brazilian activities Eat: For something different try dinner-by-the-kilo at Ipanema. Fresh vegetables, salads and cut meats to put on your plate before taking them up to scales to weigh and pay Exercise: Hire a bike and pedal the 7ks around Rio de Janeiro’s Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas. When you want a break buy one of the coconuts with straws in them and sip the cool milk (they actually call it water, not milk, but that’s OK. Maybe “milky” water is better - it’s not like Fijian coconuts) Leave: Grab a taxi and cross the border to spend a day on the Argentinian side of Iguassu Falls. Don’t forget your passport and you’ll need Pesos before you cross. Ask for Jair of Sindtaxi Visit: Although the outskirts of Rio are being cleaned up, you can still go on an organised tour in the safer parts of the city. Like anywhere, be aware of your surroundings Shop: If you’re in the market for a new 55ft cruiser or 6-seater helicopter, try Toys & Tools in Sao Paulo. For a measly few million, you too could be hovering over the city. < Previous Next >