Marden was ashen, it was obvious that the poison was starting to take effect. I knew what would happen next – the toxins making their way into his bloodstream, then his glands and finally hitting his central nervous system. With a small first aid kit there was nothing I could do. Not that he wanted me to. < Back Peru Navidad Sunday Star-Times 26 Jan 2020 Marden was ashen, it was obvious that the poison was starting to take effect. I knew what would happen next – the toxins making their way into his bloodstream, then his glands and finally hitting his central nervous system. With a small first aid kit there was nothing I could do. Not that he wanted me to. Marden, my Peruvian guide, has just taken kambo , a ritualistic poisoning sourced from the secretions of a spreadeagled giant monkey frog. Moments before, the village apo (chief) Julio had mixed the dried poison on a tamshi stick before applying it to two spots he had burnt into Marden’s shoulder. Kambo is renowned amongst the Matses tribe for giving a man more energy, greater strength and sexual stamina. The only thing rising right now though was Marden’s lunch as he began to violently vomit. Julio, his two wives and seven children looked on. I was deep in the Peruvian Amazon in a sleepy fishing village not far from the Brazilian border. I had come to spend time with the indigenous Matses (pron. ma-sez), who had only made permanent contact with the outside world in 1969. Since then spears and beads had been replaced with iPhones and adidas, but there were still some elders who followed the traditional ways. “ Passe ,” beckoned Julio, inviting me to the back of his house. Stabbed into the thatched roof were several piercing arrows which he used to hunt wild boar. As he drew his bow to demonstrate his hunting prowess, I could see a glint of pride in his eyes. Julio belonged to the last generation to have the mark of the Matses – a geometrical pattern tattooed from ear to ear. Now faded across his weathered face, his father had inked him half a century ago when he was 10 years old. It was the same marking shared by his wives, said to be done so a Matses ‘never gets lost’ amongst others. It was the same marking shared by his wives, said to be done so a Matses ‘never gets lost’ amongst others. Two of his children joined us. Beads criss-crossed their breasts and stripes of face paint represented the blood of their ancestors. One tried to hold her younger brother in place as he fidgeted with a palm headpiece. The Matses are known as the ‘jaguar people’ and older women insert whiskers of thin bamboo shoots into their noses to represent their feline association. A groan came from Marden as he supported himself against a pole. He didn’t look well. Cheers erupted outside. It was Navidad and the first fútbol match of the day was being played on a concrete court (due to the usual pitch being under the rain-swollen Rio Galvez). All the big names were here – Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar – although somewhat shorter in stature. A sharp midfield cross, a lunging header, GOOAALLL! A 7-year old crossed himself and pointed to the sky, frowning when his celebrations were cut short by the village loudspeaker crackling into life. “ Atencion, atencion!” Before the words had even finished the boys started running, shoving and pushing each other towards the community hall, knowing what lay in wait. There they joined the village’s other children, holding out plastic mugs for Christmas cocoa and waiting for a slice of panettone cake that had come all the way from Iquitos. Ahh, humid, wet, noisy Iquitos. The biggest city in the world inaccessible by road was my starting point for the Amazon, or to be precise, a Peruvian Air Force base. Grupo Aero 42 operated the Twin Otter seaplane that was going to get me and another dodgy looking turista into the jungle. There were strict weight limits for the flight so onto the scales with my luggage I went. “ Doce soles por favor senior”. Hmmmm, maybe one too many helpings of rice the night before. Handing over the 12 soles, soon we were onboard, powering forward until our wake on the Rio Morona was no more. Once landed in the provincial capital of Colonia Angamos it was then a 7-hour boat trip to the village which would become my home for a week. Julio helped Marden to his feet as colour returned to his pocked cheeks. We ambled back to where we were staying; there was no need to rush. Weaning dogs snoozed on broken footpaths as chickens lazily got out of the way. The slow creak of swaying hammocks filled darkened doorways and in the distance children laughed and splashed. Our house was typical of the Matses. Built on stilts with the family name painted on the door, the main room was for relaxing and eating. The kitchen area off to the side had an open fire (there was no electricity or running water) and behind us mosquito nets marked out sleeping areas. I climbed into mine, too exhausted to care about the oppressive heat. The slow creak of swaying hammocks filled darkened doorways and in the distance children laughed and splashed. The next day began before dawn as our host Sebastian had offered to take us hunting. Gliding his peka-peka boat over the glassy surface we drifted silently through the parting mist. A family of spider monkeys rustled from tree to tree, disturbing a pair of Blue and Yellow Macaws as they were eying the activity below. Once on land my newly acquired gumboots were proving their $11 worth, testing rotten logs and untangling twisted vines. Sebastian, gun in hand, stopped to point out a recent hoof-print of a majoz – a favourite edible rodent. Squinting at the undergrowth ahead he stealthily moved forward while we held back. Minutes later Sebastian returned and said something softly in Matses. “It was too fast amigo !” laughed Marden with a bounce in his step. At last, the kambo energy was beginning to kick in. Details Where: Village of Buen Peru, Loreta region, Peru Getting there: Fly from Auckland to Lima, Peru via Santiago, Chile, and then on to Iquitos. Take a military seaplane from Iquitos to Colonia Angamos. From there it’s a 7-8 hour motorised canoe trip to the village. Staying there: You’ll be hosted in local houses in the jungle but spoil yourself and check into the Hilton Iquitos on the way back. Eating there: Local food includes fish heads, turtle soup, paca rodents, green bananas and yuca (jungle potatoes). Only drink bottled water though. Currency: 1 Peruvian sol (S./) = $0.45. It is best to take small notes such as 10 and 20 soles and expect to tip your guide and porter at the end of the trip. Travel tips: You are going to get hot and wet so take breathable Gore-Tex and merino. Double the amount of mosquito repellent you were thinking of taking. Original publication: Sunday Star-Times < Previous Next >

The third of Guy Needham's tribal series, The Mentawai of Indonesia, will be shown as part of the Head On Photo Festival in Australia this year. < Back Head on Photo Festival 12 Jan 2018 The third of Guy Needham's tribal series, The Mentawai of Indonesia, will be shown as part of the Head On Photo Festival in Australia this year. The exhibition, to be held at the historic ArtHouse Hotel in Sydney, will feature ten of the original portraits taken in 2017 and be on display from May 5th though to June 8th. < Previous Next >

The runway was approaching and we still didn’t have clearance. We’d reduced speed but the control tower was looming closer. Suddenly we got the green light. “There it is,” pointed Geoff, “Up in the tower”. Sure enough, a green light beamed back at us, permission to continue on the railway that cuts through Gisborne’s airport. < Back Hidden Gisborne New Zealand Herald 9 Aug 2023 The runway was approaching and we still didn’t have clearance. We’d reduced speed but the control tower was looming closer. Suddenly we got the green light. “There it is,” pointed Geoff, “Up in the tower”. Sure enough, a green light beamed back at us, permission to continue on the railway that cuts through Gisborne’s airport. Geoff was a guard aboard Wa165, the only remaining Wa class steam locomotive in the world. As President of the Gisborne City Vintage Railway, over the clack clacks he shared the history of an engine that first ran when Queen Victoria reigned. After years of neglect, it was lovingly restored by rail enthusiasts and now plies its route as one of Gisborne’s hidden treasures. “You’ll want to see this,” Geoff nodded ahead. We started to slow as the Waipaoa River Bridge came into view. Passing over the longest rail bridge in the North Island made for a vintage scene before picking up steam through the fields to Muriwai. Once the train had safely stopped it was the kids’ time – selfies lying in front of the cowcatcher and oohs and ahs as they clambered into the cab under the watchful eye of the driver. John the fireman (in a steam train sense) took me through the stats: half a tonne of coal, 4,000 litres of water, and a whole lot of levers to get the three carriages here and back. As a trainee driver, it was his job to manage the ‘run around’ – when the engine is shifted to the ‘rear’ of the train in order to lead the way home backwards. As we rumbled back to the city and scenic views gave way to urban landscape, the piercing whistle reminded cars that a 200-tonne train was headed their way. At journey’s end Wa165 braked to a stop and 150 beaming faces disembarked. Quite conveniently the railway depot is just a five-minute walk from New Zealand’s oldest independent brewery. The home of Gisborne Gold, Sunshine Brewing is a boutique brewery, pizzeria and off-licence all wrapped into one. Kahu was there to greet me, passionately explaining what it takes to create such locally-inspired drops as Life’s a Peach, Pipeline Pilsner and Stockies, before generously pouring me a tasting flight from a selection of their 20 tap beers. Spilling out onto the patio was a melting pot of jandals and John Bulls, mullets and bangs. Spilling out onto the patio was a melting pot of jandals and John Bulls, mullets and bangs. Piping hot pizzas landed with ice-cold pints as beer-matching is an art here: Rip Tide pizza accompanied by Mahia Pale Ale, slices of Shore Break with the award-winning No Access East Coast hazy IPA. As I left it was obvious that the locals appreciate it too as ‘double dozens’ were carried off to be sipped elsewhere. Tūranganui-a-Kiwa has always had an active arts scene so it was exciting to come across Toi Ake. Located in the Ballance Street Village, its teardrop banner gave little away. Randomly popping in I was welcomed by co-founder Henare Brooking (Ngati Porou, Rongowhakaata), himself a painter, tā moko, pounamu and paraoa (whalebone) artist. “We wanted to create a hub for local artists to work from, a place where they could grow their art”. Now one of the country’s leading Māori art studios, the gallery features work from across the motu. Paintings and prints cover the walls. Carvings look down and sculptures stand proud. While the front of Toi Ake is a gallery, it was out back where the action was taking place. One of the five full-time tā moko artists was carefully applying fresh ink to a client’s ankle; the concentration was evident. On the other side of town, there was a different sort of concentration: wild stingrays. 24 years ago diver and underwater cameraman Dean Savage was befriended by a curious stingray, planting the seed for what is now Dive Tatapouri’s Ecology Reef tour. Today these kaitiaki of the ocean, sacred to the area, feel the vibrations of people from all over the world who have come to interact with them in their natural environment. Thorough safety briefing done (“avoid the barbs”), waders on and pole in hand, we entered the reef at low tide. My partner's trepidation quickly evaporated as Stevie Ray glided up beside her. Graceful, serene, Stevie Ray investigated the line of legs before being joined by eagle rays Aroha and Rachael. Our guide Matt handed out bait. “When you go to feed them take your hand right to the bottom, all the way down – their mouths are under their body.” Aroha came up to my partner’s hand and sucked the food in like a soft vacuum, despite pushy kahawai trying to get in on the action. Matt was encouraging: “Go ahead, gently stroke them if you like.” I nodded affirmatively as if I was a marine biologist. A hand went into the water and the report came back: slimy but cool. Soon it was our turn for lunch and the city’s inner harbour beckoned. Years ago, when I was wearing Nomads at Gisborne Boys’ High, the Kaiti Freezing Works was a major employer in Tairāwhiti. Today the only remaining building is a gable-roofed structure that houses one of Gisborne’s best eateries, The Works. With an industrial-meets-casual vibe that wouldn’t be out of place on Ponsonby Road, the brick restaurant is less ‘hidden’ and more ‘destination’. Like many a hospitality venue over the summer post-COVID, it has been “smashed as”, but you wouldn’t know it judging by what was coming out of the kitchen. Cradled in a halved brioche was my Pork Belly Karaage, a perfectly coated tonkatsu topped with honey soy sauce… which instantly got ‘shared’ with uninvited forks. The Orecchiette Pasta was nearly enough for two: prawns sitting atop lemon pangrattato and thinly sliced zucchini. There was no need for dessert, tempting as it looked. It’s a little-known fact that the National Arboretum of New Zealand is… in Gisborne. To be accurate, the arboreal ark that is Eastwoodhill is a 30min drive away through the Ngatapa valley. Upon arriving I instantly regretted not putting more time aside to see the largest collection of northern hemisphere trees in this part of the world. Autumn sees the 100-year-old gardens come alive, a deciduous cloak of orange fluttering upon a bed of needles and cones. Another little-known fact: it's not only the Giant Panda and Bizarre-nosed Chameleon that make the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species; Eastwoodhill helps protect over 150 threatened or endangered trees on the list. We took the Yellow Walk to see them, zig-zagging through the woodlands before the scent of eucalyptus led us to The Cathedral. Originally an outline of Westminster Abbey planted in Lawson cypress, the enchanting smell comes from the tallest tree in the arboretum. There is something soul-fulfilling in walking amongst giants and my partner couldn’t help but say hello to the trees in their native language: “Konnichi wa” “Ni hao” “Hola” ”Bonjour”. The arboretum isn’t all exotics though; there are plenty of natives for the kids to learn about if you can tear them away from the carved lion. The fading sunlight was our cue to head down the road to our final destination, Gisborne Astro Tours. Pulling up outside a paddock and a large portacabin shed, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Our host, John Drummond (MSc Astronomy, Fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society of New Zealand) strolled out to meet us, extending his hand like we were old friends and inviting us inside. As we took a seat John explained how we were in a perfect position: zero light pollution and the best view of the universe. As he started his interactive 30-minute presentation I realised that this astro-scientist was the epitome of Gizzy: friendly, knowledgeable, enthusiastic and authentic. Nebulae, clusters, supernovae, constellations - it was (excuse the pun) all so clear now. John put up with my inane questions (“Why did Pluto get demoted?”) with the skill of a science teacher and the patience of a saint. Then it was time to see the real thing. Leading us out past wool-shedding Wiltshire sheep, John disappeared through a low door before popping up to roll back the roof of his custom-built observatory, revealing two large Newtonian Reflector telescopes. This is where stargazing guests spend most of their time, marvelling at the celestial worlds before them until reluctantly having to share the eyepiece. As we were leaving John casually mentioned Gisborne Astro Tours’ Introductory Course to Astronomy: six lectures over six weeks focusing on how to use the telescope, astrophotography and solar system viewings. Humble as he was, I think it’s one part of the Gisborne experience that doesn’t deserve to be hidden. Details Getting there: Air New Zealand flies from Auckland and Wellington on a daily basis to Gisborne Gisborne City Vintage Railway: www.gcvr.org.nz Sunshine Brewing: www.sunshinebrewing.co.nz Toi Ake gallery: www.toiake.art The Works: www.theworksgisborne.co.nz Reef Ecology Stingray tour: www.divetatapouri.com Eastwoodhill Arboretum: www.eastwoodhill.org.nz Gisborne Astro Tours: www.gisborneastrotours.com Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

Lokop Mabel of The Dani tribe has won another award, this time the Portrait category in the international Shoot The Frame competition. < Back Lokop Mabel wins Portrait Award 10 Sept 2023 Lokop Mabel of The Dani tribe has won another award, this time the Portrait category in the international Shoot The Frame competition. The image, taken in the Papua Region of Indonesia, will be exhibited at the Indian Photo Festival Exhibition later this year. Lokop Mabel is one of the elders of Anemoigi village where I stayed as part of my ongoing project to document indigenous peoples. < Previous Next >

“Smash it on the head” yelled Geranio, our guide. “Quick!” The freshly caught piranha was flip-flopping in a desperate attempt to get back to water, sharp teeth biting at air as I brought a rotting stick down upon its head. Minewa, a 60-year old local tribesman, added it to his string of dead fish and smiled at me. “Now you are a warrior!’”, laughed Geranio. < Back When Two Worlds Collide Sunday Star-Times 25 Feb 2018 “Smash it on the head” yelled Geranio, our guide. “Quick!” The freshly caught piranha was flip-flopping in a desperate attempt to get back to water, sharp teeth biting at air as I brought a rotting stick down upon its head. Minewa, a 60-year old local tribesman, added it to his string of dead fish and smiled at me. “Now you are a warrior!’”, laughed Geranio. We were fishing in the Amazon Basin on the edge of the world’s most bio-diverse ecosystem. I was there to spend time with the Waorani, one of Ecuador’s indigenous tribes who today number no more than 3,000. Not that any of that mattered to the piranha. Getting to the Amazon had been no easy task. Far from the cobblestones and thin mountain air of colonial Quito, it had taken us two days by boat. I say ‘us’ because I wasn’t the only tourist onboard; sitting ahead of me was a machete-wielding, coca-chewing, bird spotting Dutch sociologist. He had been travelling for three months now and had something of a gaunt Colonel Kurtz of Apocalypse Now look about him. The Cononaco River - one of the feeders to the 1000km Rio Napo - was low as the rains hadn’t come. The upside was that the bird and animal life were a zoologist’s dream. As we skimmed logs and scraped rocks, a Black Vulture screeched in the distance. Overhead a pair of White Throated Toucans flopped from one river bank to the other. Squinting into the Sun we could make out an Amazon Kingfisher, perched on the far branch of an even farther tree. He had been travelling for three months now and had something of a gaunt Colonel Kurtz of Apocalypse Now look about him. “Look”, exclaimed my new Dutch companion. Bringing our eyes back down to earth, he pointed to a strange animal gazing on the river bank – thin long snout, big bushy tail - a cross between a giant raccoon and a stretched pig. With a nonchalant glance the Giant Anteater ambled back into the grass behind it. On we continued. As we approached another curve Geranio abruptly raised his fist. The engine was cut. Off the bow we saw movement, a pale fin cutting through the calm brown waters. Then bubbles – and we watched in awe as a rare Amazon Pink Dolphin surfaced 30metres from us. The largest dolphin of its kind had just made our day. Still on a high by the time we got to our destination, we disembarked through the mud carrying water, camping gear and cooking supplies. I’d prepped myself for meeting the Waorani. Having been with tribes in Africa, Asia and the Pacific, I knew to expect very basic conditions, traditionally dressed people and a limited understanding of the modern world. How wrong I was. I found something even more fascinating – a tribe in transition between two worlds. While the older members were traditionally (un)dressed, the rest of the tribe were in Westernised clothing. While their malookas (huts) were built using no nails, concrete bricks were lined up for construction of new houses. While we had taken two days to get there by boat, there was an airstrip down the middle of the village. And while they hunted using blowguns and poison darts, the Wi-Fi kicked on every night. The dichotomy that intrigued me. Minewa was the personification of the old ways. With his stretched ear lobes dangling under his long hair, naked aside from twine tying up his foreskin, it was he who led us on our first hunting expedition. As we started out he gave me a closer look at his weapons. His blowgun was over 2metres long and perfectly straight, its pre-poisoned darts in a cylinder looped over his shoulder. Just as impressive was his spear, sharpened to a point with slight notches to make it difficult for monkeys to pull out. Following Minewa’s lead we crept as quietly as two non-Amazonians can creep. The deeper into the jungle we got, the more distinctive the loud calls of the Howler Monkeys. Suddenly Minewa took off – spear raised above his head. By the time we caught up to him he was frozen, staring down at a salt lick between a group of trees. Ahead of us were a family of Collared Peccaries (pigs) snorting through the undergrowth. With an almighty throw and not a single word, Minewa launched the spear at the boar. Narrowly missing by inches, the family rapidly grunted off, Minewa in close chase behind. When he returned half an hour later with nothing more than a look of resignation it was time to return to the village. On the way back I asked about the changes he must have seen in this lifetime. The Waorani, I was told, were only ‘discovered’ by Europeans in the 1950s. That is now four generations ago since the average age of childbirth is 16. But it wasn’t until we got to the village that we were shown the biggest impact on their way of life. Standing in front of a map, Geranio drew a circle around the Waorani territory that is officially part of the 10,000km2 Parque National Yusumi. A red line marked the border with Peru, and green shading showed where two ‘uncontacted’ tribes still roam. Most noticeable though were Bloque Petroleum – areas where the Ecuadorian government have allowed oil exploration and drilling despite the national park being a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. Suddenly Minewa took off – spear raised above his head. By the time we caught up to him he was frozen, staring down at a salt lick between a group of trees. It was the oil industry that had brought electricity to the Waorani, levelled the airstrip, introduced the internet and built a covered basketball court, although obviously not everyone agreed with this ‘progress’. As Geranio spoke, the Dutchman and I looked around. It was nature that made the place so special, not the material things that had been brought in from the outside. Despite the accelerated change the tribe was going though, despite the encroachment into their traditional lands, the Waorani simply wanted to protect their environment. A few days later it was time to say our farewells and get back in the motorized canoe for the two day journey home. Minewa had picked up that we were sad to be leaving, but even sadder about what was happening to the tribe. As we got onboard he gave us a big broad smile and said something to Geranio. “It’ll be aright, he wants to let you know. The spirits and Mother Earth will look after them as they always have.” And with that final wave of optimism we headed back up the Cononaco, towards ominous dark clouds covering the jungle canopy, hoping that for a little while longer the Waorani can hold on to their traditional way of life. Details Getting there: Air New Zealand flies direct to Houston with a connecting United flight to Quito. Domestic Avianca flights fly from Quito to El Coca, which is the starting point for any Ecuadorian Amazon adventure Staying there: You can choose to base yourself at one of the river lodges throughout the basin or take a tour staying in tents in the villages. Ask your tour company for options. Exploring there: Your accommodation will determine how you explore the area, but you will go by boat and by foot. Depending on your level of fitness, you can go on jungle walks for the whole day or go birdwatching for an hour Services there: The lodges are fully equipped, and even if you camp at the villages your tour guide is likely to have a chef with him. There are no ATMs or credit card facilities so it is best to take small notes of the Ecuadorian currency with is US Dollars. More Information: www.ecuadorecoadventures.com www.yasuninationalpark.org Original publication: Sunday Star-Times < Previous Next >

Guy Needham has been selected as one of the international jury for the upcoming Chania International Photo Festival. < Back Judging for Crete 15 Apr 2019 Guy Needham has been selected as one of the international jury for the upcoming Chania International Photo Festival. As part of the judging committee he will help select the award winners and highly commended images in the festival that runs in Crete from August 16th until August 24th this year. < Previous Next >

Guy Needham's People of The Balkans solo exhibition opened yesterday at The Photographer's Gallery in Napier. < Back People of the Balkans 14 Apr 2013 Guy Needham's People of The Balkans solo exhibition opened yesterday at The Photographer's Gallery in Napier. The collection documents a two month journey through Albania, Montenegro, Croatia, Bosnia and Slovenia, and the resulting portraits are of a proud people who have gone through much in the last 20 years. < Previous Next >

“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 >

Nashi Boy, as featured in Metro magazine and the Royal Photographic Society's The Decisive Moment, has been selected for a street photography book and exhibition in Italy. < Back Tales of the Unwritten 21 Apr 2021 Nashi Boy, as featured in Metro magazine and the Royal Photographic Society's The Decisive Moment, has been selected for a street photography book and exhibition in Italy. The 'Tales of the Unwritten' exhibition opens on 10th October, at Stelio Crise State Library in Trieste. The image of young Semi popping out amongst the nashis was part of Shades of Otara - a three-year personal project to pay tribute to the workers of the Otara Markets. < Previous Next >

The feature image of the Shades of Otara series is on show this week at the 2018 London Photo Festival. < Back Resting at London Photo Festival 15 May 2018 The feature image of the Shades of Otara series is on show this week at the 2018 London Photo Festival. Part of an international group exhibition on Street Photography, it is on show at St George the Martyr Church until 19 May. The image balances a young man's physical exhaustion with a girl looking on, licking an ice-cream as if it was her reward for his hard work. < Previous Next >

“When the alarm goes you grab this,” Officer Cadet Dusan said as he pointed to my lifejacket. “And this.” An orange survival suit. “We muster on C Deck, starboard side.” I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that my welcome was bringing up Titanic-like thoughts. < Back Off-grid Ocean Journey New Zealand Herald 5 Feb 2015 “When the alarm goes you grab this,” Officer Cadet Dusan said as he pointed to my lifejacket. “And this.” An orange survival suit. “We muster on C Deck, starboard side.” I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that my welcome was bringing up Titanic-like thoughts. I had just boarded the ANL Bindaree, a Liberian-flagged freighter that was slowly pulling out into the Hauraki Gulf laden with 30,000 tones of freight, 24 crew and 1 other passenger. I was following a little-known tradition of passengers on cargo ships, harking back to the days when cabins were set aside for owners and VIPs. Today they’re taken by people looking for a slow alternative to air travel, who are independent, have time to spare, and who – like me – just want to do something a little different. I’d chosen a rather circuitous route as was pointed out by Adrian, the bemused Chief Engineer. “OK, so you’re leaving here to come back here to go nowhere?” “Uh huh,” I replied. From Auckland around Cape Reinga across the Tasman to Melbourne, up the Australian Coast to Sydney and then into the South Pacific to disembark at Tauranga. The journey would take two weeks. “You are very strange,” he chuckled. Adrian was one of the Bindaree’s band of officers from Croatia, Romania, and Montenegro; the crew were all Filipino. As is maritime tradition there was strict segregation between the officers and the crew including socialising, eating and sleeping. This irked my fellow passenger, Naomi, a Canadian environmental educator, who was telling me so when we were interrupted. “Attention all crew. Attention all crew,” boomed the PA system. “Clocks go back one hour tonight. One hour.” That marked us entering international waters and that meant the Slop Chest was open. The Slop Chest (official name: Bonded Store) was a duty free treasure trove of alcohol, treats and cigarettes. You pick what you want from the checklist, hand a slip to the officer, it gets delivered to your door, and you pay in $US before disembarking. I made the landlubber’s mistake of thinking I was paying US$18 for a dozen Becks beer. 24 bottles turned up. No matter, there was more than enough room in my quarters. Officially the “Owner’s cabin”, I had a dayroom (two couches, table, writing desk and chair, fridge, LG mini-system, DVD player and TV) as well as a bedroom plus shower and toilet. My porthole (ticket note: “View may be restricted by containers”) looked all the way to the bow. As the days went by the low rumble of the engines was occasionally punctuated by the creaking of container lashes. I spent as much time as possible on the Bridge. Being allowed in the Wheelhouse is one of the perks of being a passenger on a merchant ship, but it definitely wasn’t what I expected. Sure, I’d done my research – if watching Captain Phillips counts – but I hadn’t reckoned on was how automated it all was. There is no grand wheel any more; this one was the size of a PlayStation racing control. “Surprised huh?” Third Officer Paul called out with a grin on his face. “Everything is automatic now, see”. He pointed to the navigation console. “Of course, we still do things manually. Every two hours we plot our exact position on the charts behind you. Don’t want anything to go wrong,” he said understatedly, still smiling. As Officer on Watch he wasn’t actually steering the ship; he was checking it was on track. Just to humour me though he opened a small hatch on the bulkhead – out popped a Morse code machine. The following day I joined Chief Officer Aleksandar on the outer Bridge – him with cigarette and coffee in hand, me with sunglasses, both of us looking out to the horizon. “People don’t understand,” he said passionately. “We are the life blood of the world economy!” He jokingly jabbed his finger to his forearm. “No planes, no trains, ever carry as much as economically as us. This is why shipping will never die.” I nodded in agreement. We were heading west at a majestic 14 knots. He opened a small hatch on the bulkhead – out popped a Morse code machine. Seven decks below the powerhouse of the ship thundered on. In the engine room nine turbines pumped out 720RPM of raw power. “140°” said the engineer, “That’s how hot these pipes are. Don’t touch them.” I didn’t need to be told twice. As awesome as all that power was it was a relief to be topside again. My favourite place was at the bow with 250m of container ship behind me, the hypnotic sound of the swell and the gentle rocking of a massive ship. The mornings were fresh and tingly; the afternoon’s hot and tan-worthy. It wasn’t until Day 6 that we saw land again – Australia. The mood on the Bridge noticeably changed and focus replaced humour. It was as if the ship had been given a talking to at half time and came out with guns blazing. In Melbourne I saw first-hand the life-blood of the world economy. Every container was positioned on the deck according to its declared weight, need for power, displacement of cargo and final destination. Massive cranes, hoists and lights worked 24 hours to keep the infrastructure pumping. After ‘shore leave’ I was back up the gangway in time for dinner. Meals were at set times (7-8am, Noon-1pm, 5-6pm) and eating in the Officers’ Mess was a chance to get to know the men onboard. On freighters the meals are dependent on how good a cook you have and ours was good. Chef Leonardo and Messman Rodel invited me into the galley to proudly show off their honey-glazed chicken, Thai-inspired beef and ice-cream sundaes. Evenings were spent chilling. There was time to read, watch DVDs, work out in the gym or just stare out to sea. More than once I caught up with the ship’s Master, Danko Grgurevic, a typically friendly Croatian who was usually dressed in shorts, a company t-shirt and tennis shoes. We arrived in Botany Bay under a full moon. By then I’d learnt that you’re not supposed to take your passport off the vessel when entering another country (oops) and you have to sit at your allocated place at the dining table even when you’re the only person there (oops again). But despite all those idiosyncrasies there was one great benefit: being “off the grid”. No cellphone, no Facebook, no hashtags, no selfies. After another five days we arrived in Tauranga. I left the crew with a few magazines and beers, and descended the gangway one last time. It had been a privileged insight into a rarefied ecosystem, one with rules and norms that could be daunting to the uninitiated. Luckily, I had the best hosts I could have asked for. And I was rather pleased that I never had to put on that orange survival suit. Details Journey: Freighter passenger Ports: Available worldwide (author did Auckland-Melbourne-Sydney-Tauranga) Duration: From 1 week to as long as you like Cost: Budget for $190 per day including transport, accommodation, and meals Require: Passport, Medical Certificate, Indemnity Certificate, Deviation Insurance, Travel Insurance, Ticket Contact: Freighter Travel NZ Ltd, 06 8437702, hamish@freightertravel.co.nz Web: www.freightertravel.co.nz Planning Tip Catching a freighter isn’t like catching a Swiss train. You need to be flexible and have the right temperament. There’s no way to guarantee your departure date because there could be strikes, foul weather, technical problems at ports or diversions at sea (ticket note: “approximate departure date”), so don’t cut your holidays too tight. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

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