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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 >

< Back PhotoKina Germany 14 Jul 2018 Final Touches, the lead image of Guy Needham's The Huli of Papua New Guinea series, will be on show at PhotoKina in Cologne, Germany this September. It will be part of the international Atlas of Humanity exhibition, a multi-artist project dedicated to highlighting the ethnic and cultural populations that inhabit our planet to share their traditions, customs and origins. < Previous Next >

< Back Colour Nature opens 14 Jul 2014 Guy Needham's next exhibition, Colour // Nature will be hosted by Auckland's Grand Rendezvous Hotel. Colour // Nature is a play on man's need to categorise, numerise and systemise what is naturally found on this planet. This is an exhibition of digitised beauty - scenic landscapes and close up flora are given references rather than titles. < Previous Next >

< Back Goroka selected for UK Portrait Salon 21 Oct 2015 The UK Portrait Salon has accepted ‘Goroka’ by Guy Needham, into the 2015 exhibition to be held in London in November. The photo of a young boy preparing for a traditional ceremony, taken in the Southern Highlands of Papua New Guinea, will join others on the wall of The Embassy Tea Gallery from November 19th as a part of a salon style exhibition. < Previous Next >

< Back The Hadzabe opens in Auckland 29 May 2019 The sixth instalment of Guy Needham's tribal series opened in Auckland last night to a packed Grey gallery. You've still got time to see The Hadzabe of Tanzania, on show until June 8, and if you'd like to find out more about this fascinating tribe come along to the Q&A session this Saturday at Noon at 37 Scanlan St, Grey Lynn. < Previous Next >

< Back The Mentawai opens in Sydney 8 May 2018 The third of Guy Needham's tribal series, The Mentawai of Indonesia, is now on show in Sydney as part of Australia's Head On Photo Festival. The exhibition in the historic ArtHouse Hotel's Grafitti Bar, features ten of the original portraits taken in 2017 and will be on display though to June 8th. < Previous Next >

< 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 >

No one knows exactly where they originally came from, not even their chief. The first indigenous inhabitants of the Onconcua region in southwestern Angola, the semi-nomadic Vatwa are one of the few tribes that imitate the dress of another, the Himba. TRIBES The Vatwa Oncocua, Angola No one knows exactly where they originally came from, not even their chief. The first indigenous inhabitants of the Onconcua region in southwestern Angola, the semi-nomadic Vatwa are one of the few tribes that imitate the dress of another, the Himba. < 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 >

< Back Shoot The Frame book out now 30 May 2019 Two of Guy Needham's portraits - Aman Teutagougou and Hadzabe Smoker - grace the pages of the latest Shoot The Frame photobook. They are just two of the 360 photographs from photographers around the globe that were winners or finalists of the 2018 Shoot The Frame International Photography Awards. The book is now available for purchase from Blurb . < Previous Next >

Platform 3, Beijing Railway Station. And there she was - the fabled Trans-Siberian, ready to take me on the longest train journey in the world. A surreal three countries, five time zones and 8300km of steppe, snow and stations lay ahead... but first of all there was Beijing. < Back The Greatest Train Journey in the World The Press 28 Oct 2010 Platform 3, Beijing Railway Station. And there she was - the fabled Trans-Siberian, ready to take me on the longest train journey in the world. A surreal three countries, five time zones and 8300km of steppe, snow and stations lay ahead... but first of all there was Beijing. Had it not been for this trip I doubt China would have been high on my list. But the Forbidden City, where the last emperor was waited on by eunuchs, and the vast Summer Palace with its myriad of bridges, easily proved me wrong. Thankfully I’d made a pact with my alarm to avoid the hordes of flag waving guides and my reward was an aged souvenir map highlighting the Lingering Interest Courtyard and the Realm of the Multitudinous Fragrance. The palace itself was like antiquity on steroids; a make-believe world that was only opened to the public last century. It was hard to comprehend that I had got there via the modern metro built for the 2008 Olympics, at a very cheap 3Yuan flat rate ($0.60c). Of course, while there were the “must sees” for me the best part of Beijing was the unexpected. Not the Great Wall and the fried silkworms (avoid eating at all costs) but rather the old man singing in the Temple of Heaven, the veiled Chinese belly dancer, and the local in Tiananmen Square who kindly advised that if I kept my daypack on during the flag raising ceremony I risked being “spoken too”. Recent history is never too far away in modern China. But now it was time to leave all that behind. For the spotter, the correct title of the train I was about to board was the Trans-Mongolian, one of three lines that make up what is generally referred to as the Trans-Siberian Railway. Contrary to popular belief there is no express train per se that goes all the way, but instead a variety of carriages and engines that get shuntered together and pulled apart at different stations along the journey. Once on board, I met my new roommates in our 4 berth Kupe class cabin: an Aussie, a Belgian and a Colombian. We pooled our goodies – iPod, cards, bad wine, portable DVD, Lonely Planet guides and more cards – before all trying to unpack at the same time. Luckily I had the advice of a previous traveller, “two levels of packing”. I had no idea what that meant until I found my backpack buried under the bottom bunk and my food, toiletries and books keeping my toes warm. Not that they needed to. There must be an edict that says Westerners love heat and at times our carriage was turned up to a stifling 28°. It may sound odd but the clothes I wore the most were t-shirts and shorts – a striking contrast to the frigid view outside. The haunting emptiness of the Gobi Desert somehow made ‘inhospitable’ an understatement. Mongolia had always sounded like one of those exotic far-away places, and Ulaanbataar, its frozen capital, an answer we should know in Trivial Pursuit. At -13° this was the coldest place I had ever been. To have your gloves solidify moments after taking them off gives you an idea of the chill in the air. Luckily, warmth was only a bar away... or so I thought. Unbeknownst to me, we made the mistake of arriving on the 1st of the month which happens to be a date allocated to no selling of alcohol in an effort to cut down on rampant alcoholism. That little idiosyncrasy was just one of the rules and customs that sets this oft-maligned country apart from its larger neighbours. Knowing I wouldn’t be passing this way again I did what any tourist would do – go see Mongolian throat singers, human contortionists and demon mask dancers. With $1 equalling 1000 Mongolian Togrogs I felt I could afford anything, including venturing to Terelj National Park. Opportunity to hold a giant black hawk? Check. Visit the biggest Chinggis Khan statue in the world? Check. Stay overnight in a traditional Mongolian ger tent? Check. Mongolia was far from the backwater I expected.Back on the train and the one thing you need on the Trans-Siberian is patience. The border crossings remain, shall we say, tiresome, although thankfully no more so than the first crossing from China into Mongolia. Because both countries have a different gauge - the width between tracks - our carriage literally had to be lifted off its bogies with a clunk and a half, plonked onto new bogies and then set up ready to go. On top of Customs coming on board, searching belongings, scanning visas, walking off with our passports, coming back on again hours later and handing back passports, the whole episode took over 12 hours. China, Mongolia and Russia all require New Zealanders to get visas and with the Russian one especially there is copious amounts of paperwork. If you say you’re going to be in Russia from a certain date to a certain date – that’s how long your visa will be issued for. In my case, Iceland’s volcanic ash clouds had other ideas so it pays to give yourself some leeway. Mongolia had always sounded like one of those exotic far-away places, and Ulaanbataar, its frozen capital, an answer we should know in Trivial Pursuit. Across the border and moving again, this time with carriages joining us from Vladivostok as we moved closer to our next destination: Irkutsk. Everything you’ve heard about Siberia is right. Cold, desolate, isolated, cheerless. And that’s during spring. The main reason I’d disembarked was to visit the small fishing village of Listvyanka, a short bus ride away on the shores of Lake Baikal. This little known lake contains one fifth of the world’s fresh water and, much to the consternation of my fellow traveller from Bruges, is actually bigger then Belgium. Bruges Boy and I had been set up with a homestay in the village, and despite some initial reservations we knocked on the door. Olga (yes, her real name) greeted us with something close to a bear hug and welcomed us in after stamping the snow in the corridor. She spoke no English and we spoke little Russian but it’s amazing what spasiba (thank you) while rubbing our stomachs can get across. Unlike New Zealand, the kitchen is one of the smallest rooms, with the lounge dominating as the family centre. It was hard to comprehend that our host who was dishing up borsch (a traditional beetroot soup) had lived through Communism, Perestroika and today’s Putin-ish era, yet you got the feeling that nothing had really changed for her. After lunch Olga pointed down to two jet-skiers on the frozen lake, and thinking we had a good chance of having a ride off we wandered. We waved them down. Negotiations followed. Roubles exchanged hands. More roubles exchanged hands. Before we knew it we were zooming along at 40kms an hour skipping over the deepest lake in the world and speeding down the village’s main street – ‘exhilarating’ doesn’t even come close to describing it! After our little adventure it was sad saying dasvidaniya to Olga, but she gave us some korushka (dried fish) for our next train leg... 50 hours from Irkutsk to Ykaterinburg. Zima, Krasnoyarsk, Novosibirsk, Omsk, Tyumen – all mere 10 minute stops as we headed towards the border of Asia and Europe. Enough time to approach the platform babushkas to buy sausage, bread and some odd smelling cheesey things, and then scurry back to our cabin before we got the evils from “she who must be obeyed”: the Provodnista. From what I could gather the Provodnista’s official carriage attendant duties included waking us up, scowling, prodding us when in the way, telling us to pipe down, pointing at the hot water and yelling in Russian, and letting us know how long we had at each stop. Not that we knew what the real time was anyway; the Trans-Siberian runs on Moscow time no matter where it is in the world. All the while we entertained ourselves and some of the local workers on board by practicing words and sharing their vodka until Na zdorovje (to health) turned into a 50 hour blur. Needless to say, when the train finally pulled into Ykaterinburg there was a near stampede to get off. The city itself has a long, blood-stained history. It was here that Tsar Nicholas II and his young family were killed by Bolsheviks under orders from Lenin and these days it’s a magnet for those who consider the family Roman Orthodox saints. Until 1990 Ykaterinburg was entirely off limit to westerners due to “sensitivity” i.e. military bases, yet today it’s a bustling university town full of students who want to tell you where they’d like to travel to. Ykaterinburg also takes the prize for “most quirky”. Wandering the banks of the Plotinka I came across a wedding party on one of the bridges. Not ususual apart from this: the bridge was full of padlocks – heart shaped, square shaped, round-shaped – all locked to the fence. I watched as the bride and groom added a lock of their own to the bridge fence and then kissed the key before throwing it into the river, symbolising the unbreakable union of their marriage. Very far from the dour, unsmiling Russians you read about. If Ykaterinburg challenged my assumptions, then Moscow well and truly smashed them. To stand outside the Gum department store and look across Red Square to Lenin’s Mausoleum, the Kremlin and Ivan The Terrible’s onion domes of St Basils – nothing comes close to saying “this is Russia”. If you can get beyond the Moscow of fur hats, matryoska dolls and communist icons, I highly recommend taking the Metro just to see the grand socialist sculptures, stained glass windows and stunning chandeliers in the underground stations. The overall impression Moscow left me with was unabated style, and I swear they only let supermodels walk around outside. Even the train was sleek and modern as I left on the final 800km of my journey. Last stop, imperialist St Petersburg. It was a little sad getting off the train, leaving behind what had ostensibly been my home for the last three weeks. I felt I should have had some sort of official goodbye. After all, who was going to poke me? How was I going to survive normal airconditioning? The rush of the crowd put paid to that idea. St Petersburg is the most European of all Russian cities, built by Peter the Great in the 1700s to emphasise, well, how great he was. And in the midst of his greatness is now The Church of Our Saviour on Spilled Blood. Built on the site where Tsar Alexander II was assassinated (it doesn’t pay to be a Romanov), it’s almost Disney-like in its reflection in the Kanal Griboedova. Inside is just as impressive and worth every one of the 250 Roubles ($11) entrance fee. Intricate hand-crafted mosaics cover every inch of the walls and ceiling, each telling one small part of a greater biblical story. Only the world famous Hermitage museum could top it off, and as luck would have it Russian soldiers were practicing their marching for an upcoming parade to mark the end of World War II. Generally photos of soldiers are frowned upon but a quick smile and a nod and they let me get away with it. I topped off my last afternoon with a canal tour of the city – with guide, snacks and drinks on board I couldn’t think of a better way to see the “Venice of the North”. And with that my trip finally came to an end; a trip that was as much about the journey as the destinations throughout. The Trans-Siberian Railway with all its notions of romantic isolation, desolate landscapes and culture clashing cities was indeed a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience, against an ever-changing backdrop outside the cabin window. < 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 >