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< 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 >

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< Back Why Bluff is the New Hotspot you must Visit New Zealand Herald 11 Feb 2024 The town known for those fat juicy you-know-whats, and the place where every New Zealand fundraising ride / walk / tour seems to end, is having a modern-day renaissance. Bluff is one of the oldest settlements in New Zealand but rather than resting on its oyster laurels its quickly becoming a destination of its own. So grab some cheese rolls, chase away the seagulls, start rolling your rrrs, and make plans to visit the most innovative town in Southland… The Bluffies “The demand never ceases to amaze me,” says Graeme White of Barnes Oysters, with a wry smile. Operating a number of Bluff’s oyster fleet, he’s already gearing up for what promises to be a busy season. Sustainability and health of the wild fishery is always top of mind, so scientific testing is regularly taking place. This year’s harvest is expected to outshine the last three. “The thing we hear the most from visitors? ‘These are the best I’ve tasted in the world’”. After a three year hiatus the iconic Bluff Oyster & Food Festival is back, having undergone somewhat of a revival. Expect to see those plump, succulent raw oysters freshly shucked by a pro, with just a squeeze of lemon or dab of vinegar added before being passed to eager hands. Once you reach peak oyster (can one even do that?), there’s all things oyster-adjacent to chow down on. The one day festival is scheduled for 25th May with tickets likely to be snapped up as soon as they go on sale. Don’t forget to pack a warm coat, hat and scarf, along with a decent appetite, and get that smooth, briny sweetness inside you. Kai with a twist Kaimoana from Te Ara a Kiwa / Foveaux Strait has been appreciated by local Ngāi Tahu long before the arrival of sealers, whalers and traders. Today Bluff is one of the few places where you can experience Māori cuisine with a contemporary twist. “We use sustainable indigenous ingredients all the time – I picked these this morning.” Haylee-Chanel Simeon was holding out bright pikopiko shoots that she’d foraged from Motupōhue / Bluff Hill just hours ago. Better known as Hayz, her eponymous restaurant Hayz @ The Anchorage is a full immersion experience. “We can tell you where the food came from, who brought it to us, and when they harvested it. It’s all about manaakitanga, treating those who come here with respect for sharing our love of the kai.” I looked at the menu. It was a toss-up between the tītī / mutton birds – a rich, gamey-flavoured delicacy only harvested in Rakiura / Stewart Island – and the blue cod. “If you don’t want to get food envy, this is the one to go for,” Hayz pointed helpfully. I didn’t want to get food envy. The Bluffie Board platter was spectacular: creamy pāua filling in a crispy wonton(!), salted tītī on toasted bruschetta with blueberry and balsamic glaze, freshwater whitebait fritters sourced from southland rivers, steamed Rakiura green-lipped mussels in a garlic sauce, the fresh beer-battered blue cod, all topped with those green pikopiko shoots. Gin Time A little further up the road is Ocean Beach, home to the country’s newest gin distillery and producer of Bluff Gin. The brainchild of local food entrepreneurs with the support of the wider community, it was officially opened by Sir Tipene O’Regan. Distiller Chris Fraser was there to meet me. Reaching behind the copper and stainless steel still, he handed me one of their signature bottles: a buoy-shaped cut-glass aqua-tinted vessel. “It’s a classic London Dry. Can you smell the juniper forward and citrus and spice? Goes best with East Imperial tonic. Plus it doesn’t have any seaweed or oysters!” he laughed. “We’re having it available here first ‘cause it’s all about Bluff, and then it’ll be available online and at your flash Auckland bars!” The distillery is the centrepiece of what will be a new hospitality venue looking out to Ocean Beach’s pounding surf and the silhouette of Rakiura – a bonus view as you take another sip of Bluff with a wedge of lime. Tours with bite Beyond that pounding surf lies the Northern Tītī Islands, their waters home to the great white shark. Foveaux Strait is one of only five places in the world where you can go cage diving to see these majestic predators close up, and Bluff’s Shark Experience is New Zealand’s sole shark cage diving operator. Never dived before? Not a problem says Shark Experience’s Nikki Ladd. “We’re not just for experienced divers – 90% of the people on our boat today are novices.” All the dive gear is provided and if you’re new to the underwater world you can learn how to use a regulator as part of a training session, so by the time the boat anchors you’re ready to go. You can even hire a GoPro to earn those Insta likes. Great whites are the most common sharks they see, with Mako and Blues joining in as well. So, what attracts these protected white pointers to the area? “We call it ‘amorous activites’,” says Nikki with air quotes and a broad smile. As we were leaving another two tourists came in and added their names to the waitlist, mesmerised by the close-up photos decorating the walls. Not your usual farm Bluff’s newest tourist attraction is a farm, but not the type you’d expect. Based out of the former Ocean Beach Freezing Works, Foveaux Pāua’s farm tour is a fascinating insight into Bluff’s land-based aquaculture industry. I was lucky enough to get a sneak preview of the tour from Foveaux Pāua director Blair Wolfgram. “This is the only place in the world you can tour a 100 year old meat works that’s been turned into a pāua, whitebait and seaweed farm!”, he grinned. The tour starts by paying homage to the site’s past life, passing through the old Working Men’s tunnel and walking by faded signs of stock kill numbers. On the mezzanine level, Blair patiently explained what was happening in each of the pāua tanks, from larvae through to fully grown adults. No question seemed too dumb and as we reached the ‘touch tank’ he spoke of the importance of pāua to not only Māori but also other indigenous peoples who know it as abalone. The best thing about the tour launching soon? At the end of it you can buy some pāua to take home to eat. The Heritage While the old freezing works is more recent history, it’s been 200 years since the first European was granted permission from local Māori to settle at Motupōhue / Bluff Hill - a man by the name of James Spencer who was a veteran of Waterloo (the Napoleonic one, not the ABBA one) and a survivor of two New Zealand shipwrecks. Of course, Motupōhue / Bluff Hill has always held a special place for Ngai Tahu, which was recognised with a statutory acknowledgement in the Ngāi Tahu Claims Settlement Act and also granted Tōpuni status (a legal recognition of its importance) in 2020. From the top of the hill you can look down to another slice of history – ‘Rotten Row’. This ships graveyard is a ccessible from SH1 via a 15 minute walk along a palm-fringed boardwalk to Green Point, where at low tide you can see the remains of scuttled ships left to rot on the mudflats. Former Norwegian, New Zealand, Samoan and Australian ships of the Bluff oyster fleet rest there, with viewing panel descriptions such as ‘accidentally sunk by explosives’ and ‘known for its uncomfortable crossings’. Made for walking Most people know that Bluff’s Stirling Point is the start – or end – of New Zealand’s 3000km Te Araroa trail, but lesser known are the short walks, bush walks, coastal walks, and hill walks throughout the surrounding area. After you’ve got your mandatory photo of the Stirling Point sign (all directions, all the time), why not give the coastal track a go? It’s a good 50-60 minutes one way but an easy grade with coastal scenery. If you’re after something more challenging take the Tōpuni Track – a little steeper so wear good hiking shoes – and make your way up to the 360 ° panoramic view at the top. With a little luck you’ll come across kereru and tui amongst the native rimu and rata. History bluffs (see what I did there) will be drawn to the Bluff Heritage Trail centred around historic sites associated with the town’s most famous son, former Prime Minister Sir Joseph Ward. Along the way you’ll learn about the role whaling, oystering and farming played in the development of the township. The full trail is 20km long but if you’ve got easily-distracted kids you can do it in bite-size chunks. Take in Morrison Beach on the way to the Bluff-granite War Memorial, before venturing to the Bluff Maritime Museum, and visiting the statue dedicated to the messenger boy who became Prime Minister. Street Art When you think ‘Bluff’, art might not be the first thing that comes to mind – but it will be the first thing you see. Bright, lively, site-specific murals have given the town a ‘glow up’ thanks to South Sea Spray, Southland’s mural and street art movement. Street artist Deow is the creative mind behind the community initiative and his Kaua e mate wheke, mate ururoa (Don’t die like the octopus, die like a shark) is one of the most vibrant sights on Gore St. The whole collection of aerosol artworks is stunning: works by Flox & TrustMe, Dcypher and Shane Walker, and my personal favourite, Bring the History to the Future by artist Koryu, featuring an old fisherman looking out past a rusty whaling ship to his next destination. The Pace The next destination for over 20 international cruise ships this season has been… Bluff. Now that the secret is out the town is more than just a day trip from Invercargill. Accommodation options have increased recently with new Air BnBs joining the line-up of holiday homes, local hotels, the camping ground, and the Bluff Lodge backpackers - run by the indomitable Kay Cowper. “Why wouldn’t you want to stay if you’ve come all the way to Bluff?!” she exclaims with mock indignation. It’s an enthusiasm shared by others. “There’s no need to rush your visit,” Tammi Topi of the Bluff Community Board told me, “We’re all about the people, the place and the pace. You can really slow down and enjoy it here.” It’s true that staying overnight gives you a great insight into the community, and enough time to meet some of the town’s unique characters. Thanks to Great South, there’ll soon be Bluff Ambassadors in place to welcome you and share insider knowledge of the must do’s and must see’s - no matter how long you decide to slow down for. Do it for Burt Speed more your thing? Legendary racing motorcyclist Burt Munro, whose record-breaking exploits were celebrated in The World’s Fastest Indian, is honoured every February with the classic Bluff Hill climb. Part of Southland Motorcycle Club’s five day Burt Munro Challenge, riders from all over the country race for the honour of lifting the Fastest Time Trophy. They need to be quick though: this year’s winner took out the 1.4km climb in 44.09 seconds. The crowd certainly gets behind them (and the safety barriers) as the bikes roar round the bends, weaving their way to the top. At $20 a spectator ticket it’s a bargain for some only-in-Bluff high-octane cheering. MTBing It’s not just motorbikes that love Motupōhue / Bluff Hill. Long popular with members of the Southland Mountain Bike Club, and past venue of the National MTB Event Series, the hill is about to become even more of an MTB mecca. Work is currently underway to create new trails as well as upgrade the existing ones , and when the new Bluff Hill Motupōhue Active Recreation Precinct opens in July it’ll consist of 11km of world class mountain biking trails. Catering to total beginners like me (Grade 2) up to the super experienced pros (Grade 4 and 5), there’ll be enough squiggly lines to keep any rider happy no matter what your age, skill or fitness level is. On ya bike then! Details Bluff is 25km southeast of Invercargill on State Highway 1 by self-drive/ride. Air New Zealand operates non-stop flights to Invercargill from Auckland (2 hours), Wellington and Christchurch. Discover more Bluff Tourism Bluff Oyster Festival South Sea Spray murals Hayz @ the Anchorage Bluff Gin Shark Experience Foveaux Pāua Burt Munro Challenge Southland Mountain Bike Club Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

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TRIBES The Hamar Lower Valley of the Omo, Ethiopia Like their ancestors before them, the Hamar of the Lower Valley of the Omo are agro-pastoralists and subsistence farmers. The fields of sorghum that they live off are not far from their ornay (huts) and the bocas where the elders sit and chat. < Previous Next >

GUY NEEDHAM “ “ About Guy TO SHOW A WORLD BIGGER THAN OUR OWN An international visual journalist, Guy has traveled to more than 60 countries, bearing witness not only to turmoil and conflict, but also to hope and the power of the human spirit. Covering topical events from military occupations to civil unrest to emergencies in North and South America, Asia and the Pacific, these images have appeared in newspapers, magazines and websites. Publications Sunday-Star Times Dominion Post The Press New Zealand Herald Otago Daily Times Bogota Post The Travel Almanac Suitcase Magazine Lonely Planet Wanderlust AFAR National Geographic Traveller The Jungle Journal Get Lost magazine Let’s Travel Magazine Real Travel Royal Photographic Society’s Journal Digital Photo Magazine D-Photo The Photographer’s Mail Kia Ora magazine Metro magazine Portrait Magazine Que Magazine Weekender Magazine Exhibitions The Dani of Papua FotoNostrum, Barcelona, Spain ​ The Hadzabe of Tanzania Ladder Art Space Melbourne, Australia ​ The Samburu of Kenya Studio 541, Auckland, New Zealand Six Tribes Blank Wall Gallery, Athens, Greece L’Atelier de Pilar Güell Barcelona, Spain ​ The Mentawai of Indonesia ArtHouse, Sydney, Australia ​ The Hamar of Ethiopia ThisThat Gallery, Auckland, New Zealand ​ The Huli of Papua New Guinea Allpress Studio, Auckland, New Zealand Contact & Location guy@guyneedham.com +64 21 645 600 Auckland, New Zealand Contact First name Last name Email Type your message here... Submit Thanks for submitting! © 2024 Guy Needham

< Back Morocco in Focus New Zealand Herald 14 Apr 2009 When you're in Morocco colour is inescapable. The contrasts, hues and shades that make up this North African country are evident from the moment you land. Travelling through the country is an unbelievably vivid experience, an intoxicating blend of colours, photo opportunities mixed with spicy smells and the strange sounds of a foreign land. No photograph can ever capture the chorus of mosques in evening prayer. And even when the camera does freeze some spectacular scene it risks looking unreal. At the edge of the Sahara, the sight of the mighty Erg Chebbi dunes looming over an ancient desert fort, reflected in the mirror of a tranquil oasis, seems too perfect to be true. Similarly, like an elusive mirage on a sea of yellow, the Auberge Yasmina looks impossibly beautiful. Round every corner the images continue. One day I am standing in the stark whiteness of Midelt, feeding nuts to snow-covered Barbary Apes. The next, my eye is caught by a red jellaba framed against the intricate Moorish architecture of Fez. Like an elusive mirage on a sea of yellow, the Auberge Yasmina looked impossibly beautiful. Then there are Essaouira's blue-hued fishing boats, rainbow-coloured rows of shoes, multi-hued piles of spices, pink babouches and palm-fringed Kasbahs all demanding attention. But, above all, it is the people who leave an indelible image. From the curious Berber boy with pre-aged hands to the wary guardian of the medersa, every "Salam a Lakum" opens the door to another room in culture that is best described as proud. Each Moroccan I met knew that they lived in a beautiful part of the world... and who could disagree. Details See visitmorocco.org. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

< Back The Strangest Town in Australia Sunday Star-Times 26 Apr 2015 We both looked up. It was a strange sound, obviously unfamiliar to my host. “When was the last time it rained here?” I asked. A pause. “Um… this is the first time this year. Might settle the dust though,” said Nick laconically. Perhaps a good omen to mark the centenary of what some would say is Australia’s strangest town. I was in Coober Pedy, located in the desert of the South Australian outback, a red dirt town under big blue skies. It’s a town that was founded 100 years ago on opal mining, a town where 50% of the population live underground, and a town that hadn’t seen rain for a while. As the showers gently eased Nick, the owner of The Lookout Cave Underground Hotel, commended me for visiting during the ‘colder’ months (it was 31° outside). In January it had been an unbearable 43°. The locals avoid the worst of it by living in ‘dugout’ homes excavated out of sandstone hills, giving them a constant 22° and respite from the harsh desert heat and dust. Unlike ‘mole holes’ these homes – like my underground hotel room – are generally at ground level, super quiet and thankfully not claustrophobic. When the rain stopped Nick pointed out the air vents that dotted the landscape, rising like metallic mushrooms giving air to the dugouts below. Google Maps had already shown me that Coober Pedy was going to be different: the reddy-brown landscape, few structures, fewer roads and lots of dirt. But what the town lacks in looks it makes up for in superlatives: it is, after all, the Opal Capital of the World, down the road is the Largest Cattle Station in the World, cutting through it is the Longest Man-made Structure in the World, there’s the Driest Golf Course in the World and of course, the Largest Underground Hotel in the World (capitals intended). I think it also has the most flies in the world. I’d timed my visit with the Coober Pedy Opal Festival, which this year was celebrating 100 years since fourteen-year-old Willie Hutchison found the first opal there. The festival kicked off with the annual Street Parade, hosted by jovial MCs keeping the crowd entertained under the blazing mid morning sun. Slowly the flotilla came into view, heavy mining trucks leading the way followed by local businesses, AFL fans and the obligatory Mines Rescue vehicles. In a town of only 3500 if you weren’t in the parade you were cheering it on from the sidelines. ​“Where you from eh fella?” asked the aboriginal man next to me, from under his Akubra hat. I told him and then David Mindi Crombie told me his life story. Born inside an open-cut opal pit with his twin brother. Famous for writing songs about Coober Pedy. Performed at the Sydney Opera House on a national tour. Named Coober Pedy Citizen of the Year (1992). A Justice of the Peace. Singing tonight at the pub up the road. I’d picked a good person to sit next to. Nick commended me for visiting during the ‘colder’ months (it was 31° outside). The Opal Festival also coincided with Easter so there was no better time to visit one of the town’s underground churches. Father Brian Mathews welcomed me at the door of Saint Peter’s and Paul’s and patiently took me through its history. “The parish is rather large I guess,” he said, standing in front of a wall map. “And we don’t always have a church everywhere. Last week I had mass in the dining room of a pub.” He drew his finger across the boundaries. It went up to Uluru, touched Western Australia, Northern Territory, Queensland and New South Wales. This priest was responsible for a parish area bigger than Texas. Across from the church was one of the town’s two dozen opal jewellery stores, which makes sense when you consider that 85% of Australia’s opals come from Coober Pedy. “They’re all individual, that’s what makes each one so special,” said George of Opalios, peering up with his jewellery magnifiers still on while polishing a stone. “It doesn’t matter what type of opal you like - cut, rough, milky, black, pinfire – it’s bound to be different to what anyone else has.” He pulled out a solid opal set in 18k gold. Price? A steal at $12,500. The dirty end of the business was found at Tom’s Working Opal Mine. After the briefing and donning a hard hat, I wound my way down 12 metres underground. Blower pipes, Caldwell shafts, pillar bashing, explosive setting, sump tunnels - there’s a lot to this opal mining gig. Which explains the numerous abandoned drill holes in the area (“Beware deep shafts” “Don’t walk backwards” the signs warn). Even the town’s name comes from the Aboriginal kupa-piti meaning ‘white man in a hole’. The landscapes weren’t just a potholed mess though; this was the scenery that had starred in Priscilla: Queen of the Desert and Max Mad: Beyond Thunderdome so I arranged to explore more. “Today we’re gonna go off road for about 600k’s,” said Rowie as I put my seatbelt on. Peter Rowe isn’t your typical tour guide. He’s an official Australia Post contractor and I was joining him on ‘mail run’ from Coober Pedy to William Creek to Oodnadatta. The 12-hour drive would take us across the Great Artesian Basin to the edge of the Victorian Desert. First stop was Anna Creek Station, the largest cattle ranch on the planet at a whopping 24,000km2 – that’s 6,000,000 acres. To give you a sense of scale, the distance from the property boundary to the unassuming homestead is further then the distance from Auckland to Hamilton. No one was home but Peter dropped off the mail, disturbing hundreds of screeching Corella birds all wanting to make their presence known. To get to Anna Creek we had to pass the Dog Fence, designed to keep dingoes away from livestock. The fence is twice as long as The Great Wall of China; 5600kms of protective barbed wire and posts weaving across three Australian states. William Creek (pop. 6) is a town so small that it’s entirely surrounded by Anna Creek Station. One thing it does have though – aside from a pub – is an outdoor ‘rocket museum’. I had to squint to read it but that’s what it said: the metal carcass in front of me was part of a rocket used to launch a British satellite from the nearby Woomera Rocket Range. Impressed, I went back inside for some Kangaroo Yiros and a Hahn Super Dry. The unsealed road that runs from William Creek to Oodnadatta is known as the Oodnadatta Track. Partially built on the old Ghan railway line the track is at times bone jarring, very geologically diverse and a little surprising. In the distance a dingo stared at us. “Hang on to ya hat!” Peter yelled, as he turned the 4WD onto the tundra and raced towards the now scurrying dog. That particular chase was futile but we did get close to kangaroos, camels and hawks. On the way back to Coober Pedy I was regaled with more stories – from the Afghan cameleers to the unfortunate souls who perished in the desert heat. We arrived back long after dark. The week of celebrations culminated with the Coober Pedy open-air cinema. Held every second weekend it seemed like the whole town had parked up, tuned in, sat back and enjoyed the free ice creams and cheap snacks. It was one of the few above-the-ground activities in town. Of course, like any movie theatre, it began with the “Patrons: Explosives are not to be brought into this theatre” slide, a joke flashback to the old days. Staying in Coober Pedy made me realise it’s not for everyone. To be honest, it can be a little strange – like that uncle you try to avoid at Christmas – but if you’re ready to exchange more than pleasantries and are willing to be surprised, you’ll find that there’s a lot more under the surface of this unique outback town. Original publication: Sunday Star-Times < Previous Next >

< Back Better than a Band Aid New Zealand Herald 12 Jan 2016 “Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, cause every little thing, gonna be al-riiight…” It seemed only appropriate that Bob Marley blared out the front of the pick-up as we bounced along the dirt road. After all, this was the country of Emperor Haile Selassie, recognised by Rastafarians as the Massiah of African Redemption and head of their religion. Not that any of that mattered as we dodged goats and dug into ruts. I was on my way to the Lower Valley of the Omo, a great swathe of land in Southern Ethiopia, to spend time volunteering with the Hamar tribe. Our driver had taken a ‘short cut’ as he’d heard that one of their most important rituals was taking place: the Jumping of the Bulls. Ukuli is a three day coming-of-age ceremony that every Hamar boy must go through in order to prove himself a man. We arrived just in time for the whipping. “Aiii, Aiiiiii!”, a young woman was screaming as she struggled against her mother, pleading to be let go. She broke away and ran to the half-naked man holding an acacia branch. Crack! The whip came down and her skin opened. The young woman smiled with pleasure – a showing of her dedication and love to the boy. It was an eye-opening introduction to the Hamar tribe. As the bleeding women created a bell-ringing frenzy, the men tugged the beasts into place. Tails were held, horns were gripped. The boy jumper looked nervous. He dropped his modest goatskin and leapt up on the first bull. Scampering naked across their backs he made it to the far end and back six times. He was now maza (an unmarried man who had jumped bulls), and was ready to go to the bush while his family selected a bride for him. It made our version of proposing seem a little easy. Going to Ethiopia is like going back in time. For a start they use a different calendar with 13 months in a year, so right now it’s 2008 – I lost 7 years just by getting off the plane. Not only are the years different but so are the hours. The clock starts at 6am. 4 hours after 6am it’s 4 o’clock. 2 hours before 6am is 10 o’clock. But they use both their clock and the farangi (foreigner) clock. Confusing as hell when you want to arrange a meeting time. Most of what we’ve heard about Ethiopia is shaped by images of the 1984 famine. Civil war, a drought and crop shortages all combined to make the situation so dire that Bob Geldoff put together ‘BandAid’ – a concert of the world’s biggest singers to raise funds for the suffering. Unfortunately that legacy lives on, with many today thinking the country is not much more than a dust-bowl. Although it does have serious drought in places, our camp looked out onto lush green bush speckled with brown paths. I was volunteering with an organisation called Big Beyond, an accredited NGO in the UK, Uganda and Ethiopia. They appealed because of their belief that more can be achieved through sharing knowledge than with handouts, and I also liked that they tailored projects to suit a person’s skills. My job was to document the lifestyles of the Hamar for a future cutural centre. My fellow volunteer Luke, a lawyer from the UK, was running business sessions and helping to set up a cottage honey industry. Jilly, a researcher for UK Statistics, was surveying the Hamar and tourists to see what both wanted when it comes to tourism. Crack! The whip came down and her skin opened. “T.I.A,” said Fiona, the manager when I arrived. “Huh?” “T.I.A. This is Africa. Oh and watch out for the scorpions” she added cheerily. What she meant was that if you don’t like flies and dirt and bugs and dust and heat then you’re better off staying at home. There was no electricity, no cellphone coverage, no internet, no running water. Our camp was next to Shele vilage, on land that had been gifted to Big Beyond by the head donza (elder). Shele is all that you imagine an African village to be: thatched roof huts, fenced off goat pens, cows wandering around, a boca where the donza sit, fields of maize and a water pump in the distance. We were considered part of the village and it was not unusual to find two strangers outside your ornay (hut) in the morning chatting away in Hamar, also the name of their language. The camp itself was still being finished when I arrived although it already had the luxury of our own personal huts, an outdoor shower, loo-with-a-view, parafin lamps, a dinning-cum-talking table under the cool shade and an outdoor kitchen. We also had a lame three-legged goat and two resident crows. “Rise up this mornin’, smile with the risin’ sun, three little birds, pitch by my doorstep… The days began with an orchestral warm up of percussional cowbells, a choir of birdsong, baying goats, the crack of whips and the occasional gunshot bringing them all into line. Breakfast was cooked by our resident chef Miley and usually consisted of porridge or eggs and then it was off to do our projects with the nearby Hamar. The Hamar, like a lot of subsistence tribes, still have traditional roles for men and women. The men protect and decide; looking after the lifestock and managing the crops. The women are the heavy lifters; carrying back-bending loads of firewood and sorghum – a type of maize – as well as being responsible for raising the children, cooking and looking after the household. Hamar men often have more than one wife, and the first wive is chosen as young as 7 so the marriage doesn’t take place until she reaches child-bearing age. Part of my project was spending time with a second wife, Hayto, so it was off to her hut I went. “Fiyo” I called out, contorting myself through the small, low, entrance. “Fiyene” came the reply from everyone inside – Hayto, the other wive, their husband, a younger brother, 3 sons, 4 babies and a neighbouring teacher. Everyone had squeezed in for morning buno, the local version of coffee made of dried-up coffee husks, ladelled into a half calabash shell. All eyes were on this farangi as I sat cross-legged and took the first sip. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Hamar women are extremely photogenic, their beautiful black skin topped with copper-coloured goscha dreadlocks, a twisted mix of ochre, water and hand-shaken butter. For 5 Birr (35c) you can photograph them in all their finery: colourful chickeny necklaces, brass coils around their wrists, kashe goat skin loosely draped over their bare breasts and, unique to first wives, a leather necklace with a metallic portrusion symbolising fertility. For a start they use a different calendar with 13 months in a year – I lost 7 years just by getting off the plane. After breakfast we started the 17km walk to the nearest town. The occasional tree gave respite from the vicious sun. Vultures circled in the distance. At the edge of a dry river bed a head emerged from a deep hole and called out, offering braken water. The market was still an hour away.Turmi is a small speck of a town, a wide dirt road pimpled with concrete-walled shops. It smells of goat and sweat. The only reason to visit Turmi is the markets, where Hamar from all over the woreda gather to buy and sell – be it coffee, sorghum or tempo (a snuff tobacco). This is where the Hamar also make money by having tourists take their photo. The men’s showpiece is their hair; they take great pride in shaping their locks and often accessorise with hairpins, feathers (for the muza) or clay-moulded hairpieces. In the villages Hamar men usually walk around bare-chested or wrapped in a sheet called kardi when it’s cold, in the town they wear more Westernised tops.The Hamar have no pockets – it’s said because they have nothing to hide – so one thing men carry is their borkoto, a wooden seat no more than 15cm high. You can purchase your own intricately carved one from the market, as well as wooden dolls adorned with chickeny, goat skins to take home and the ubiquitous patterned gourds. Plus of course enough food for dinner that night. Back at the volunteer camp cooking was done over an open fire. There were always root vegetables to be had and on special occasions we ate goat, although it was a little disconcerting having lunch tied up next to you. The main Ethiopian food is injera, a type of spongy thin bread that forms the base of a dish piled with food such as chicken wat, a kind of spicy curry. You tear off a piece of injera, scoop up some wat and eat with your hand. If you’re lucky you can wash it down with some of the local areke liquor. At dinner each night we exchanged stories, listened to some battery powered music and laughed at our First World problems. The downing sun was slowly replaced by a spectacular moonrise. Under the Milky Way it was easy to appreciate the simplicity of Hamar life. Sitting around the table we all agreed that volunteering had opened our eyes to a part of Africa we would never have seen. Being in an unspoilt land and immersing yourself in another culture is not for everyone, but to see first hand the good you can do was a reward in itself. It was worth that long, bumpy, reggae-filled ride down the dirt road. “Sayin’, this is my message to you-ou-ou.”​ Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

< Back A Flying Visit Let's Travel 11 Mar 2011 It might not have been the largest plane in the world but it certainly was the friendliest. As we disembarked to the hot sticky tarmac, the pilot literally poked his head out of the cockpit to say “bye” to each of us, adding a cheery “Welcome to Gizzy!” The city’s known for a lot of things including being first to see the Sun, landing place of Captain Cook, brilliant beaches and Rhythym & Vines – but this weekend was going to start with the isolated, rural, "Boy"-ish East Coast. Tolaga Bay, 45 min north of Gisborne was my first stop. The biggest township on the East Coast happens to have the longest wharf in New Zealand, a stirring sight as waves crash against it at dawn. From there it was down the road – a quick stop at ‘secret’ Anaura Bay where my parents still go to “get away from it all” – before moving on towards the East Cape. Beyond the rumbling logging trucks and idling cows there wasn’t a lot of traffic. You get the feeling that’s the way the locals like it. Tokomaru Bay, Te Puia Springs and Ruatoria all deserved a visit before arriving at one of the most majestic Maori churches in the country – the ornate St Marys in Tikitiki. With tukutuku work and intricate wood carvings, the church is dedicated to the Ngati Porou soldiers who died in World War I. Of course, no trip up the Coast would be complete without venturing to Te Araroa to see the world’s largest Pohutukawa, and the sign politely asking kids not to play on it. Back in Gisborne a few hours later there was only one thing to do under the sun… wine tasting. I thought I’d misheard when, at The Works, a winery located on the wharf in town, they’d suggested “7 tastings for $10”. Out they came as the owner patiently took me through each glass, explaining the origin and various other things that I can no longer remember due to 7 wine tastings. Gisborne has no shortage of fine wine with names such as Milton Estate, Montana, Lindauer, Matawhero, Huntaway and Bushmere Estate all calling the region home. Beyond the rumbling logging trucks and idling cows there wasn’t a lot of traffic. You get the feeling that’s the way the locals like it. Time to walk it off and luckily I’d picked up a Gisborne, A Historic Walk brochure from the Visitor Information Centre beforehand. Marking the landing of the first European on New Zealand shores in October 1769 is the Captain James Cook memorial. The first hongi between Pakeha and Maori took place on a rock just opposite this statue. Further along, another statue, that of Nicholas Young - “Young Nick” – who was the first on board the Endeavour to sight New Zealand and who has the brilliant white cliffs south of the city named after him. ​ Then the beach. Aficionados will argue about which Gisborne beach is better: Waikanae, Midway, Kaiti, Makarori… the fact there are so many to choose from tells you something. White sandy expanse? Check. Room for your huge towel and beach umbrella? Check. Offshore swell? Check. Icecream store with generous double scoops? Check. Yes, the beaches are something else and the locals know it. They teach surf school here. ​At dusk the city comes into its own. No longer the sleepy town of the 80s, Gisborne has more hotels, bars and clubs than it rightfully should. Whether it be an Irish pub, a waterside wine bar or an upmarket restaurant you won’t be disappointed by either the service or the entertainment. And when the big Kiwi names go on their summer tours guess which town is always on the list? ​ If you just want to take time out though, like I did for my final afternoon there, you can appreciate this pretty city by strolling through Gisborne’s Botanic Gardens. An oasis for lovers to relax and admire one of the rivers flowing through the city, the gardens also house a decent aviary, some noisy ducks, and oh yes, some beautiful plants.48 hours didn’t quite seem long enough though, and I felt a little cheated that I hadn’t dedicated more time to exploring this part of the country. It was hard getting back on the plane to leave, but somehow I knew that even that would be friendly. Details Air New Zealand flies to Gisborne up to 7 times a day from Auckland and 4 times a day from Wellington. www.airnewzealand.co.nz ​State Highway 35 from Gisborne to Te Araroa on the East Coast is approximately a two hour drive one way. The Works Great value wine tasting 0800 333 114, info@theworks.co.nz, http://theworks.co.nz/ Wines of Gisborne a handy guide and a good starting point to book tickets to the annual wine festival http://www.gisbornewine.co.nz/ Gisborne Visitor Information Centre The first stop for planning your trip http://www.gisbornenz.com Grey Street, Gisborne Ph: 06 868 6139 or email: info@gisbornenz.com Gisborne Surf Report: Webcams, swells, winds, conditions and “stoke ratings” http://www.surf2surf.com/reports/gisborne < Previous Next >

TRIBES The Hadzabe Lake Eyasi, Tanzania The Hadzabe are a tribe so old that National Geographic calls them “the closest living relatives of the humans who first left Africa to migrate to the rest of the world.” Today there are only 1500 Hadzabe remaining, occupying the same harsh valleys that they have since the beginning of the Stone Age. < Previous Next >

< Back A Horim The Travel Almanac 14 Dec 2023 Deep in the Baliem Valley of Indonesia’s Papua region, size really does matter. The Dani tribe, first discovered by air in 1938 and still isolated in the mountains today, are known for a particular appendage: the horim. Made from a dried-out elongated gourd, this penis protector is much more than a simple sheath. Whether a long cylindrical peaking pipe or spectacularly curved seahorse shape, this uniquely Papuan add-on is a sign of prestige, respect, and seniority within the tribe. In fact, the Dani’s male members (pun intended) have two horim – one for show and one for work . Their traditional existence on the land means that their more elaborate, longer phallocrypt s get in the way when working closely with others. No one likes to cross horim . It is no surprise that such an accessory exists in this patriarchal, polygamous society. Manhood in all its forms carries the responsibilit y of traditional authority within the tribe, and displaying such is expected. Smooth and mid-brown in tone, horim are carved out and gifted from father to son, a sign of respect for a growing boy. Many are customised as the years pass by; the more ornate ones carry small cowrie shells and decorative feathers. Manhood in all its forms carries the responsibilit y of traditional authority within the tribe, and displaying such is expected. Fastening a horim is not for the uninitiated: a short loop at the base sits very tightly around the scrotum, while the tip is held in place with a loop halfway up the chest. Carefully wiggled into place with a little adjustment here and a slight tuck there, the men are then off walking. The days of the horim appear to be numbered, though. Generational change is succeeding where the Indonesian Government’s Operasi Koteka (Operation Penis Gourd) failed , replacing traditional attire with W estern clothes. For the younger men, it’s cargos over calabash, garments over gourds. The exception is festivities where pride is as evident as the tribe they belong to. Original Publication: The Travel Almanac < Previous Next >