Wellington salutes the ANZACs

25 April 2015. 100 years have passed since the Gallipoli landings by Australian and New Zealand soldiers.  Finding ourselves in the capital, Wellington sure knows how to commemorate our nation's fallen heroes with honour.

(John Wesley Cobb, Gallipoli Capaign, 1915, and all round legend)

If you know the Gallipoli story, skip to the next paragraph, otherwise read on!  The Dardanelles is a body of water on the Turkish coast, formerly the Ottoman Empire.  The Turks were aligned with Germany during WW1.  Eight months into WW1, the Allied forces, which included Russia, were hoping to secure the channel in order to get a few Russian navy boats down the Dardanelles to help with the war effort.  After a few Allied boats were sunk by mines, it was decided by British commanders that a land-based offensive was needed, with the intention to get all the way to Constantinople.  The Gallipoli Peninsular was the site where thousands of ANZAC (Aussie and Kiwi) troops landed at dawn on 25 April, 1915. The men attempted to scale the steep cliffs, while being hammered by Turkish gun fire.  There were heavy casualties.  Reinforcements were sent again and again, from both sides.  It was a bloody battle.  In short, the campaign raged for eight long months, with massive casualty rates.  New Zealand lost 2 779 brave souls, and 130 842 people perished in total.  After such a heavy toll, the Allied troops snuck out over consecutive nights.  The evacuation happened right under the noses of Turkish troops, but the ANZAC boys had staged it to look like nothing was going on.  In fact, from our perspective, the evacuation was the only successful dimension of the Gallipoli Campaign.  Gallipoli had a resounding effect on the development of nationhood for New Zealand, Australia, as well as Turkey.  Today these countries are at peace, and honour the fallen each year at Gallipoli.  ANZAC day is commemorated each year to give tribute to all those who have sacrificed for New Zealand.  Sombering numbers of the deaths from all countries involved are shown below (curtesy of Te Papa).

I had a great great uncle who landed at Gallipoli.  John Wesley Cobb (pictured above) would have seen the cliffs and the prized hill tops as he approached the shore.  He would have felt both adrenaline and anxiousness as he jumped over the side of the boat and into the cold waters, lapping at that foreign land.  He would have followed his comrades onto the sandy shore, looked up, heard gunfire, and taken a deep breath.  I'm sure his family would have been in his mind as he did his duty.  

100 years ago today (April 27), John was shot in the thigh by Turkish snipers as he ascended Walker's Ridge.  He was evacuated to Cairo, where he spent the next four months recovering.  The day of his release he had the above portrait taken.  He had is own uniform cut off him by medical staff, and needed to borrow a uniform for the photo.  The only one he could find was an Aussie guys uniform, and hence the photo!  Below is a photo of Walker's Ridge, no wonder those boys had bullets reigning down on them from the Turks above.

Wellington held an amazing street parade, including Sir Peter Jackson and his amazing collection of WW1 vehicles, various military units in full uniform, some noisy bagpipers, and a numerous assortment of Wellingtonians lining the streets.

Red-tissue poppies floated through the air, reminding me of the sheer numbers of people that the war affected.  Brave men, faithfully doing their duty.  Courageous wives and girlfriends who said goodbye to their darlings, and kept the farms running while their hearts were on the other side of the world.  Children who missed cuddles with their daddies and uncles.  Parents who hoped for the best for their sons, and ached for peace.  Poppies covered Wellington streets in rememberance.

Te Papa Museum is currently home to a stunning exhibition called The Scale of our War.  Large scale, extremely life-like scenes from WW1 are depicted alongside the stories of specific soldiers and a nurse.  Realistic large-scaled models of personnel, artefacts and multimedia 3D maps tell the story of ordinary New Zealanders, along the timeline of WW1.  Weta Workshop and museum curators have combined efforts to create this absolutely stunning reminder of the humanness of WW1.  It's worth a special trip to Welly, just for this.

The stories depicted are raw, emotion-inducing and personal.  The models would be 3ish meters high, and extremely life like.  I sneakily copped a feel of the skin of one of the soldiers, it was like cold silicon.  Life-like, even to the hairs on their skin, and emotion in their eyes.  Incredible artistry, and moving stories.  If you like facts, you'll find them too.

Ataturk's amazing message to ANZAC families always gets me in tears.  What a guy.  And what comfort those words must have been to mothers and wives of the fallen men on the other side of the globe.  The Te Papa Museum exhibition is on for the duration of the four years of WW1.  Please go to see it, you will be astounded.

While we were in Te Papa, a 6.3 magnitude earthquake struck.  Because of technology under the building we were fine, but our thoughts are with our friends in Nepal who also suffered a large earthquake the next day, and lost so much.  Kia kaha beautiful friends.

Another way that Wellington has marked the 100 years of ANZAC is a Peter Jackson exhibition in the Carillion.  'Walking through' the war year by year, the changes in technology and mood of the WW1 effort can be understood.  Starting off in a Belgian village, a recruitment office, moving on to trenches, artillery, scale models, re-coloured photographs, and battle scenes, you follow a soldier through his journey of the war.

The Wellington ANZAC Dawn Service was incredible. Over 20 000 people stood side by side in the newly created Pukeahu War Memorial Park to remember.  Alongside thousands of Kiwis around the country, we remembered the price of peace.  We remembered our family stories. We remembered how important it is to strive for peace between us.

The most poignant image was of a soldier guarding the tomb of the Unknown New Zealand Warrior.  Another tear inducing image below.

The interior of the National War Memorial was packed with poppy-bearing men, women and children saying silent prayers of thanks.

The names of New Zealand men and women lost in battle are encased in these official books.  It is a tragedy the books are so big.

Wellington finished its Dawn Service with a collective cup of tea and ANZAC biscuit under the newly completed Arras Tunnel.  It was the biggest morning tea we've been part of, Wellington sure is definately the hospo capital of NZ!

"We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow..."  We remember them.

If you'd like to read an incredible blog about family heroes, click on Kris' blog called ...

http://www.theyserved.blogspot.co.nz

Auckland - defined by "NOW!"

Many of my years have been lived in Auckland - that sprawling ocean-encircled place with so much going on.  Gigs, exhibitions, shows, sports fixtures and tons of events happen in Auckland.  And shops.  Shops are to Auckland what spots are to cheetahs - quite defining.  Somehow cities invoke a crazy cycle of work, spend, work some more, spend a bit too much and work to catch up.

We want everything, right now.

Catching up with some Auckland mates over the past few days, there seemed to be an energizingly new golden thread through all the conversations.  Maybe my ears were tuned to it because it's the life lesson I'm learning at the moment, it seems this new anthem is rising in people who are wanting a more significant life.  It is a different take on the 'now' mindset.  I heard over and over again ... "Right now, be" - THAT'S the new black!

"Be."

Be still.  Be present.  Be thankful.

Chenin - my insightful and thoughtful mate from school - spoke of such huge joy she finds in playing with her wee daughter, and during those times shutting everything else out.  Ignoring the to do list, the mess, the urge to rush ... Trying to just relish every second of together time with her husband and girl. Her highest priority is being present in the 'now.'

The conversation came up again with my sister Rach, as she spoke of being so thankful for holidays and not needing to rush around.  She could start the day cuddling my amazingly cuddlable niece, and thoroughly enjoy her company.  Their relationship felt great cos they were being entirely present with each other.

My hilariously cheeky mate from uni days, Lu, spoke of treasuring the ones we love, and not waiting till it's too late.  Concentrating our time and energy on the people who'll be in our lives long term, we get to build the dreams of those about us right now.  And we get the privilege of a richer life now.

Les and Angie - some of the neatest people on this entire planet - chatted about our diet, and how awesome it is to choose a healthy body.  Life's better without sugar-induced energy spikes and lows, and the fuzziness that our brain feels when we're lacking nutritious food and water.  We can have a larger capacity to relish the now, if we feed our body right.

It's true, we get to create so much of our lives ... And from today forward, it's gonna be now o'clock!

In a few minutes I get to mow the lawn.  My choice could be head down and zoom through the chore as fast as possible ... Or ... Relish the scent of the freshly cut grass under my feet, and be grateful for the chance to use my muscles.  I can be thankful for green space, and for vibrant air.  I can focus on how cool it is that the grass clippings can nourish the garden.  I can be grateful for those mechanical minds who design lawn mowers.  I can be thankful that there's even a lawn to mow!

And when it's time to cook dinner I can choose to savour the smells and textures of the veggies I'm preparing.  I can be thankful for the sun and rain that allow us to have real food.  I can choose to be grateful for the the strength to work in the garden, and pick beans, and dig potatoes.  I can be thankful for the knowledge of how to cook food that blesses our bodies.  Cooking dinner becomes a pleasure instead of a chore.  

Maybe mindfulness is not that hard, it's just that we need to remember to do it!  Perhaps I should scrub out the numbers on my clock, and recreate the one below!

Arrowtown - paradise for treasure-hunters

Arrowtown - potentially the best New Zealand definition of absolute charm.

20 minutes from Queenstown, the famous heritage village of Arrowtown is nestled beside the Arrow River.  It's a standout town, with an impressive line up of heritage buildings, tree-lined avenues and a long history of treasure seekers.

The valleys around the arrow river were quiet pasture lands until May 1861, when shepherd "Māori Jack" Tewa's eyes lit up while discovering gold in the Arrow River.  But as many-a-story goes, a self-promoting European, William Fox, claimed the glory and stealthily hauled out 18 kilos in his saddle bag over a two week stretch.  Fox started calling all the shots, allocating 60 feet of river frontage to each prospector.  I'm certain men worked early mornings, late nights, and survived on very little sleep.  Just like the casinos, the luring promise of fame and a bright future would've been just around the corner.

Before long, the gold-hunters needed to restock supplies, and as they did so the suspicions of others were heightened.  Unable to keep their lucrative find under wraps, prospectors further east raced to the Arrow River.  The life-changing news was out, and one of New Zealand's richest gold rushes had begun!

By the end of 1862, 1100 gold-hunters were working the Arrow River near the current town, with another 500 men (and a few gals no doubt) working the upper section of the river near Macetown.  With so many workers and so much gold (either in-hand or about to be), a canvas town sprung up.  340 kilos of gold were carried out on the first gold escort in January 1863.

The banks of the Arrow River would never be the same again.

Prospectors still come to seek what they can from the Arrow Gorge.  We drove especially towards Central Otago for a glimpse of autumn splendour, and found sunset-coloured avenues, and a few blushes of crimson on the tip-tops of the trees.

The last picture shows a sticky bun from the delectable Provisions Cafe in Arrowtown.  It's a treasure definately worth seeking in Central Otago.  They're a brioche type bun, with the perfect amount of warm rich spice in them.  Mmm!  There would've been much simpler treats back in the gold rush days.

And treasure comes in many shapes and sizes.  The stories of those old gold-panner boys are incredibly inspiring.  Driven by the desire to find gold, they left family and loved ones, travelled great distances, many to never return.  Long days on the rivers, numb hands from cold water, worn boots and sun-weathered skin.  All costs were shouldered for the sake of the dream.  Those guys would have felt every emotion under the sun, and they would've felt very very alive.

But what about us?!  When I think about my dreams of building a sustainable tiny house and living off-grid, sometimes I'm slack in shouldering the harder parts of making that happen.  Procrastination takes its toll.  Laziness wastes an hour here or there.  Sometimes the vision gets a bit hazy, so a resource is spent somewhere else.  How many of our dreams get put on hold?

Arrowtown is a reminder that if something is worth achieving/obtaining/developing/being, then we may as well gun for it with our all.  Better to be passionate and focused than mediocre.  Better to wake up ready to achieve great things, than feel it's only duty that's hauling us outta bed.  Better to be thought of as insane and following a dream, than to never try at all.  The quote below was penned by a spiritual advisor to Martin Luther King Jnr, and is worth putting somewhere visible as we get out of bed.

The rest of the Arrowtown story is ... that after a year or so, gold became more difficult to find.  The West Coast gold rush of 1865 saw a massive exodus of miners from Arrowtown, and this impacted on Otago heavily.  Dunedin was the wealthiest city in NZ at the time, thanks mostly to gold.  

The Otago Provincial Government invited Chinese miners to come to the Otago goldfields.  Lots arrived.  To this day in Arrowtown you can wander through the remains of the seperate Chinese settlement.  In the 1870's, these reputable quiet and hard-working Chinese miners made up 40% of the Otago-Southland miners, and discovered around 30% of the gold.  The Chinese miners remained in Arrowtown till 1928.  

After the initial flurry of Arrowtown gold, a more permanent town established in European style.  The town transformed into a farming service centre, but many left the area.  During the 1950's Arrowtown built a reputation as a popular tourist destination.  Cottages were restored.  The charm and sparkle of the town were alive once more.  And now you can get a good sticky bun there, while you listen to the locals spin yarns under a warm autumn sun!

Christchurch - reStart courage

Christchurch.  Synonymous with earthquakes for many folks, Christchurch is developing a new exciting identity.  I felt that initial quake at 4:35am, back in September 2010.  I felt it right to my bones.  Sure I was 400kms south of the Darfield epicentre, but jeepers did the ground move.  Loud rumbling preceded the large waves that rolled down the hallway as we huddled in the darkness.  40 seconds is a long time when you're waiting for a 7.1 magnitude to earthquake to simmer down.  

Listening to Cantabs tell their stories is a humbling experience.  I've been privileged to hear numerous recounts of many shaking days.  Crumbled buildings.  Repetitive shovelling.  Stress, nightmares, anxiety.  Funerals.  Financial burdens.  Cordons.  Red zones.  Loss.

Re:start!

It's not as simple as that.  It's not as minuscule as one tiny word. 

There's such a buzz in the air in Christchurch, or Chch as the vibrant city is affectionately known.  And the buzz is not only the cranes and noise that the hoards of hard hats are creating (it seems there's almost as many high-viz outfits in Chch as there are normal clothes!). The buzz is of a generation of locals redefining themselves, folks making the most of spaces and creating opportunities to gather.

As a wee kid, I vividly remember cruising through the streets of Christchurch in the back seat of our family's 1970's Holden Kingswood (yep... class!).  Carefully tended flowers whizzed by my window, elegant trees majestically lining city streets.  Also seared in my memory is the ice cream cart, close to the Avon River, which was absolutely heaven on wheels to the two sweet-toothes in our whanau.

What I'm trying to say is that Chch has been known for her delicious beauty for many years.  As the lethal Feb 2011 quake hit, Chch was preparing for the Ellerslie Flower Show.  Over many a dark day that followed, the faded Flower Show flags became an iconic reminder of the essence of Chch as they fluttered behind the cordoned zone.

Beauty is flourishing yet again, rising through the rubble.  

The following quotes are found in a shop window in the Re:START container mall.  

If you're headed Christchurch way, be sure to stop at this shopping mall made from shipping containers.  Who thought of building that?  It's genius.  

How much creative thought and innovation comes because of hard times?  How often do we keep a spirit of gratitude when we are challenged, knowing that positive growth will likely come.  Something for me to keep in mind!

The tram tracks have been restored, and the familiar whir of yesteryear regularly takes her passengers though the Re:Start mall, through pop up eateries, and to Cathedral Square.

The Square houses the Chalice (pictured above), constructed to mark the new millennium.  

And speaking of large ethereal concepts, who should we find in his favourite place, but the Christchurch Wizard.  Same weathered face, same long beard, some spiel.  The Wizard of New Zealand is his official title, but he was born Ian Brackenbury Channell, in England, 1932.  

Following a stint of university lecturing, travelling, making stuff up, and coming to Chch ... The Wizard is now described as an educator, comedian, magician and politician, and something of a national treasure in NZ (thanks Wikipedia).

Dunno if you've ever had the privilege of sitting under the warm Cantab sun, and attempting to keep up with the rhetoric of this local legend.  I'd always assumed he was a fantasy-induced lunatic, until I heard him speak.  He's kinda plausible.  He's humorous.  He's intelligent, in that certain kind of way that can seamlessly string diversely different ideas together.  Not saying I believe what he says, but he's worth a listen to, just to get your head thinking at a different level.

The Wizard segways between Freud's theories on human development, cartographers in the old days controlling how country's perceived their status (with the Wizard creating his own right-side-up map), Maslow's hierachy of needs, and cosmic theories.  Another comvincing topic is how women cause wars through their shopping habits.  He's a hoot!

Another young dude thinks so too, and so the young apprentice seated below hangs on every word.

The backdrop to the Wizard is something a little more majestic, glorious and elegant.

These days the Christchurch Cathedral looks very much her age, completed in 1904, that makes her a centenarian.  Turns out that in 1864 when the cornerstone of this grand old lady was laid, Christchurch was still a small town.  The male population was only 450.  That's a huge undertaking and commitment for a small town.  Over the years the Cathedral has always been pristinely maintained.  It felt odd to stand at the cordon and see knee-high sun-parched grass growing through the cracks in the tiles.  Still an absolutely peaceful and beautiful spot.

The most poignant of all Christchurch spaces has gotta be the memorial of 185 Empty Chairs.  White-painted chairs of all descriptions are neatly lined up in a matrix of rememberance.  During the history-changing quake of Feb 2011, 185 darlings didn't make it home.  There is a bassinet, various kinds of office chairs, an armchair, a rockering chair, a beanbag ... Each representing one person who dies in the quake.  A sign invites you to take a seat.  No pretentiousness, none of that pre-2010 uppity Christchurch "which school did you go to?" hoity-toity.  Just plain old 'take a seat.'  Remember life is fragile.

No doubt many more chairs at the homes of those victims remain empty - someone's chair at the family table, a favourite camping chair, an armchair in the sun.  It was a reminder that life is precious.  It was a reminder to hold loved ones close.  

A friend recently shared a YouTube clip showing drone footage of Christchurch pre and post quakes.  It's a mind-blowing watch - whether you're a long time lover of Chch, or a recent acquaintance. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6BD04mNnhM

High country hills, South Island NZ

Coffee-coloured hills dominate the landscape. Apart from the road, not a man-made thing in sight as far as the eye can see.  Kilometre after kilometre of these impressively dusty brown hills form the southern central high country of NZ.

High country hills, covered in golden tussocky tufts.  Rocky outcrops interrupt otherwise endless stretches of mocha-coloured landscape.  Imagine riding horseback into these remote scenes back in the rugged 1850's, mustering your sheep spread across these vast distances.  No soft merino under-layers, no waterproofing outer layers, no easy connection with darlings or children or policemen or doctors.  It's the definition of rugged.  After a dawn till dusk day of riding your horse, battling the wind and elements, what a feeling of relief it must have been to see a musterers hut.

Of Burke's Pass an early musterer wrote "We had ridden since sunrise nearly sixty miles; and the country being rough and broken, we had been much delayed, and the last five or six miles were made after sundown.  These five miles lay through a long, narrow pass blocked in on both sides by steep, black hills, and down through which there ran a rapid river, low then, but at times impassable from flood... To say "journey's end," however, may sound grander perhaps that the reality justifies: - only two sheep dogs tethered under a sheep-skin break wind, and a low hut, with a small hole covered with calico, for a window, and a rather battered tarpaulin for a roof, - showed that any human beings had broken into the savage solitude of the place. The dogs broke into a burst of barking to which the hills sent back a hollow echo, but not a soul was to be seen at the hut or within range.  We silently unsaddled, and let our tired and steaming horses loose, made a fire in the hut (from a heap of evidently precious fire-wood outside), and finding only bread in a box which served as a larder, we hung on the everlasting tea-kettle..." (excerpt from Crust by L J Konnaway).

These days as you drive up through Burke's Pass (heading south into the Mckenzie Basin) it is a much more comfortable affair. A cute cafe welcomes you, with amazingly crafted outdoor furniture for sale, and across the road you'll find the informative replica musterers hut (pictured above).  There's also a 1950's gas station scene, a little out of place, but highly adorable!

At Dog Kennel Corner, a memorial stone and plaque marks the importance of sheep dogs in days gone by.  Sites like this were where sheep dogs were kennelled at the edge of the station, to prevent sheep from wandering off. 

Burke's Pass is an alternative to McKenzie's Pass, named after one of New Zealand's most notorious outlaws, James Mckenzie (also known as John or Jock!).  McKenzie is one of this country's enduring folk heroes, the Houdini of the South if you like.  McKenzie was a suspected sheep rustler.

In 1855, the Scotsman was caught stealing 1 000 sheep from Levels Station, near Timaru.  McKenzie escaped and walked 160kms to Lyttelton, where he was recaptured and sentenced to serve five years of hard labour.  He escaped at least twice more, before a magistrate investigated McKenzie's case, and found the police had mishandled the case.  McKenzie had spent only nine months in prison, but was unconditionally pardoned.

He nipped off to Australia soon after, and lived the rest of his life under the radar (probably with a new name!)

The story of this legendary guy lives on in the area where he potentially herded his stolen sheep, through the uninhabited high hill country called the McKenzie Basin.  The McKenzie country is a massive basin, 100ish kms from north to south, and half as wide.  Flanked to the west by the Southern Alps, the basin includes the stunning Lake Tekapo and Pukaki.  It's definately a harsh terrain, especially if you were on foot, with a herd of stolen bleating sheep in front of you, and some hardy sherrifs hard on ya tail.  

Our notorious mate and a wee sheep dog are immortalised in a bronze statue in the town of Fairlie.

We drove on to Tekapo, possibly the home of New Zealand's most photographed church, the Church of the Good Shepherd.

Half of China were also there, taking photos and generally being awed at how pretty nature can be when you choose to treasure it over making money.  It was time to head home!

We spied this thick looking rainbow en route, and stopped to admire the view while we still have eyes that work.