East meets West under the big top

A couple of weeks into our mad race around the lower part of the North Island we had planned a weekend getaway in Auckland, just the four of us- at the circus. This was the fourth time the French Canadian Cirque du Soleil had made it to Auckland and the third time we had made it to le blue and yellow Grande Chapiteau. Which is put up and taken down by a dedicated tent team who fly in and out almost undetected, like little tent fairies, whip up the massive hi tech big top, then move quietly on to the next port of call to do it all over again. Le Grande Chapiteau, which looks deceptively simple on the outside, stands 60 feet high and holds 2 500 wide eyed, wriggly, chatty patrons - waiting.

The mood is festive, even though the skies have opened up and the rain set in outside. The hum of chatter gives way to splotches of laughter. Pockets of mayhem begin to attract wandering eyes. The clowns!

I was not really much of a fan of clowns until Cirque. Our first Cirque experience was the ethereal Alegria with its beautiful, lonely clown Slava, chasing trains in the snow. At this point clowning took on a whole new meaning for me. They became the stuff of dreams, skillfully combining comedy with poignancy and doing it with so much heart. Slava now has his own touring act called, appropriately, 'Slava's Snowshow'. We took the boys to it when it first came to New Zealand and were captivated all over again. It just happened to be in town again at the same time we were and although we didn't go, my sister and her young family did- and were duely enchanted. It remains one of the best shows I have seen, and we have seen many, many different stage productions over the years. If you get the chance it should not be missed by kids of all ages. Here is a taste I found on the ubiquitous YouTube:



The clowns of Dralion were more earthy than Slava, more slapstick, but still very clever and just as entertaining. Their interludes, subtly used to introduce the following act, included a 'character role', a person from the audience singled out before the show started and eventually coerced on stage- to read the safety instructions. He stumbled and laughed and kept an anxious eye on the bothersome clowns- who were usually up to no good. His reactions were priceless, his nervous giggle infectious, his incorporation into the act almost seemless and the ultimate realisation that he was in fact 'a clown' - unanticipated- for this audience member anyway.

All of Cirque du Soliels circuses are unique but Dralion is extra special because of its utilisation of Chinese acrobatic traditions and the incomparable cheeky Dralion- a combination dragon-lion dressed very much like the floppy eared, fringed Chinese Lions we are now so used to being amused by. Cirque du Soleil's strength, underneath all its spectacular costumes, unique music and fantastical grandeur, is the performers. A polished and exitable lot, Cirque's acrobats can often be seen during their acts with the concentrated and then jubilant expressions only attained when a new stunt is tried and, using the mixture of performance enhanced adrenaline and the power of the collectively held breaths of the audience, suceeded. Dralion was no different with even the more solemn and earnest Chinese performers pushing the boundaries of their stunts to even more seemingly inhuman levels, their faces tripped from intent to delight as they turn to accept the audiences delight. The trust they have in not only each other but also in the audience at this point invokes a sense of family and involvement that makes them a pure joy to watch. They need us as much as we are in that moment needing them.

From the first Cirque we saw the unique acts have always drawn the most excitment and enthusiasm, particularly those involving the trampoline, and Dralion was no exception. The 6 jumpers leapt from huge heights onto trampolines, bounced back up and scaled the walls like Spidermen - and women- on speed in combinations that got increasingly crazier leaving you alternately gasping at the audacity and fervently wishing it would be your turn next.

I can't wait for the next one that comes within cooee of our nomadic lifestyle. Until then heres a taste of the incredible gravity defying hoop act from Dralion 2008/9- again from YouTube:

We are back

(Our first glimpse of New Zealand in 2 1/2 years shows just why the Maori called her Aotearoa, The Land of the Long White Cloud)

Yesterday M and I slipped back into Cambodia after a very quick four weeks away. J had only managed three weeks, keeping some holidays in his pocket for our backpacking, train hopping trip down the Italian 'boot' at Christmas time with B, our 'growed up' kid, who has yet to make it to the Penh. It was a much anticipated and very busy trip with a great deal of travelling around trying to fit visits in with friends we hadnt seen in the two and a half years since we'd been back, while spending as much time with B as possible as we hadnt seen him for nearly a year.


He was in fine form. Taller, if thats at all possible, mature, articulate and comfortably independent refusing most offers of cash and new clothes- 'I just have to learn how to budget better...'- but he did allow his parents to feed him as often as they could. He showed off his flat, his scooter, his favourite lunchtime haunts and his office and we even managed to coerce him into spending a few nights with us at our hotel while we were in Wellington.


We ate dinners together, went to the movies, caught a local jazz/reggae band, that sounded a lot like Simply Red but looked more like basement grunge, at Te Papa's marae and had weekend holidays in Masterton, Auckland and Palmerston North.


Of course being the middle of winter in New Zealand it was cold but with the exception of our two weekends in Auckland, when the dreary rain and fog seeped through our merino and tickled our skin into goosebumps, we woke to dry days and a fair bit of bright antipodean sunshine.

(A giant Nikau Palm by Ian Athfield in Civic Square Wellington)

While B was at work we managed visits to some favourite capital places. The first place was Te Papa Tongarewa- The Place of the Treasures of this Land- or simply Our Place, which it almost was for quite a few years.

(Sizing up the colossal squid )


M was about 4 when it opened and we made our first trip to one of the coolest places our capital city has to offer. There were plenty of naysayers at the start- a huge FREE contemporary museum housing many of our nations treasures, our taonga...


( In front of the museum's copy of Tiriti O Waitangi, New Zealand's founding social document, our bicultural agreement, both celebrated and protested annually on the same date, Waitangi Day, New Zealand's version of a national day. Signed on the 6th of February 1840, at Waitangi by representatives of the British Crown and about 40 Maori rangatira, the treaty was controversal from the start. The Maori version has some fundamental differences regarding the possession, ownership and sovereignty of the land and it's taonga. More than the document itself it has been the decades of discussion, debate, marches and land occupations and the outcomes of the Waitangi Tribunal- exclusively charged with the right to determine it's meaning, intention and spirit- that have helped shape the relationships between our nations people, the Maori and the Pakeha and thus shape us as Kiwis.)


(The 1974 Holden Stationwagon transformed by artist Jeff Thomson using the rusty discarded corrogated iron from the roof of Napier's Criterion Hotel which Thomson drove as his only car for 3 years around both New Zealand and Australia. It's aerial bent into the shape of Australia the Holden's country of birth.)

( Te Papa's traditional meeting house, Te Hau ki Turanga, one of the oldest and most significant meeting houses in existence, sits in the Mana Whenua part of Te Papa)



(The carvings depicting the legend of how Maui slowed the Sun on the roof of the more contemporary meeting house on Te Hono ki Hawaiki, Te Papa's urban marae. )

(A giant unique piece of Pounamu, New Zealand's greenstone, gifted to the museum by the Kai Tahu, in the marae. It sits in a fountain of running water, like the streams and rivers where it is found naturally, with large grains of sand which you are encouraged to use to help rub the oxide off the taonga. The pounamu symbolises the solid, permanent foundations of Te Papa’s Marae, Rongomaraeroa. The wairua or spirit of the pounamu protects traditional Maori values in all the ceremonies that take place on the Marae. Sadly one of the ceremonies that took place while we were in New Zealand was the Tangi of the museums Chief Excutive, Seddon Bennington.)

(Ko hine te iwaiwa, ko hine korako, ko rona whakamau tai- The two controllers of the tides, hence her full name Rona-Whakamau-Tai by Robyn Kahukiwa)

Built on reclaimed land the sea licking its foundations and one of the worlds most active fault lines at the doorstep (literally) but it still stands 11 years on, it's still free and it still holds much to keep our now older and more worldly wise family immersed and entertained.



Here is M (on the left) standing in Cook Strait, named after the first European to sail through it, the bit between the North and the South Islands of New Zealand. The watery bit that connects the Tasman Sea and the South Pacific Ocean. The Maori call it Raukawa Moana, Moana meaning sea and Raukawa, a native tree. It is considered one of the most dangerous and unpredictable waters in the world yet nearly everyday Ferries push their way through the swells and strong currents taking passengers and vehicles from one island to the other.

The upside down kiwi shaped bit on the bottom left of the photo is Golden Bay , place of warm sunkissed, sandy holiday memories. On one holiday we went all the way out onto Farewell Spit (the long thin beak like bit) in The Gypsy, a huge lumbering MJR Model Bedford with a Dutchman who was as entertaining as the scenery was absorbing.

Move further towards M's feet and you get to the Marlborough Sounds; bays, beaches, crystal clear blue waters, heaven high ridges, wine, mussels and no cell phone reception. We have tramped (hiked, rambled, scrambled, plodded, ambled, walked- often carrying supplies in backpacks of varying size and weight) most of the Queen Charlotte track and run a few legs too. We have scaled ridges and taken in views like this:

(from http://www.i-needtoknow.com/)

This holiday, though, we mostly stayed in the bit between M and J's feet. The bit at the bottom of the North Island. The bit with a reputation for wild, windy weather, a besuited population of bureaucrats and an abundance of good coffee.

Two icons in one go

Read online this morning that Farrah Fawcett lost her long battle with cancer age 62



and then conflicting reports about Michael Jackson. Apparently overnight he had a cardiac arrest and may have died already.

The end of an era...

BBC is now reporting BBC NEWS >>
Singer Michael Jackson 'dies'
Pop star Michael Jackson dies in Los Angeles at the age of 50, after suffering a suspected cardiac arrest, reports say.

And we're off

from fubiz.net

'Where you from?'

'Where you from?'

It's a question asked here by the kids who wander the temples and streets of tourist areas plying their goods. It's asked to lead you into a short conversation that is meant to show you how good their English is and butter you up with their sweetness.

'Hello. Where you from?'

New Zealand'

'The capital of New Zealand -Wellington'

'Wow thats pretty good. Your English is pretty good too'

'Yes I go school in morning/evening (depending on what time of day you have run into them). It costs lot of money to go to school. I have to pay teacher. You buy book/bracelet from me money for school.'

Of course most don't go to school at all. As I think I've said before in another post, they are much too valuable as cute little income generators to their parents or minders.

But that really isn't what this post is about.

That question: 'Where you from?' is a loaded question for someone like me.

Where am I from?

When it has been asked by a grubby half pint totting books in a basket half his size I sometimes answer, 'You mean where was I born or where do I live?' I usually get a cheeky grin as they try, 'Where you live?'

Phnom Penh', I say.

Yeah right! Is the look I get, accompanied by a nervous giggle.

'True' I say 'I've lived in Phnom Penh for a year. Maybe you mean where was I born?'

'Yes', they try again.

'England', I say.

'The capital England-London', in a triumphant tone.

And thats where the conversation ends because the answer to that question, 'Where you from?' is - well- it's a bit complicated.

An American friend asked me the same question at the gym the other day. She had just worked out I was a kiwi not an Aussie, as she had previously assumed.

'So, where abouts in New Zealand are you from?'

The answer goes something like this:

I was born in Birmingham, England just as my father finished his PhD at Birmingham University.

But thats not where I'm from.

I was 6 weeks old when we moved to Makassar, Indonesia.

But thats not where I'm from.

I started school in Singapore.

But thats still not where I'm from.

I spent my formative years in Asia before my parents moved us 'home' to New Zealand.

Now we're getting somewhere.

Both my parents are Kiwis, one from the middle of the North Island and one from the deep South. We moved to Wellington where I went to high school. Where I expected I would feel like I was where I belonged, where I fit in, 'home' but instead felt different, an outsider. A typical feeling for a third culture kid but noone used that term back then.

When I'd finished high school I moved to Palmerston North to go to Massey University where I met J and we had B and later M. We eventually bought a house in 'Palmy' which we still own but will almost certainly never live in again. In fact, although Palmerston North, New Zealand, is the place I have lived in for the longest period in my life and although it was once 'home', it is still not where I come from.

The house we lived in in Wellington isn't 'home' either, mum and dad moved over the hill to Masterton more than 10 years now- to a house I have never lived in, a house with no childhood memories, a house that is theirs-but not mine. Our old house became 'our old house', home to someone else.

I am a Kiwi. No doubt about that. I am a New Zealander. I carry a New Zealand passport (although I could carry a British passport too if I ever wanted/ needed to).

Where am I from?
Definately here (in the picture above) - but where is 'home'? Well, its New Zealand too. All of New Zealand. And 'home' is also here- Phnom Penh- where my family are (yes we even have a room for B although he hasnt actually used it yet it is refered to as B's room). And when we move on, well that will become 'home' too in a remarkably short period of time.

Da Vinci in Singapore

Last time we were in Singapore M took me to the Science Centre. He had been earlier in the school year on an MUN (Model United Nations) conference and was pretty sure he could remember how to get there. We took the MRT to Jurong East. Easy so far. But then, in the absence of any signage or map what so ever (most MRT stations have huge 'you are here' maps of the vicinity) took off in the wrong direction without any protection from the blazing sun, across two busy roads and ended up in the IMM building, sweat dripping down our backs. After cooling down a bit we retraced our steps through the bottom of a busy HDB and onto another intersection where we saw our first sign, right outside the entrance to the Science Centre. Not very tourist friendly but then I guess most simply take a taxi.




We bought combination Science Centre /Da Vinci Exhibition tickets for 16SD (me) and 11SD (for M) and had a bit of a nosey around the different rooms in the Science Centre, virtually pushing buttons and changing screens, bouncing lights, chasing images.



I think we learned a thing or two too. We ended up at the 'electric chair' which for a dollar will vibrate your clenched hands till they refuse to unclench and produce uncontrollable giggling from M.








Then we headed to the Da Vinci Machines Exhibit.




We couldnt take photos inside the exhibition so I snapped this one of M at the shop.

I was fascinated. There were about 60 models, recreated using the materials of da Vinci's time (wood, cotton, iron, cord and brass) by a team of Florentine artisans in collaboration with academics, physicists and historians accompanied by a series of informative panels some of which included actual images of the original design.


There were war machines, flying machines, nautical and hydraulic machines, life size and models as well as devices made to illustrate the principles of mechanics. Most of the machines had a 'hands off sign' beside them but a small section invited you to try- which of course we did. A man born before his time, not only was he a master painter he was a sci fi freak, able to imagine future possibilities; flying machines, helicopters, scuba divers and automation. Just imagine if he'd been able to make movies!

The second half of the exhibition included digital reproductions of some of his most famous paintings including the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper.

The Mona Lisa has just been the subject of a rather different research technique called Lumiere technology. The painting was scanned with a 240-megapixel Multi-spectral Imaging Camera, invented by French engineer Pascal Cotte, which uses 13 wavelengths from ultraviolet light to infrared. The resulting images peel away centuries of varnish and other alterations until we are able to see how the Mona Lisa appeared to da Vinci and his contemporaries. You can see an eyelash and some eyebrow hair (apparently it was a cause for concern previously, considering da Vinci's fascination for human biology, that you couldn't in the painting we see today), a finger not completely finished (a painter like da Vinci never completely finished a painting as that would indicate he thought it done when he would always say things could be improved), a blotch on the corner of the eye and chin that were thought to indicate she was sick are, in fact, varnish accidents, a hand protectively over a rounded belly is unveiled to be actually keeping a slipping blanket in place.

There are others too like the fact she was originally painted with a more 'pronounced', although still enigmatic, smile. Da Vinci, with his intimate knowledge of human biology, knew that when a viewer first looked at his famous painting they would most likely look directly at the subjects eyes, as humans are drawn to a persons eyes initially. Their peripheral vision, which is not as fine tuned to detail as the fovea, would distinguish the shadows in the corners of the sitters mouth as a smile. When the viewers gaze moves to the mouth, however, the smile is 'gone' giving the Mona Lisa her mysterious 'is she smiling or isnt she' expression.

As I said- fascinated.

This is a touring exhibition, if it comes to your town go and see it!

B. splendens and the Labyrinth

Siamese Fighting Fish are kind of like a guppy with an incredibly extended tail and dorsal fins, waving like the multinational flags on the banks of the Tonle Sap. They’ve been bred over the years from a natural plain-ness to an iridescent brilliance and kept in separate containment because as their name suggests they are aggressive little blighters and so can not be trusted to leave a cell mate alone. One dull green or gray fish in a bowl does not a Feng Shui cure make so they were engineered to become little spots of much more interesting colour.



These ones are at the bottom of the escalator in Plaza Singapura in tiny rectangular tanks side by side like a fishy bookcase. There are black plastic dividers between their watery homes so they don't wear each other out stalking up and down the glass sides like hungry penned in tigers.

They’re like miniature sociopaths, males, when put together will attack each other, and if placed in a confined space with a female, will attack her if she’s not in the breeding mood.


According to Burkes Backyard they are as uptight as they are because their native habitat is usually so small; rice paddies, stagnant ponds, roadside drains even the puddle left in a dent made by a buffalo hoof after the rain, that there is not room for two dominant males. Evolution has thus, through a constant game of 'mines sharper than yours', breed a species so aggressive they are often pit against each other in a similar way to cock fighting rings here in South East Asia.

The Betta Splendens also possess, I discovered according to the same source, supplemental breathing apparatus (other than the normal gills) called the 'labyrinth.' Located in a chamber above the gills it is supplied with blood vessels which absorb the air gulped in through the mouth allowing the fish to survive in such a tiny environment even in stagnation.