Rugby - diplomacy after the war

It's funny, when you spend as much time as I do worrying and reading about international diplomacy and the mistrust among nations, to watch a simple Rugby game played by one country against another. These guys - from America and New Zealand - beat the snot out of each other for eighty minutes, then shook hands, went for a beer, sang songs and became fast friends.

Connections forged. Understanding created. Differences respected. Questions answered.

This simple sporting event was something diplomats could learn from.



A sea-weary team from the TS Golden Bear, after 60 days on the ocean, sailed into Wellington and challenged a team from Victoria University here to a game of Rugby. The game was phenomenal, made more so by the awe of so many people in the crowd of a couple of hundred people who had never watched a Rugby game. I must have heard a dozen people say, "Oh, my God, these people are really trying to hurt each other." They weren't, of course. Rugby just looks that way.

What was really striking, despite the crunching hits, was the respect the two teams had for each other. A guy would get crunched, and the cruncher would help the crunchee to his feet with a pat on the back. And a smile.



It was wonderful to have so many Americans in the heart of Wellington cheering on their team. The truth is that they found good cheer in the spirit of the event. The Keelhaulers of the Golden Bear went down to the Fighting Billy Goats of Victoria University 34-3, but the game was a lot closer than that.

As Coach Steve Hiaat said, the Kiwis just have deeper Rugby instincts than their American opponents, some of whom were playing their first Rugby match. That's not to make excuses. The Keelhaulers didn't need any. They played hard, hit hard, got hit hard and got back to their feet. They played with heart, but were just no match for the speed and depth of their Kiwi opponents.

Due to injuries, the Keelhaulers needed a "loaner" player. He trained with his American counterparts all weekend. They called him buddha. When Hiaat sent him in to play for the Keelhaulers on Tuesday, it received the largest cheer - from both sides - of the game. It was, as Hiaat said later, "a moment."



Yes, there was some blood spilled. Yes, there were some people knocked into tomorrow. But in the end Kiwis and Yanks came together, shook hands, drank together, sang together and became friends. It was a truly wonderful time. At the end of the day there were no differences, and that was a beautiful thing.

A Day to Remember

Memorial Day began with a touching service in Paekakariki's Queen Elizabeth Park. About 15,000 U.S. Marines were stationed here during Worl War II when, as a local historian said today, there were very real fears that New Zealand was about to be invaded by the Japanese. When the U.S. Marines arrived at the train station here they were exotic, but definitely a welcomed sight. The friendship between New Zealand and the United States is a long one, but at its core is the presence of U.S. military personnel, particularly the Marines, in New Zealand during those dark days of World War II.



There are many stories of how the Marines affected New Zealand and how the Kiwis, in turn, worked their way into the hearts of their guests. Today, for the first time in detail, John Porter told the tale of the 10 U.S. Marines who drowned off the beaches of the Kapiti coast during training exercises. Mayor Jenny Porter said that only recently members of the Kapiti U.S. Marine Trust received a letter from an old Marine, Signalman Frank Zalot Jr., that told the details of the disastrous day, including the names of those who drowned. They were read aloud for the first time below the hills and beside the sea where they trained - and died - almost 70 years ago.

The Marines hold a special place in the hearts of the older generation here and, above, you can see that that the newest generation of Kiwis, too, love themselves some U.S. Marines.

Some of the old Kiwi warriors, and even a few war widows, turned out for the very simple, very eloquent ceremony. The kids, from Paekakariki School, performed a Haka Powhiri, a Maori welcome. It was beautiful. One of the U.S. Marines acknowledged them as young warriors, which the boys loved; the girls not so much.


It was very moving to see a Kiwi-led ceremony to remember thousands of young men who came to these shores so long ago. Many of them left from here to the perils of war in the Pacific - and never returned. The warmth and kindness they received here in New Zealand were the last touches of decency they would have known. It is nice that they are still remembered fondly.

The Golden Bear sails into Welly

The Training Ship Golden Bear, out of Vallejo, Calif., sailed into Wellington harbor on a radiant Sunday morning. With 250 cadets and 50 staff and crew from the California Maritime Academy on board, the Golden Bear is visiting New Zealand for three days.




The cadets - in their crisp, white uniforms - took visitors around the ship shortly after their arrival from Pago Pago, American Samoa. The Golden Bear acts as a floating classroom for the students, who run every aspect of the ship.

There's just something about ships. It gets me every time. When the tugboats swung the Golden Bear around at the International Terminal and all the cadets were lined up along the decks, it sent shivers down everyone's spine. It was grand to see the Stars and Stripes flying in Wellington Harbor.

The students are a great banner for the United States, polite and eager and full of young enthusiasm. Wellington wowed them, the water royal blue, the skies crisp and the breeze unobtrusive for once.

First off the ship were the Keelhaulers, the schools rugby team. .They departed for the first of a couple of practises. They will be taking on the Fighting Billy Goats of Victoria University on Tuesday. Vic organized for the game to be played at the Basin Reserve, a grand old ground on which they've played cricket since the late 19th Century. It will be a great encounter, complete with haka and national anthems. But, before they could set foot in New Zealand proper, they had to have their kit inspected, to make sure they weren't bringing any foreign soil into New Zealand.


It was cool to reconnect with home again in whatever small way. And the Golden Bear sailing into Wellington Harbor will be an image that stays with me for a long time. A good day.

Gauche, Tacky, Wanna-be, Crass

Other than that, Wellingtonians love the idea of the Wellywood sign just fine.

Quote of the day in this on-going saga - a trilogy, perhaps - goes to comedian Raybon Kan: "It's almost like your mum has combed your hair and you're going out as if it's cool.

Thanks to everyone who sent in suggested alternatives:


This one courtesy of Amy.

The story continues to draw outrage and world-wide publicity, making the Wall Street Journal, the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times. My blogging friend from Mozambique reported that it even made the news there.

There's even a fun game someone's designed where you can destroy the Wellywood sign - which, bear in mind, has not yet been erected - by dropping sheep on them from outer space; or by setting it on fire. It's fun. Hey, it's got a sheep stampede and Gandalf, too.

In fairness, there are a few people who think it's not such a bad idea, and they're urging Wellingtonians to lighten up a bit. "The sign itself is silly, but it has the potential to be iconically silly." Wow. Iconically silly? Actually, I quite like that; it sort of describes me.


Charlie came up with this suggestion. I won't use his last name, cos he said wood.

It was, of course, only a matter of time before Beavis and Butthead and wood came up, if you pardon the expression. I also wish there were a word other than erecting for putting up a sign, because I cringe every time I write erecting the Wellywood sign. Oh, wait a minute, putting up. Duh!

I will try, though I can't promise, not to write again about what will probably turn out to be one of the best publicity stunts ever. So, I'll leave you with my favorite of the alternatives:




And a special thanks to Jamie for the above.

Extreme Kiwis 4

This video is a wonderful example of the crazy, wild and gloriously care-free spirit I've surrounded by here in New Zealand. I've already written about the Extreme Kiwis, here, and here.

The video perfectly captures the heart-achingly beautiful South Island country, the slightly touched (West) Coaster spirit, and the pure, unbridled sense of fun in Kiwis. Enjoy.

Wellywood sign dispute erupts

My friend Mike came up with this alternative.

The planned Wellywood sign dispute slated to be erected on the hills above Evans Bay - and in plain sight of the airport - has degenerated into something of a furor.

What started as a quaint little disagreement has now turned into an all-of-society conflagration - even the 10-year-old neighbor boy asked me what I thought about it. More than 25,000 people have joined a facebook sign opposing the sign; a slow-drive protest around the airport jammed traffic for hours, and, of course, there's the obligatory forceful-bordering-on-the-completely-inappropriate front-page newspaper quotes.

Oh, and there were calls for a Monkey Wrench Gang style of civil disobedience. The Moa brewery has offered a 15-case reward for anyone who destroys the sign - particularly in a creative way. It's even considering paying the legal fees for anyone who gets busted for doing as they were bidden.

The Wellington City Council voted 10-4 last night against the sign, despite the fact that some of its own employees initially gave it the go-ahead. This lead to one of the dissenting, pro-sign councillors, to call those on the other side, "media whores" - yes, that was on the front page of The Dominion Post. Not a good thing to say at any time, but especially when you have a female mayor. "Impetuous fools" is something else better kept to yourself if you're looking for future harmony.
At this point it was a largely symbolic vote, as the sign would be on airport property and they have all the paperwork and OKs they need.

The brouhaha is drawing international attention, including from the states.

And, as you can probably tell, I've found a cool little site where you can design your own Wellywood sign, here. Please come up with your own ideas for the sign, right click on the sign and email it to me at adrianjhpratt@gmail.com I'll run the best in another blog. I can't promise you 15 cases of beer, but I can guarantee you you won't require any legal fees.

The reasons people are against the sign - designed to celebrate Wellington's creative movie industry - are outlined here.


One local wag suggested this one.

As I would have to see the sign every morning on the way to work, I'm definitely not in favor of it. The fact is that Wellington Harbor is a thing of beauty. It looks wonderfully different every day. It sure as hell doesn't need any fancying up with some "creative" billboard. Of course, that's just my opinion. As Dennis Miller used to say - before he went on Fox News - I could be wrong.

One step forward, two quakes back

It is illustrative of the life the people of Christchurch are living that one of the biggest earthquake-related news days was underscored by two more aftershocks.

Life moving forward and backwards at the same time. A vision of the future underlined by the painful memories of the past and the daily deprivations of the present.

These aftershocks came within half an hour of each other, the stronger one at 4.1, and knocked out power to hundreds. On and on it keeps coming.

And isn't it just a sign of the upside-down world in Christchurch when it's considered a "hugely symbolic" announcement that one of the centerpieces of the skyline was being demolished - euphemistically referred to as deconstructed?

It reminded me of a poignant radio interview earlier this week with an older Lyttelton woman who burst into tears as onlookers applauded when a building in her town fell to the bulldozers.

When did levelling buildings become an applause line?

Today's announcement was that the contract to bring down the 27-story Hotel Grand Chancellor had been awarded. The Grand Chancellor has been on a dangerous lean since Feb. 22. The threat of collapse has kept a large swath of the city centre closed. Nerves get rattled with every aftershock. Will it fall? Even the "good news" wasn't much of a shot in the arm: the deconstruction is going to take close to a year - but areas around the hotel should be accessible in five months.

Bloody hell. Spare us the bad news. Please.


Picture by Lyttelton Port Company. Computer-altered aerial of Lyttelton showing proposed development of the port

Also today an interesting project to reclaim about 22.5 acres of new land around the crippled port of Lyttelton using some of the millions of tons of earthquake rubble was green-lighted. The new land is needed to help the port continue its commercial operations while earthquake damage is repaired.

Finally on the earthquake front, contractors - the frontlines in rebuilding the city - have had about enough of the hoops they are being made to jump through. One of them - continuing the trend of wonderfully florid language in New Zealand newspapers that I've started noticing - said, "Everyone has almost got to the stage of saying `stick it up your a...'. They are putting things in our way all the time and don't explain what the process is."

So what, precisely, is Christchurch left to celebrate after this day of hyper-news? All Blacks captain and Canterbury Crusader star Richie McCaw announced that he's renewed his contract and will stay in New Zealand for four more years.

Talk about burying my lead, eh?

Kia Kaha, Christchurch.

The wounded warriors

Morgan, on the left, hanging with two of his injured Rugby buddies at Saturday's match. This was not a sight that warmed Amy's heart. She's still skeptical about the whole Rugby thing and seeing two 14-year-olds in slings seemed to confirm that worry. And no, I'm not that bad a photographer: I just blurred out their faces. Amy still hasn't seen Morgan play, but she's drumming up the courage to see him this weekend. The plastic bags over the slings are a nice touch too, I thought.

Extreme Kiwis 3

I sometimes think these guys are making things up just to see how I'll react. So I've taken to adopting an underwhelmed attitude, a shrug of the shoulders that says, "Yeah, that makes sense."

After all, I do believe Kiwis have a crazy streak. When it comes to physical activity, they are definitely extreme to the max.

But the stories keep coming.

Last week a friend of mine was telling me how excited he was that snowboarding season was almost here. When he told me where he was going I asked him where he stayed while he was there, as I know a couple of the hotels.

"Oh no, mate," he said. "I just stay in a tent."

Yeah, because nothing says camping like snowboarding.

"Really?" I asked, my new attitude already cracked. "Aren't you going to be cold and damp, and you're going to stay in a tent?"

"It's just for a weekend," he said. Damn, put down again.

We live on a big, big hill - a mountain by South Dakota standards. But every day I see an army of runners and bikers heading to and from work, their professional clothes in backpacks.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, not in the land that invented commercial bungee jumping. There are some astonishingly terrifying jumps here - though why Billy Connolly decided to risk it naked is beyond me.



To a certain extent, New Zealand has commercialized its craziness with a seemingly unending list of extreme activities available for visitors. The lunacy of jet boating - extremely fast up very narrow rivers - is just the start.



If you can get foreigners to dive naked into a canyon, it's just a short jump in logic to pursuade them to get into a giant hamsterball and roll them down a steep mountain - and make them pay for it. Calling it Zorb, as they do, seems to add insult to injury.

From there, it quickly moves to fly by wire, seen below, where they basically strap an aircraft engine to your back, attach you to a wire and, with a little nudge and a wink, send you off on a ride that can top 150km. Well, why not? (Though I can guarantee you will never see me do ANY of these things.)



But still, camping after snowboarding?

A pause to remember Christchurch

Today marks three months since the earthquake that ravaged Christchurch. History has moved on inexorably: Japan has been hit, the Arab Spring is in flames, earthquakes have taken lives all over the world, tornadoes have struck, the Mississippi has risen. But Christchurch and her hardy people still suffer, still struggle and still need our help. So keep them in your thoughts and prayers. There's a global telethon going on at the moment, so you can help. You can follow it live here.

Well he would what?

Controversies come in the strangest shapes and sizes. A plan to install the above sign - celebrating the capital's movie industry - have set a spark to a tinder of public outrage. For opponents it is, literally, the sign of bad things to come.

This on the front page of The Dominion Post:

"We had a film industry well before this Wellywood bullshit was going on. I think it's f...ing stupid. It is copying a foreign bullshit glamour idea and it's the pits of what people aspire to." I might add that this was in the f...ing lead story of the f...ing front page and comes from a veteran local film director, Geoff Murphy.

The sign is to be posted on a hill above Evans Bay, right by the airport, in time for the Rugby World Cup, which begins in September.

The plan was earlier put on hold after an initial mushroom cloud of outrage. Alternatives to the Wellywood sign were sought, but, after 15 months of input, it was decided this week by the powers that be that Wellywood was the best way to go.

The anger seemingly has little to do with the hundreds of thousands of dollars the sign would cost - though that sum seems staggering - and is all about the fact that, at best, it portrays Wellington as a city of imitation and, at worst, that it's just plain crass.

Hundreds of people - most in a state of negative agitation - sent their thoughts to the newspaper.

Here are a few of their comments:

"It is a crass and somewhat pathetic imitation of the Hollywood sign and has that cringe factor about it that suggests that we are incapable of coming up with icons of our own making."

"It's like being given a really embarrassing jersey from an old aunt, and then being made to wear it."

"I'm officially ashamed to be a creative in New Zealand right now. It's great that we as kiwis have a "can do" attitude."

Noting a certain Kiwi love for the Pantomime, I'd opt for a bit of graffiti to the sign:



Perhaps you have a more original thought? Let me know.

The coolest little bus stops

Bus stops all around Wellington are being very cooly redesigned as Rugby World Cup fever heats up. I was annoyed that I had to take the picture into the sun, but when I got home I noticed the amazing effect: the sun illuminates the floodlights and all the flash bulbs in the crowd. The effect is amazing. I don't know why they felt the need to cover the seats in Astroturf, but I guess they don't want Kiwis feeling like they are benchwarmers when they're waiting for a bus. The side shot shows the goalposts and gives the impression that the little bus stand is actually the Rugby stadium. If this is what they're doing with something as innocuous as a bus shelter, I can't wait to see what else is in store.

Have you forgotten where you are?

I know, I know, we've only been here about 9 months, but even the extraordinary can become ordinary when it's your everyday. So, welcoming newcomers to New Zealand, being a tour guide, telling our Kiwi stories is reinvigorating. You relive the magic. You see what has become commonplace through new eyes, wonder-filled eyes that were your own just a few months ago.



We had the chance to show around a couple that is just moving to New Zealand. Wellington was showing off again to day, as it was on our first day. It was one of those glorious crisp fall days. Blue skies. A gentle wind over the bays. The water iridescent. Wellingtonians, perhaps knowing the wet, windy winter that is coming, were taking full advantage. Even in the middle of the day, the running paths were full, so were the coffee shops. People were walking slowly, delaying the return to the office. Yes, Wellington was basking. Like seals on a rock.

"It's just ridiculous," I kept saying, meaning the whole splendor of it, and meaning it as a compliment. And it is. Purely ridiculous. And hearing my guest affirming it made it true. We humans are funny that way, allowing the little day-to-day niggles to become the trees of our lives. The forest is always out there, but the run of the mill always trips us with its fallen and twisted limbs. Work stuff. Kid stuff. Traffic. Bills. Groceries. The daily grind, in other words.

Sometimes being forced to see our lives anew, to step into the shoes of the unacquainted is all we need, to remind us to look at our life writ large. Thank you, Wellington for putting on a show. You sure are pretty. We're glad to be here.

And then there was this:


People were lining the walk at Oriental Bay to see a small pod of Orcas in the water. By the time I got down there for lunch with Amy they were already gone. But, if you stare at choppy, sun-flecked water long enough you can convince yourself you see whatever you want to see. (Hello, Nessie!) At right was my picture, which, admittedly, is not nearly as good as Brad Dyer's, above. He's from the Dominion Post. Sports and wildlife photography have never been my forte. Still, it was a nice lunch. And the water looks nice, doesn't it?

The All Blacks really are all that

The All Blacks belong to New Zealand like perhaps no other team belongs to its respective country. Not a superstar team like Barcelona, anyway. Not sporting Gods, like those in the NBA. Not like some of those Prima Donnas in the EPL. Those folks are superior, above everyone. Annointed. And you're not.

In New Zealand the All Blacks are hallowed, that's for sure. They are part of the country's psyche, part of its identity. They are revered. And yet they are just that: a part of the country, a reflection of its values. They are New Zealand.

The players are simply not what you would expect them to be, had you been exposed to superstars in other countries, in other games. There is no entourage. There is no superhero complex. No attitude. No bling. (Well, except for the hair and the moko.)

These guys belong to the country, as the country belongs to them. They visit schools on their own. They live humbly. They come to dinners and sit with boring farts and are quiet and charming and answer questions.

They are proud to wear the jersey, to represent their country. They are humble. I've met a bunch of the All Blacks now, and their attitude stuns me. They are respectful and genuinely interested in the people they speak to. They sign autographs - elaborately personalized - and talk as one human being to another.



Fearsome on the field of battle, all of them have the Maori peacefulness off it. The confidence of the big man. A gentle giant syndrome, personified by the soft, sing-song Maori/New Zealand accent and the gentleman-warrior politeness that is so disarming. I've met superstars from all sports and they project an attitude that lets you know they're hanging with you only because they have to. They are separate.

But the All Blacks are of New Zealand. And all the ones I've met respect that, find it important. One of the guys I met tonight actually asked me how I thought his team could increase family attendance at their games and said, "I'll take note of that" when I gave him my answer.

I truly do not know of another "brand," another franchise that so reflects a sense of community responsibility, of decency of, honestly, a sense of honor at serving than the All Blacks crew. Of course there are a few bad apples, but as a whole, this crew of All Blacks - including the mega star Sonny Bill Williams - while ferocious huns on the field, come across as genuinely calm and decent human beings off it.

Victor Vito, who was a prefect at my son's school, told me - patiently - about his journey. Rodney So'oialo talked about life as a professional Rugby player with no signs that he was just obligated to do so. These guys are just plain nice.

And it's not as if they are some second-rate team. Even though they come from a tiny country of just 4.3 million people, these guys are the most feared Rugby players in the world. And it is not as if they aren't under pressure. It has seriously been suggested that, this being an election year, if the All Blacks don't win the World Cup - held in New Zealand starting in September - that the enviably popular government could fall. That's how devastated the country would be.

In fact, the only All Black to be kicked off the team, Keith Murdoch back in 1972, prefered to run away and hide rather than come back to New Zealand and face the media storm and the shame. He disappeared for years and still lives in the Australian bush. And all this guy did was punch a security guard in a Welsh bar - hours after he'd scored the winning try. That's right, for a punch-up.

Anyway, the point is that the All Blacks have got something no other superstar franchise I know has: class, poise, refinement. They are an impressive bunch. And beloved by their people.

Paybacks are hell-ish Music

One of the more troubling oddities, to me, about New Zealand is the absolute obsession with 1980s music. Having left Britain for good in the 1980s, and with New Zealand reminding me very much of my home in Scotland, it's an unpleasant form of time travel for me. And let me stress, I'm not saying there's a good bit of 1980s music being played here. Not event quite a bit. No, I'm saying it is everywhere and all the time.

I won't go as far as to say I was running away from the silk shirts, mascara and earrings of the New Romantics when I left Scotland, but it sure was nice to see them in the rear view mirror. It's a sad old world of which Simon Le Bon is king and Boy George is actually paid money for what he did. Generations should sue.

Kajagoogoo were allowed to roam the planet with impunity, spouting their inanities to generations of brainwashed children with brilliance such as: "Too shy shy, Hush hush, eye to eye." Repeated a thousand times. Prince, A-Ha, Wham! (Don't forget the exclamation point, because those boys really had panache!), Soft Cell, Depeche Mode ... the list of boy toys sashaying around stages was endless.

I mean, how did their mothers let them out of the house looking like that?

Now I know lots of good stuff came out of the '80s. But it's the trauma you remember. How many times have you heard someone say, "I'd just had a lovely ice cream minutes before the savage attack"? No, it's the pain you remember.

You know the feeling you used to get the morning after a wild party? You just wanted to lie low for a couple of days - and certainly didn't want to talk about it. But there was always one person who wanted to go on and on about who did what, what you said to whom, and wasn't that just crazy? You just felt really uncomfortable and awkward.

Well, that's sort of the feeling I get walking into any store, any mall or listening to any radio station in New Zealand. I am not exaggerating. It's the only music being played publicly here. I'm constantly having enforced flashbacks. I can just be going into the mall to get some running shoes for the boys and there's Human League blaring away. Oh my God. Suddenly I'm at a party in Dundee or in Glasgow rolling out all my pre-planned dance moves, imitating the rubbery figures on the "Top of the Pops" music videos. Like a real super star.

It hurts, let me tell you. Badly.

I move on quickly, hoping to hell neither of my kids makes any reference to the music. How do you explain Spandau Ballet? Even when we went to the Pantomime here, the recurring theme had the main characters singing the chorus to "Vienna." Afterwards we had to look at videos of Ultravox. My sons were underwhelmed - and Ultravox weren't even that bad.

I asked one of my Kiwi friends what the deal was with this '80s obsession. He was younger than me. He said it was so retro it was cool all over again. Nice.

Just as I'd begun noticing this tidal wave of ancient pop, I saw that Debbie Harry was appearing in New Zealand. Who even knew Blondie was still alive? (OK, I will confess that I tried to get tickets for that show, but it was morbid interest. That's all. I promise.) And she was touring with The Pretenders. Double flashback drag-down.

Then, returning home for lunch last month, I heard - and I am not making this up - a half-hour show about the new Duran Duran album. On Radio Freaking New Zealand. It was being discussed as if it were not only art, but also a very important societal development that they'd been reborn.

A lot of people have asked me why I left Scotland when I did. Perhaps I have just given a small insight. And New Zealand is paying me back. You all are just lucky I haven't worked out how to add music to my blogs. 'Cos, believe me, I'd be sharing the love.

Hideaways to keep the world at bay

Don't get me wrong, there are some stupendously lavish houses on the hills above Wellington. But by and large, the Kiwis don't go in for extravagant displays of wealth. Sure, there's a sort of tweedy, Britishy group of folks, but New Zealand is a very egalitarian place and most folks, regardless of the state of their bank accounts, are down to earth and unpretentious.

This is epitomized in the bach culture. A bach is a sort of weekend getaway and I've been struck by the very basic nature of many of them, even the ones with million-dollar views. A bach weekend is about getting together with friends and family, having a bit of a grill and a couple of bottles of wine and just catching up. The structure is just there for shelter, not frills.

Even around the metropolis I've seen some amazing little hideaways, all of them with breathtaking views of the water. Yet, some of them - my favorites - are nothing more than little shacks. What else do you need, after all, with a view of the harbor or one of the glorious bays, but a couch or a bed and your imagination?

The picture at top shows what must be the most amazing tree house in New Zealand. It sits about 250 feet above Evans Bay and looks out over a glorious expanse of water that never looks the same two days in a row. So it's a little basic, but why do you need a big-screen TV and the finest furniture when you've got New Zealand's nature, below, to behold?





My favorite little shack of all of them, though, is this one above. It's basically a bed with some windows and walls around it. It too has a spectacular view out over Worser Bay to Seatoun. (It may be slightly worser than Scorcher Bay, but it's still a lovely place - just with an unfortunate name.) It looks out to the channel that leads into the Cook Strait where, earlier this year, a pod of Orcas frolicked as if it were home. Can't you just imagine lying away a sunny Sunday afternoon up there with a good book and your i-Pod?



This one looks like a little summer garden house, complete with flagpole and porch, and overlooks Wellington harbor. On a good day this view cannot be beaten and may be worth what is not an inconsiderable gamble: being built on a side of a mountain just a hundred feet from one of the largest earthquake faults in the world.

I've spotted dozens of these little hideaways around Wellington and I love them.



This one above can't be described as a bach or a little hideaway by any stretch of the imagination. But it's another phenomenon around the bays. Houses perched on such steep hills that they need a little cable car to get up to them. Again, you're weighing the view for certain drawbacks. Like what do you do if you buy a new couch? Still, must be a fabulous way to arrive home after a crappy day at work: catch your own private street car home and chill out with a view to die for.



This photo, to me, is what bach life is all about. We'd rented a little place near Rotorua. It was charming but, by American standards, a bit on the grotty side. Exposed pipes and wiring, bubbling linoleum and random bits of wood lying around. But then you looked outside and there was the lake. And so you sit there and chat, because there isn't cable or satellite or internet.

Baches - true baches as opposed to cottages or lake houses - are almost always a little on the tatty side, usually made, according to Wikipedia, of cheap or recycled material like fibrolite, corrugated iron or used timber. Many were inspired by the backwoods cabins and sheds of the early settlers and farmers.

Some of them are built around the holiday caravans that were there first, or old trams being sold by cities getting rid of them. I've even seen one made entirely of windows.

There are a lot of land battles brewing or in full fight at the moment. Some baches, now being surrounded by subdivisions, are grandfathered into newer zoning laws. Others - built on land "not technically" owned by the residents - will be torn down when their current inhabitants die. Rising affluence has also caused some baches to be decried as eyesores, which is rather a shame.

That's another story for another post. In the meantime, these little Peter Pan hideaways around Wellington will continue to charm me. Ever since my grandparents built us a grand treehouse I've always loved little quiet and preferrably dark places from which to keep the world and her pressures at bay. I hope each of these little shacks is used well to that effect. Otherwise it would just be a waste.