Drum It Up A Notch, Will You?

There are not many Japanese here in Kiwiland. But I managed to find many last Saturday at Auckland Museum. It was a festival called “Tate Of Japan” with only 5 food stalls (yatai) serving up octopus balls, fried noodles, etc, as well as an art exhibition, performances such as taiko, koto/shamisen, and demonstrations like calligraphy, sushi-cooking, origami, tea ceremony.

It was a shame that most of the people there already know too much about everything presented there - being Japanese themselves. The festival was to celebrate 60 years of diplomatic relationship between Japan and New Zealand, although not really a big deal to the Kiwis judging by the turnout.

Many girls were walking around in their beautiful kimonos and yukatas. I regretted not wearing mine. But then again, with that kind of turnout, I might as well have a private fashion show in front of my bedroom mirror.

The organizer, NZ Japan Society of Auckland, has obviously made a lot of effort. You can’t find a better venue than the magnificent Auckland Museum. All the programs were expertly planned too. But my guess is they didn’t make enough noise to promote it.

However my greatest disappointment is the total number of food stalls. 5! Are you kidding me? How dare they called it “Taste Of Japan”!

I don’t need too much culture. I want my food!!

To Kiss Or Not To Kiss

After meeting the principal of a prestigious local college for some volunteer work – OK, to beg for any excuse to keep me from staying home all day long every day, I got off the bus and started walking home when I heard a car tooting the horn behind me. So I braced myself for what I was certain to come next. Just as I expected, two guys drove past slowly. One stuck his head out of the window and shouted hello while waving at me frantically. I guess they haven’t learned to wolf-whistle yet.

I never know what to do in a situation like that. Shall I smile and wave back or shall I just pretend to go deaf plus blind suddenly?

It has nothing to do with what a girl is wearing, I can assure you. For instance, I was all decked out in my sternest school teacher outfit on the aforementioned occasion. And no, I don’t think they’ve got that kind of fantasy either.

So what’s their excuse then? Of course it’s not Kiwi-specific. However, I suspect it’s gender-specific or at least I’ve never felt the urge of tooting the horn whenever I see a delicious male specimen of man walking on the street, although I can’t really speak for other women.

Sure, I am flattered and I can certainly appreciate the fun side of it. But now I am wondering what to do next time? Shall I try throwing kisses enthusiastically at the guys when it happens again? You know, just to make it more interesting. What do you think?

Thrills And Frills

Last night at a burlesque show, I found that I am not the only woman who enjoys the fun and art of teasing. In fact, men were spectacularly outnumbered by women last night, even if we don’t count the hen party. And the place is not a lesbian bar either, although many of the women there were as big as the men.

While waiting for the show to start, the girls at the hen party were obviously determined to have a good time. Clad in plus-size skimpy lingerie, lacy stockings and hot pink boas, they danced and bounced with the vivacious bride-to-be who for the night assumed the name Candelicious.

There were four performers last night. All of them were quite professional. Their attention to detail showed in the cleverly put-together choreography, carefully tailored costumes and well-rehearsed routines. But I am not sure how much of that was taken in by the audience. Most of the men there were probably there only for the visual titillation anyway. Tits and ass – and they would be happy enough.

I must admit there is a certain charm in the simple way of thinking though. I used to believe that the art of seduction was all about demure smiles, flirtatious glances, and subtle body language. But sex and the city is too sophisticated to understand or analyze sometimes. Perhaps a roll in the hay is far more appealing when you live in the country?

Eating The Insatiable Moon

It was the Chinese Moon Festival last week, my first time to celebrate it here in the Kiwiland. Although it was most unusual to see dragon dance for this occasion – not sure if it’s a Chinese or Kiwi tradition now, I certainly enjoyed the festivity and of course, the moon cakes!

The Kiwis seem to like the moon too. I suppose not only the lunatics find the moon inspiring. I recently watched a Kiwi movie called “The Insatiable Moon.” Set in Ponsonby, the hippie-turned-yuppie little town in Auckland and based on a true story, the movie successfully captured the town’s struggle during the transformation and led us into a colorful world of a mentally disturbed Maori man, Arthur, who believed himself to be the second son of God.

Last night I went to a speech by Mike Riddell, the author of the book and the screenwriter/cameraman of the movie. He talked about how he started as a minister at a church in Ponsonby many years ago after his postgraduate study in Switzerland, and devoted his life to helping the local homeless. Later he became a lecturer teaching Baptism in a university and moved away. But then he lost his job when he published his first fiction, “The Insatiable Moon”, because of a steamy sex scene in the book.

He read us a beautifully written passage in the book which brought us right back to the old streets of Ponsonby (no, to our disappointment, not the sex scene.) And he talked about how he and his wife (Rosemary Riddell, the director) managed to shoot the movie with the meager budget of USD 350,000 or so– all the money they could scrape and raise, although you would never guess that when you watch the movie. He also shared some behind-the-scene stories of the movie.

Last night in the basement of a small library in Ponsonby, it’s clear to everyone in the audience that Mike has a passion about what he does and he truly believes in it. But I suspect that he has realized how good he is at what he does, even though the movie has won several international awards and Rawiri Parantence, the actor who plays Arthur, also won the well-deserved best actor in 2011 NZ Film Awards.

Mike confessed that the movie hasn’t made him any richer. But I am not surprised at all. As a rule, those who don’t believe in money don’t become millionaires. In a world built on materialism, it’s exceptionally rare to find someone with an insatiable appetite to inspire hope and save souls, instead of making more and more money. It’s a dying species, but they still exist. Thank God! 

To The World Peace

I came across this page on the local newspaper about the coming Miss Howick beauty pageant. It got me thinking. Perhaps those women are too young to care whether they are being treated as sexy kittens. Or perhaps some of them are just using it as a shortcut to fame – even if it only lasts 15 minutes.

But if we all agree that the true beauty is from within, I wonder what’s the purpose of beauty pageants. In my opinion, strip shows are much more honest. At least the strippers don’t have to pretend that they give a damn about world peace.

And talking about world peace, well if you really want to know what I think – women should rule the world!

The reason is simple. Women might be over-indulged in catty fights sometimes, but we will never start a war. It’s a woman’s instinct to nest and nurture. Therefore, to achieve world peace, we should just let women run the world.

And the first step is to stop treating women, and only women, as sex objects. I suggest that we start men’s beauty pageants immediately. And don’t forget about the most important part – the swimsuit competition.

To the world peace!

Bacon, Cheese and Brownies

There is a farmers’ market every Saturday in the village. Rain or shine, you see people going there for some special treats they can’t get from the usual supermarkets such as freshly plucked strawberries, home-made marmalade, perfectly cured lean bacon, locally produced herb cheese, and my favorite, sinfully delicious double chocolate brownies!

Last weekend I bought a beautiful pot of coriander there and now it’s happily sitting in the front yard. I’ve made some guacamole dip with the coriander and I’m planning to make Thai seafood salad next.

I also like to wander around from stall to stall, tasting the samples, chatting with the vendors, and petting the dogs people bring along. There is a Greek food stall there manned by a shy little boy. Their spinach and feta cheese pastry is something to look forward to every week.

Sometimes a young man plays the guitar there although I’ve never seen people giving him any money. Maybe I will take my cello there next weekend and make people pay to stop me.

I love farmers' markets!

Watch Out, Someone Has Just Let Loose!

The Official NZ Road Code, p.286:

“Q: When a flock of sheep are coming towards you on a country road, what should you do?

 A: Greet them with a friendly BOA~~”

All right, I made the answer up obliviously. The correct answer is, you should stop the car immediately and start counting the sheep.

I passed the driver license written test yesterday. Although the officer refused to award me with any prizes for my full mark - even not a lollipop, she promised to talk to her supervisor. And later I learned that the driving tests here are intentionally designed to be very difficult so that they can fail people and make more money with repeating tests. They are in a bit of a financial struggle apparently, which probably explained why they offered me the membership every time I went there.

But they do have something to worry about even though they are not aware of it and I pray they will never find out. The thing is, I’m not as road-worthy as they might like to think. I don’t really drive. I just crawl while bumping into everything. But I never hit any moving targets. I only hit still targets like garage walls and parked cars. In fact, cars and pedestrians are safe with me as long as they keep running. I won’t be able to catch them anyway.

So watch out and keep moving, here I come!

No Popcorn, No Movies

The little village nearby has a boutique movie theater showing art house movies and Kiwi movies. I’ve been going there every week lately. You buy your tickets, snacks, and wine or gourmet coffee from the bar. Next to the bar, there is a cozy living room where you can sit on one of their comfy sofas in front of the fireplace and sip your wine or coffee while waiting for your movie to start.

Unlike the cinemas in Tokyo which boast the best audio and visual quality, on-line reservation, and all the comforts any movie fan could imagine, this tiny village theater only offers the basics. But it is charming, quaint and full of character. And best of all, a ticket costs only about 400 yen!

I watched “Hope Springs” the first week when I discovered the place. If you haven’t seen it, make sure you do! It’s not only stomachache-inducing funny but also thought provoking.

The second week I watched “Your Sister’s Sister”, and this week “Two Little Boys.” Both are quite good, especially the latter which happens to be a Kiwi film, although a little too graphic for my liking.

The only thing though, this theater doesn’t sell popcorn - I know I know, it’s outrageous! I’ve never been to any other cinemas where you can’t get a big bucket of extra-butter popcorn. I suppose even if they don't mind us wiping our greasy fingers on the seats, they wouldn't like to sweep the floor for the escaped popcorn later, would they? 

Oh well their nut-coated boysenberry ice cream cone will have to do for now. Poor me!

The Last Chinese Laundry Shop On Queen Street

As we all know, Chinese are everywhere – even here in Kiwiland. One of the events for this year’s Heritage Festival is called “The Shadow Of Early Chinatown”, although there is actually no such thing as Chinatown here. Unlike many other larger cities, the Chinese people here don’t congregate. They simply spread.

It was a picture perfect spring day - blue sky, fluffy clouds, warm sunshine, sea breeze, and cherry blossoms. We had a lovely walk around downtown and listened to our guide, a 73-year-old 4^th generation Chinese gentleman, telling us the stories his father and grandfather had told him.

There were more than 40 of us, mostly Kiwis who were curious to find out where on earth all those Chinese immigrants around them had sprung from even though they were probably also a little alarmed by the ever increasing number of the immigrants. As for me, being new in town, I am just curious about everything.

Chinese people are famous for being tribal, but you will be surprised to learn that even among us there are many tribes too – new immigrants vs. old immigrants, mainlanders vs. islanders, Mandarin speakers vs. Cantonese speakers, etc.

And when I say “us”, I don’t really know whether I am one of “us” or “them” since I’ve been secretly suffering from my identity crises for quite a while now. In fact, I’m so confused that the first girl I decided to talk to was not a Kiwi, but an Italian English girl who moved here from London 7 years ago. Now go figure.

After the walk, we went to a Yum-Cha restaurant for lunch. The quality of the “ethnic” restaurants here (i.e., Chinese, Indian, Thai) is much better than the quality of those in Tokyo. I sat at the table with a friendly 78-year-old lady, a couple who love Hong Kong, and three younger Kiwis – one of them has lived in Japan for a year!

Obviously we all have our own stories to tell, but yesterday we together shared the story of the last Chinese laundry shop on Queen Street. And it was a splendid start.