During one of these runs, at a liquor store called Sally's in SavuSavu, I noticed a short, wiry Ronnie Wood look-a-like with a pretty Fijian girl buying a bottle of vodka. We nodded to each other, I bought some wine and I went back to my dinner.
So it is the following morning, as we waited for the plane to leave the island at the Savusavu landing strip, where we can say that we formally met Mike (he is not named Ronnie, too bad). Mike has a home on the island of Waiheke, one of Auckland's Hauraki Gulf Islands and therefore only accessible by boat, and has also bought property in Fiji on Venua Levu, down by the Salt Lake — his little retirement place, he figures.
He's an affable guy. We have a nice chat about Fijian land and politics and before long he's scrawling his phone number on a piece of paper. "If you want to see my island when you come to Auckand, give me a call. You'll come by the house and see the view."
And so we do! Mike picks us up from the ferry terminal on Waiheke just after 10:00 a.m. in his black Holdon Commodore V8 which growls when he steps on the gas and feels like he's holding back an angry pit bull. In the passenger seat is his nine year old daughter, Isla, on summer holiday from school and suffering from a bit of a cough. Mike drives us into town and drops us off while he takes Isla to see a doctor. We agree to meet up in an hour.
In town, we tour a couple of galleries and shops and then run into Paora Te Rangiuaia who is a renowned Maori sculptor. His little shops sells sculptures, artworks and jewelry, but we spend all our time talking to him about the Les Lapidiales project which he has been working on in three month stints for the past two years.
Les Lapidiales is a collective of sculptors from all over the world working on large scale pieces on the sides of cliffs and in caves near-ish to Bordeaux. Inside the caves, theater art and dance is performed. Eventually, the ceiling of the caves will all be carved as well. The outside of the caves are being sculpted/transformed by many different artists relating some aspect of their cultural creation story — very "hall of man".
Paora is an extremely present man who speaks passionately about his process and his work. After talking with him for twenty minutes, we're already considering chucking our NZ plans and heading to France just to see the project up close ourselves! Check his work out at www.ikonz.co.nz. We can't actually check out his site (it's in Flash — one of the things the iPad can't do), but we are including it here as we think it will be good (and hopefully have a link to the Les Lapidiales which you can read about online or see videos about on YouTube).
With Isla given the okay by the doctor, Mike picks us up and begins a tour around the island in the Commodore, taking us to various beaches and vantage points to see the stunning views of Waiheke.
Mike is an interesting guy. Born in Gurnsey, he moved to Waiheke with his family when he was two and has spent all his life here. His family had a large farm on a plot of land overlooking the sea and when his father died suddenly (not sure what happened to mum) he and his brother were left a trust that took so long to sort out and involved so many lawyers that once he and his brother had paid everyone, they were left with little.
However, there was another family plot of land by the sea and he bought out his brother's share, pitched a tent and made it home for a year before putting up a garage which he lived in for several years. He worked odd jobs — mechanic, maintenance, landscaping, but most of his income it seems has come from slowly parcelling up and selling his land around him.
Did we mention the view?
Breathtaking. "Hideous," Mike calls it which we can only assume is the NZ version of wicked. Because it is! The best view we se all day anywhere on the island and Mike, now living in his small but comfortable house which he built for his family when Isla came along, knows he is perched on one piece of very prime property. "Some day a richie will come along and put up a mansion here," he chuckles. When he's ready to sell it. He's sitting on a goldmine.
In the meantime, he lives off the proceeds of his land sales. Next door, once his land, a modern architectural home is going up, a far contrast to his prefabricated bungalow. He's an avid fisherman. He has the puffy face and red nose and cheeks of a tippler. From the sounds of things, Waiheke has a more than a few of those. It's a small island with a small town mentality. It seems everyone knows everyone and their business. It's a gossip island.
Separated from Isla's mum, Mike finds his long distance relationship with Farisha in Fiji a struggle. He'd like Farisha to come and live with him on Waiheke, but NZ immigration doesn't take kindly to Fijians entering the country and so there is a lot of paperwork to be done, visas to be sorted.
We fly around the island in the Commodore which has no problem navigating the hills and curves. We go into Isla's school. This is a real treat as the school is an inquiry based school (something we have a great deal of experience with!). The set up is great — a semi circle of classroom buildings (two classrooms in each building separated by a centre common space between them). In the middle of the semi circle is well landscaped outside amphitheater space. There is a lovely auditorium/gymnasium on the outside of the semicircle on one side, growing gardens (which the students tend to), and a large (and very cool looking) playground surrounded by green hills and fields.
Mike nips into the school to speak with the principal's secretary (the principal is not in as it is still summer break) and talk us up. Out he comes with a card and an assurance that, if we are interested in working at the school, we should send our resumes in. Good thing we brought all that along with us! Could we be on the cusp of another job offer?!
After a quick stop at the house for a peek at the view and a game of tennis with Isla, Mike drives us down to the beach to see where his boat is moored (well, one of his boats!).
The past few days in NZ, there has been a king tide (a high tide in combination with heavy rains and heavy winds), meaning all sorts of flooding and weather anomalies. One end of Onetangi Beach is covered mightily with horseshoe mussel shells, the sight of which catches even Mike off guard. "I've never seen this many on this beach before!" The shells are all empty so Mike figures they were all dead and sitting out in the deep until the king tide pushed them up. Isla and Jenn busily chuck sea stars back into the ocean.
We have lunch at Charley Farleys on the beach. The sun comes out and we forget to put on sunscreen, which we pay for later. Mike talks more about his future, whether he'll sell up and move to another cheaper plot of land on Waiheke? Or stay where he is? Or move it all down to Fiji. With his thick Kiwi accent and one liners, he's a funny guy to listen to. He seems to know almost everyone. People are dropping by throughout the meal to shake hands and exchange pleasantries. "Just the bone I wanted to chew on," says Mike when he sees one fellow. Isla doubles over with giggles and asks Mike to share more of his funny greetings. He can't seem to remember them under pressure, "They just flow out of me in the moment," he says sheepishly.
"C'mon, I'll take you for a tinkly-too about the island." He takes us to Orapiu, all the way on the other end of Waiheke, past wineries and giant mansions. He complains that the richies are all here now, that back when he bought his property 24 years ago, it was just a quiet little sleepy island of farmers. Now it's all high class wineries, Porshe's, big mansions and yachts. "It's changed a lot with these richies," he says. "Not like the old days."
The wind is blowing like a gale force at the other end of the island. He spies on a couple strolling along the road before climbing into a truck. "That's not his wife," says Mike. "I know his wife. She's a lovely gal."
"It could be completely innocent?" we suggest hopefully.
"Maybe," he says, but I can tell he's not convinced. He watches them intently for a long time. "I'm going to have to give his wife a call and let her know what's going on."
We're getting a taste of the small island drama.
He has us back for the 5:45 p.m. ferry. We thank him profusely, hug, and exchange eMail addresses. He invites us to stay at his house if we want to come again, for longer.
Back in Auckland, we pick up some Indian take out from The Curry Box, a little hole in the wall we discover walking home from the ferry.
It's our best meal in Auckland so far.
No comments:
Post a Comment