Back in the ‘home-land’ after a 2 year hiatus

Not much really changes in New Zealand after two years. Sure a rugby world cup has been won surmounting to added pride of being kiwi; while a major disaster struck, an earthquake has decimated the country's 2nd biggest city. To me however it is still how I remember it. The air is still clearer; things are still cleaner; everywhere is generally cleaner; my friends still the same (just a bit more grown up); my family routine is the same; and most importantly my perception is still the same: NZ is a beautiful place but it is just too far from everything else, and though it doesn’t have the stressors of living in somewhere such as Europe – there just isn’t enough going on for me as a ‘young person’. Nonetheless it isn’t a bad place to be in the summer; even in Auckland the biggest city: beaches, forests, and other nature things are within a 30 minute (drive-time) radius. Moreover you have a pick of great art and music festivals, with the most incredible locations, in areas that are sparsely populated. WOMDAD (World Of Music And Dance), takes place on a lake in the town of New Plymouth, while I was lucky enough to go to the Splore festival for the 2^nd time.

Splore a music and arts festival really was indicative of the beauty and open psyche of New Zealand. It takes place every two years at the amazing Tapapakanga National Park, with beaches and forests flanking the activities taking place in the various venues. Two years ago it was one of my last experiences before I initially left New Zealand. Now I’m leaving again but more the wiser and I appreciate New Zealand even more after being overseas. It is such a great festival to be at, while you feel most of the 10% of the Green voting electorate is here, New Zealand’s biggest small party and 3^rd biggest in the country. You had families young and old, with punters and couples young and old – it was a festival that didn’t discriminate something for everyone. Dancing to great Djs of all sorts, and listening to great singers such as Eryka Badu was just one facet; there was yoga and meditation workshops; and live art sprawled everywhere.

Here is a video, whereby on the 0:15 second mark is a bunch of mimes that were promoting the ‘Fluxus Funhouse’, an event company whom my friend runs; I volunteered to get in to the festival at half-the-price to take part as well: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGQzkr7cUfA&feature=share

Now as I write this in my parent’s garden with the birds and secadas chirping away, in North Shore surburbia, I know I’m going to miss facets of this beautiful place. There are many places in the world where New Zealand’s beauty can be matched but in different ways, but there are few places in the world with such a civilized small population that sparsely populates beautiful areas that are not commercial and over-priced. For example, unlike the Cote d’Azur or Lake Como Italy, we have beauty that can match such iconic spots, like Russel and Lake Taupo but in New Zealand they’re not nearly at the same market value whereas they are emptier in comparison. And it is this fact that I believe why New Zealand is special. Nonetheless, my next venture to Europe is for a five year period, as opposed to the two year period previous; this is what I’m looking forward to most, to make my mark and continue my euro adventure.

First venture into Eastern Europe, the Balkan Region – Belgrade

It was Monday morning 5 am I had recently just said goodbye to my former work-mates, my staff party was over and I was to catch my plane from Luton, flying a Hungarian airline Wizz Air to Belgrade. Waiting for me was my good ol’ friend, like me he had immigrated to New Zealand at a young age, but unlike me he’d returned to his homeland, to be with his family, and friends’, both old and new.



We were staying in the centre of old Belgrade, the real Belgrade according to my friend. The road we were staying was nick-named Silicone Valley, because of all the wealthy women who frequented this road, with their augmented bodies from various surgery operations. This road was one of the wealthiest in the inner-city area, with a line of the priciest bars in the whole country situated here. The apartment we were staying is his father’s, but his father lives in New Zealand for 6 months of summer and then returns for the Northern hemisphere summer in Europe. So my friend has the place to himself. He loves this aspect of his life, and has turned it into his own bachelor pad.



I met all of his family, and even went to a small village town, for an annual traditional dinner, the Saint’s day of his mother’s brother. It is part of the heritage and the official name in Serbian is Slav. My friend told me when we were lost out in the countryside that, that it is these types of abandoned places where corrupt businessmen both kill and then get rid of bodies; I wasn’t too happy to be lost in such circumstances. But we finally found the place he was looking for; My mate is the type of person who just goes ‘freestyle’ (without a map-book or GPS) when driving to unknown places, because he usually has some idea of how to get there, and his philosophy wherever the road will take me – we finally got there in the end (after asking some policeman at some entrance to an industrial plant).




Over the next few days I saw many of the sites of Belgrade, from the football stadiums (of Red Star & Partizan); iconic buildings such as the St Sava cathedral; graffiti art; the pebbled stoned bohemian street Skadarlija where I ate pig brains while gypsies performed music and dance; Kalamegan Fort – one of the most important strongholds in European history, one that had never been successfully penetrated; and of course we visited the Military Museum as it a region that had been subject to war for centuries.



The night of the most action was staying at his father’s house-boat on Lake Sava. It was in the negatives on the lake that night, so we got the fire-place going! All the action started when we went out. Because Bogdan was drinking I was going to drive, something I hadn’t done for nearly two years. However more pressing was the fact that I’d only once driven on the right side of the road. This was going to be a challenge driving at night, in a foreign country. Nonetheless, before I could take the wheel he had to exit the security point at the entrance of the house-boat dock. This entailed my friend having a long discussion with the night-watchman who was trying to deny us leaving after curfew, it was more of an argument. Finally we made it through the checkpoint, just before turning into the main road, my friend pulled up and parked at the intersection and said now it is your turn, ‘take over’. At the precise time we were switching seats, a car the only one we had seen drive past, came by, but it didn’t carry on going straight on its route, rather it did a u-turn. It was a police car and it was coming straight for us. It waited, wanting to turn onto the dirt road where we were coming from. I was still trying to get my seat-belt on when the cop stepped out the car to survey what all the commotion was about. The next thing I know, my friend and the cop are having a huge debate in Serbian, I’m just staying silent (obviously as I understood nothing), hoping for the best. Later my friend told me that he’d said to the policeman I couldn’t speak English, so he couldn’t check if my friend’s story was valid by interrogating me in English. You see, my friend’s car would not past a safety check if it was properly examined by a policeman, for example it didn’t have the spare tyre that was required by state law. I sat patiently. Somehow the conversation got resolved and the policeman walked back to his car but still eyeing us; then my friend then says, “drive (home), go, go”. I had no choice: I reversed my way out so I could turn around and go back from the way we came. I did expertly surprisingly, but the cop followed us all the way till the entrance, where he stopped (to speak to the night-watchman). We got home safely, but the excitement of the night had just began.




The original reason for going out, was we were going to check out the bars along the artificial lake Ada, which was very trendy among the young people. We couldn’t take the car, so the only way was to ride through the forest in the middle of the night, going from one lake to the other. It was the middle of winter, you could barely see, and the terrain was muddy with many broken branches on the path. We both ended up falling over. I stupidly was wearing my nicest dress pants. By any means when we finally reached the lake, it was an idyllic sight, with zero degree temperatures – it was much different to the height of summer when it is usually slammed with people all day and night round. We had the path to ourselves and rode for 8 kilometres, coming closer and closer towards the newly completed impressive Ada bridge – it was our landmark point. Finally reaching the bar we sat ourselves next to two intelligent Serbian girls, I ended up talking about Russian literature with her, she knew much more about Dostoïevski, Kafka, and Tolstoï. My friend the king-player was chatting up the girl about much more carnal things - speculating about his conquests in life, and his amazing pads (such as the inner-city apartment and house-boat) that he had at his disposal - he had other things on his mind.



So that was Belgrade, but for our New Year's celebration as they use the Eastern Orthodox Christian calendar, we had a really big night out in a smaller but much prettier city - Novi Sad. And that capped off my mini Eastern European adventure. I'll be back this summer to visit the Dalmatian coast, with my only two New Zealand Serbian friends living in Belgrade.

It all went down with London nearly burning to the ground!

On Saturday the 6th of August, it has been proven that an unarmed man was shot in Tottenham, London. Mark Duggan, a 29 year old with four children from two different women, a suspected drug dealer, a ring leader of the area even. Still, whatever his characteristics, his dealings, his misgivings, no one deserves to be shot in cold blood! And this had major ramifications for the next couple of nights, ones no one could have predicted, but was this tension always brewing? On the following evenings, several of London suburbs and boroughs were attacked: Clapham, Hackney, Croydon, Peckham, Brixton, was probably the worst hit. But even Camden and Chalk Farm were descended on by criminals, angry people, generally from London's housing estates. These thugs were people looking for a 'free lunch' by taking advantage of the mayhem. The first night in Tottenham was generally about protesting, protesting about a horrid act by the police, after that, it was mainly opportunists 'taking the piss'.


The rioting and looting had major adverse affects for London and its communities, shops were burnt down and totally smashed and looted; people were injured some were even killed in the crossfire due to the madness of everything that occurred. It was electrical stores and sport shops that were targeted for their flat-screen TVs and their trainers. Even 'off licenses', basically 24 hour convenient stores, had bottles of wine taken. This is not a political protest; this is greedy people taking what they can. Birmingham and Manchester had the same problems after the corresponding nights of the London riots, but it was simply the spreading of more looting, not people especially fighting for values of freedom or a democratic process.


As opposed to what had been happening in the Middle East, as this was not political, just silly rebellious youths with nothing better to do! In the Middle East it is people striving for democracy! The difference is when you live in a country with laws and most specifically civil rights and humanitarian rules, the police can only do so much. As opposed to the dictators of the Middle East who use strong military action against freedom fighters. The riot police here in London have to be politically correct, and had their hands' tied so to spoke, as they are only allowed to defend themselves with riot gear and shields, as opposed to taking part in offensive action. It made it more difficult for themselves to police the streets, with also not enough numbers of police at the scene of most crimes, it meant, at times, London was literally burning and some streets were well destroyed.


Nevertheless, if the Metropolitan forces were to police with a strong iron fist, London may have turned into a proper war zone with many more casualties. Now with the post-mortem and analysis, police are making arrests by tracking stolen items that are being sold on EBay; assessing Facebook posts and Blackberry messages; while CCTV has recorded much footage of the lootings. So arrests are being made and heavy sentences are being handed out to much of the ‘scum’ of England, the ones who have never worked, who don’t want to contribute to society but rather just exist off what they are given.


It is the middle class who are most affected, small business owners had their shops destroyed, while it is 'our' tax dollars which will be used to pay for funding the reparations. Nonetheless, some really small business owners have been helped, whereby money was raised for some by local communities to get these businesses back up on their feet; and even these same local communities literally cleaned up the streets as well. Adversity brings people together, and this is what happened here.


I witnessed some of the action on the Monday, as at the end of the night, my local Subway Store had a sign on their window: “No money kept in-store”: they were riot ready alright! I had seen youths walk down the main road of my street with rocks, the eldest could not have been older than 18, and there were kids who seemed to be even possibly pre-teens along for the ride. A shop on the main road had been smashed. It was obvious who the perpetrators were.

My evening of being a witness started when I was checking out a room in a housing estate close to one of the areas where the action was taking place. You could feel the adrenaline pumping in the air, while local non-participating residents were the spectators of the madness that was ensuing. The action went as follows: Along Walworth road, an elderly middle-aged angry man who looked about 50 came marching down to the police head on, screaming - he wanted justice. His qualms were that police had not dealt well enough with the situation and more offensive action should be taken. He was irate he was going mad; he was shouting pointing the finger. The police had to restrain him. This nearly 'kicked off' a brawl, with rioters coming down the road to see what exactly was going on. It didn't in the end, but it was ironic a man who had been antagonized by the rioters and wanted them dealt with more severely, were in fact saved by those same people he detested so much, as it was the rioters who were going to come to his rescue.


After this event, a young man on a bike, who wore all black and had his face covered by a scarf (like a robber from the wild west) - rode straight up to the police, without saying a word. He was a rioter of Walworth road. He was baiting them. He wanted them to do something silly as he rode around circling their immediate vicinity. But the police couldn’t do anything, since they were legally not allowed to lay a hand on anyone, and they didn't, but there would have been major problems if they did so. It was obvious he was taking much satisfaction in doing this, but it was more than just that. This guy had nothing to lose, or he had some rather big fucking balls, staring down a riot squad in the eyes - coming face to face with them just metres away. His balls couldn't be that big! There was hatred in his eyes, hatred for the authority, the government that had failed him. Perhaps he was one of the lost young ones from the lower classes that has actually been wronged: with cuts on social services, university fees rising by three times, a failing economy (due to financial mismanagement of rich banker CEO’s), a lack of jobs for young inexperienced people - maybe he did have a reason for rebelling after all. Maybe the right leaning PM from the 'Elite' top 1% of English society David Cameron, was not looking after these abandoned people. I could only see his eyes, but it was a melancholic sad hatred, one of desperation, he may be part of that lost generation. And unfortunately the headlines in the media only speak about the thugs, the vicious attention seekers, not the actual disheartened youth. Maybe the riots actually started from some real political misgivings from a generation that may have been let down after all by those senior statesmen in power. Perhaps. But like all situations such as this, things turned ugly and it was the worst of the worse who came to the fore and did what they did for greed, rather than a cause with how it was all originally started – the ones with nothing fighting for something and making themselves heard.

A homage to France, An adventure in Spain, My new life in London town!

After leaving France, I had a magical holiday in Spain with a great crew of American buddies, now I'm back with my new life in the amazing never boring always surprising London town!

France has been great to me, an eight month experience that I'll cherish and hold onto forever - what a time of my life it was! Like many great experiences, I'm slightly changed (for the better), more mature, knowledgable and cultured: it has made me more of a seasoned campaigner and more in-tune with another part of Europe!

France is truly an incredible country, with so much history and tradition which is still evident in their society. I have much respect for the French people's way of life, they reject much of the Americanized global trends and march to their own beat (unfortunately Mcdonalds are still prevalent even here). However, they know that they are better (in most cases), so therefore why would they change. They are a very proud people, and I may not always agree with them but they are not likely to change for anyone, as if a system works and it aint broke, then why fix it? They take pride in their long lunches; having the best bakeries and desserteries around; fine healthy dining; the strong culture of manifestation (sucking it to the 'man'). Corporations and politicians do not totally have it their own way; liberal free capitalism cannot totally thrive here, there is too much protectionism of state assets and community values for that - and for good reason. They are one of the few modern developed nations that have not sold out so to speak. This means people can work a 35 hour week and have a liveable wage in anything they do, because there are strict rules and decent wage packets, whereas in the United States people have to rely on tips in the service industries for example. We've seen capitalism hasn't totally made us all prosper - but in France (like few nations in the world) they have managed there debt very well and most people live relatively comfortably. This psychology rubs off on the people, I've met many progressive and sympathetic French people, I'm really impressed how everyone from all walks of life are really in touch with important values of life. Respect!

After my time in France, I travelled to Spain and met a group of American friends in Barcelona - filled with 10 days of straight hedonism and partying. We did the typical backpacking, but because of the type of lads that accompanied me - it wasn’t your usual backpacking trip! These four special boys were truly remarkable - and our itinerary matched it! We were attempting to do Barcelona, Valencia, Grenada, Malaga, Cadiz, Tarifa Beach, Sevilla, and Madrid in 10 days. Up until Sevilla it was perfect. It was the most audacious planned trip that in retrospect was never going to work but we tried nonetheless. We took the smallest sedan we could find (due to price restrictions), it was the model up from the smart car - we were attempting to fit 5 men with decently sized bags in this car - it was comical we could have been a circus act! Three were at least an inch over 6 ft, and I'm not the smallest guy either - a squeeze was an understatement: it was like we were attempting some Guinness world record! We nearly made it to the finish line in one piece, and so this is how the story goes . . .

We started in Barcelona: taking in nasty dubsteb at the famous Razmataz Club while pre-gaming at Sangria bars, and by day, taking in incredible cultural sights from Gaudi buildings to the Olympic stadia! In Valencia: there was Paella with chicken not seafood; volleyball on the beach (there was a player who had just one arm and was multiple times better than me = amazing), whereas we were the loud Americans that strutted around with a digital style boom-box - we challenged some graceful looking young Spanish girls they appropriately declined; but the highlight was the most incredible building complex I've ever witnessed - a cultural arts centre by two famous Spanish architects - it totally blew my mind away! Grenada may have been the coolest Spanish city, it was so down-to-earth and organic - we took in some authentic gypsy guitar, went inside an Aquaduct, and most importantly learnt of the historical significance of how Jews, Christians, and Arabs all lived in unity side-by-side here for hundreds of years under Arab rule (before the Spanish inquisition)! Malaga was a temporary stop-over with a dodgy Tapas lunch; Tafina beach (perhaps the most Southern part of Spain) - a beach that was just populated by Spanish people, and it was incredibly secluded with very few signs of tourism except for a set of beautifully designed Spanish apartments. The backdrop was just rolling hills, cattle, and renewable energy windmill technology - it seemed so empty - so beautiful! Cadiz surprisingly had the best night-life of Spain, the best clubs I've seen actually at an ugly port - very underrated indeed! Then came Sevilla and it quickly went down-hill from there. Firstly time was running out, and we needed to cover match ground and see two major cities Sevilla and Madrid! Sevilla was sweltering hot! 7 pm in the evening and it felt like Auckland or London on the hottest day of the year - it was mad! This is where the fun stopped though, we fell like dominoes, I was the first to get sick and then the rest followed one by one! It was inevitable (all that travelling in such a compact space), all that partying, all that lack of sleep! The sickness bug tore through us, and was personified in the worst possible way in Madrid after dropping off the car at the airport! On one of those walking lateral horizontal escalators - our friend just started throwing up everywhere. After giving him a donut - he just exploded, he couldn’t keep anything down! None of us went to console him, what could we do, we were the walking wounded - we just totally froze with emotionless faces like a pack of ghosts - the trip had finally got the better of us!

It could have been even worse. Initially we were going to rent a car (that we had booked in Barcelona) that was a manual because the price was a lot cheaper, but I was the only one who could drive manual, though they all had driven on the right-side of the road all their lives, I had never. It would have been too much driving for one person, and I was not confident enough to drive on the right-hand side of the road anyway. Thankfully we got the deposit back from the car we had initially booked and chose to reject such a crazy plan, whereby my friend was going to learn how to drive 'shift', in the car park that day. This was all after a big night out - we had barely slept, my mate and I went to pick up the car (arriving late with time counting down) - we deliberated for an hour - I said renting the car wasn't even a good idea, he said that was the plan (and his American vigour and confidence meant he never backs down from such a challenge). We ended up renting a more expensive automatic fortunately from another place later on; I was never keen to go by car, but I think my friend and I (after heavy discussion) both made good points. The trip in the car turned out to be very cool and special (getting to places and seeing things we couldn't ordinarily), but it was too difficult and audacious in the end!

Unfortunately my camera died, my friend has his stolen, and my other friend forgot his memory card at a hostel! It was really an incredible trip that can now only be kept in the memories of four great American dudes and a kiwi wild-card! Three of these American guys worked in the corporate world, but they were totally down-to-earth and everyday were questioning whether what they were doing was appropriate. I wouldn't call it an existential crises, but they certainly were thinking outside of the conventional box. I totally respected what they were doing, and they all had this feeling that what I was doing was great - I think they were somewhat envious of me, and vice-versa I was certainly somewhat envious of them. They had financial security, a career going somewhere, future prospects and all that shit! What did I have, not a lot, just the experience, and the easy-going relaxed life where I had worked far less hours and far less work-stress to contend with. While the one of the Americans, was a fellow English teacher whom I met in France, and actually it was his friends that I become acquainted with through him. He and I had much in common! Sure, we were all on the same wave-length, but my fellow English teaching assistant totally understood where I was coming from, because he was coming from the same place, figuratively speaking! He had finished university while many of his friends had proper jobs (like the three that joined us on this trip), but still he was content with what he was doing - he didn't want to be tied down in his home country to a job that can equate to a 'ball-and-chain' in some respects. Nevertheless, what a group of guys and what a great time, in such a perfect location as Spain for me was extraordinary and certainly one of the ultimate travel destinations I've ever been to, if not the best!

Now I'm back in London finally, and back to reality, with a job that pays just enough (to make it in this city), and living out in the East (in a non-flashy suburb that suits me)! The job is at a bar in Soho, where a uniform is not required and socializing with customers is encouraged rather than fervently denied. Working with an array of Europeans, and a legendary English 37 year old boss, who says I would never get an office job: "us hospitality folk are wired in a different way". Am I one of them . . . working unsociable hours, well I am different, but does this suit my lifestyle - we shall see - so far it has been fun and not too tiresome. While, the first day in my suburb of residence, was chowing down with a 40 something year old Jamaican named Alvin talking politics at the local Kebab shop, as a large Range Rover drove past with Ruff Riders blaring out the windows. This is East London, very gritty and in-your-face but very real too, flooded with immigrants from all over. And of course as typified by London, there have been only two days of proper sunshine in June and July, and it has even been chilly recently, that's a London summer for you! It's not the worst thing in the world, because you don't come to London for the weather - the energy exists in this city which has something happening any night of the week in numerous locations. This is London, and I'm back to continue my adventures in the big city where you can find anything, and even some heart and comfort if you look hard enough!

CANNES FILM FESTIVAL

So I’ve left Cannes. I stayed until the departure of the Monaco Grand Prix and the Cannes Film Festival, it was well worth it! Most specifically, living in Cannes while the festival was in action was a total experience. Cannes spilled over with a population which doubles at this time.

It all started with Woody Allen’s film Minuit a Paris/Midnight in Paris, which I saw on opening night, but not at the ‘Grand Theatre’ in the ‘Palais du Festival’ but literally two minutes away on a street parallel. My friends and I sat next to some intellectual French (short) film makers from Paris, who were laughing at the shorts of the eventual winner Tree of Life. Nonetheless Lars Von Trier’s probably would have won the coveted prize if it wasn’t for his silly comments (about being a Nazi) which eventuated in him being banned from the festival. While Midnight in Paris may not be considered an artistic edgy masterpiece, it was a great watch no-less, with the main character played by the resurrected Owen Wilson, coincidently and fittingly his character shared the same (unusual) name as me, and perhaps we shared some traits too! After opening night, we went for dinner seating among industry professionals, dining on snails even; the two American friends that I accompanied, had either worked on films or at film festivals, so they were major film enthusiasts as well! Later that night we managed to meet the film producer of the late David Caridine’s last film, we duly directed him to where he would be staying on Boulevard Carnot, just down the road from where I'd been teaching. The film producer mistook me for an actor, an unknown one, but still an actor of course, my ‘pimping’ white summer hat may have given him this impression.



He was relatively small fish though, French film students I had taught English earlier in the school year, were working behind the scenes of the Festival for their internship – so they saw all the stars. One friend was working close to the Grande Majestic that housed some of the major film professionals, and therefore she saw both Woody Allen and Johnny Depp up close. Other students I lived with attended a Q&A with Robert De Niro after watching his classic film a Bronx Tale – he was there chairing the group of judges along with Uma Thurman and Jude Law. At the premier of Tree of Life Jude Law walked right past me, and I got a close-up photograph of the infamous Angelina Joile, who was signing a fan’s autograph in front of me. The girls were totally star-struck by Mr Law, while they commented that Angelina needed a cheeseburger or two to fatten up! I also saw a host of other celebrities at a fundraiser party thrown by fashion guru Roberto Cavalli, while Lady Gaga and The Strokes performed for the public, I saw the latter play live. Kanye West and Jamie Fox also performed for a private party in the grand Carlton Hotel. This luxurious hotel was made famous by Bridget Bardot, who acted in God Created Women, a film made in the Cote d'Azur in 1959; and so around this time she also posed for a famous Vogue photo-shoot on Cannes beach with the Carlton in the background.



Speaking of Bridget Bardot I visited the most famous artist who resides in St Tropez, Stephan Szczesny, he lives in la Mardrague the same area as where Bardot has retired to live currently, while he is next-door to one of the many homes of the great Italian fashion designer Giorgio Armani. How was I aquatinted with a man, who names the likes of (x-Bond 007) actor Pierce Brosnan as a collector, and has been commissioned to do work on a private island where Bill Gates vacates regularly. Well, my American friend’s Au Pair over 20 years ago is the current wife of this artist. So we got to lunch with them, see one of his three studios, and take in the beauty of his St Tropez home. It was a lovely day. This was before the festival though.



Though I didn’t have anything to do with the festival in theory, it was still a great experience. However I felt on the fringes for sure, I couldn’t possibly get into the private parties my friends happened to attend, one got his name-on-the-door for an Olsen twin’s party at a large canopy bar on the beach. These parties were so close that I could hear the music, see the people, but they were out-of-bounds for me, as opposed to the boat parties that was well out of my reach - that I could see only in a distance on the water!



I did manage to get into the Palm d’Or (winning) film at the Palais, and a violent Mexican picture, but the most special one was the NZ short Blue that I saw. It was great seeing the street K’ rd, the road I walked everyday to university when I lived in Ponsonby for a semester, seeing it again gave me some nostalgic feelings, and then I saw a friend’s name in the credits, yes New Zealand is that small!



New Zealand wasn’t my only connection at the festival though, I was bathing on the beach like I did nearly every-day of the festival during the near perfect summer days, when I saw a group that looked Aboriginal. Then one of the men had rugby league shorts of the North Queensland Cowboys, so I knew I was right. I was astonished, what were these regular Aboriginal folk doing all the way over in Cannes, so I asked. They were there for the premiere of ‘Toomlah’, they were related to the star, a little 12 year old who was casually playing like he always does, skimming rocks on the water along Cannes bay. The premiere had already been, and the reaction for the film had been both rapturous and even brought some people to tears. This crew certainly looked like a (school of) ‘fish out of water’, they even seemed further from home than me, they were because though New Zealand in theory is further away, I’ve made Europe my temporary adopted home (for now anyway).



So there it is what my experience of the Cannes film festival consisted of, I wasn’t part of the glamour but I saw it from a far like every other Cannes citizen does. I saw the population explode with people from everywhere, with a huge concentration of the most beautiful, wealthy, and dressed up people I’ve ever witnessed in such a small space. This smallish trendy town suitably transforms itself putting on a grand show for a 12 day period to match the rich and famous who come with their giant luxury yachts and fast cars. I’m just a humble minimalist 24 year old, but still it was a sight to see!