 As tradition states each Christmas I receive a biography tailored for a Kiwi male. Its subject is generally a national or international sporting icon, tradition also dictates that I read this in one day, typically Boxing Day, as I laze around the holiday house in Manapouri. This is a nice addition to the usual fare of sock, undies, petrol vouchers, a few more inches around the waist and strands of grey hair.
 It may seem semi-detached from reality but I have no plans for the advanced years of my life.
Firstly, with the rate my memory is malfunctioning (possibly due to the accumulation of quiet ales) coupled with excessive levels of joint degradation, my ability to function into old age will be minimal at best so it would be remiss of me to plan years as a silver fox golfing and tending to my petunias.
 Trotting around last week with veteran Mountain Scene chief news hound Scoop on our usual Friday morning run, basking in the early spring sunshine, the mildness of the weather was the subject of our banter.
As we solved the world’s problems, interrupted only to take a cheeky glance at nature’s more fortunate-looking athletes in their sleek attire speeding past us, we commented on the mild winter and the promise of an early summer and its associated influx of bikini-clad Swedish backpackers to the main bay.
 Emerging from the scratcher a little dazed and confused after a rather decent session on the soda pop the day before was the easy part of my event preparation. Rescuing my mate’s Foxy-cross Jose from a year of fine dining and couch living was the hard part.
Jose thought his Winter Festival duties were complete after his obligatory appearance in the Air New Zealand Kia ora magazine and a cheeky wee photo shoot for the Otago Daily Times the previous week.
 Out of a selfless concern for the future of Queenstown’s tourism industry and inspired by David Attenborough’s Frozen Planet series I’ve spent the last two weeks tracking one of the great tourist migrations.
Scandinavian tourist season from January to April each year involves the migration of juveniles making their first trip out of the nest halfway around the world to escape the harsh northern winter.
Wellington 7's - From what I can derive from photos, patches of memory and voicemail, not to mention my imagination, this is how the sevens unfolded.
It nearly went pear-shaped from the get-go, after my Rocky Balboa costume arrived on my doorstep a mere 10 minutes before my sweaty dash through 30-degree heat to the airport. Arriving sodden, flustered and without time for my customary pre-flight airport terminal Speight's it was stressful times. At least my costume cost only $110 – the Chewbaccas apparently spent $700 on theirs!
 Despite the plethora of tacky campaign adverts, stock standard election-year bickering and vote buying, it’s refreshingly easy to be distracted from the election hype, living in this unique part of the world.
You only have to take a glance out the window at snow-dusted mountains – in November?! – to realise the insignificance of anything a government can do compared with the real forces that shape our world.  Pink Toga Night at the Pink Palace, Cofru, Greece. Photo: Supplied Pink Palace INTRO: As seems to be customary in the Ionian Islands my stay at Corfu’s infamous Pink Palace lasted a little longer than the 2 nights I had planned. Upon sobering up long enough to compile some reasoned cranial thoughts I felt it appropriate to pontificate some glaring similarities between the Palace and extremist religious sects more commonly referred to as cults.
 Mark Wilson in Europe, Greece 5th-16th July 2011, 10 things you need to know to get through.
What was I expecting.....? I had just flown from the prosperous lands of Scandinavia to the rock bottom of Europe, from order to chaos from prudent financial management and austerity to complete lack of any financial management at all. I landed in Greece what was once renowned as being one of the most advanced civilizations on the planet in ancient times, revered for fighting its prowess, technical innovation and the advancement of mankind having heard only a scattering rumours about the state of country beyond Athens sufficiently normal looking airport lounges, to be honest my mind had wandered off into the beauty of Scandinavia and its people.  TGI Friday's Stockholm Where did my Scandinavian fascination start? As a young nipper, charging round the bull rush filled school playgrounds of the Deep South, I completed a project on Sweden. Too young to really appreciate much more than some basic geographical facts and at the tender age where girls were infested with cooties, I had merely opened the book. It would be some years later while living in the tourist mecca of Queenstown and taking my first steps out into the big wide world abroad that I would begin to flick through the glamorous pages of what would develop into somewhat of an obsession in later years .
While travelling I began to notice several trends relating to blonde hair and blues eyes which all invariably led back to Sweden. However like any good Kiwi male, I’m not one for directly confronting issues, so I skirted around the fringes with trips to Denmark and Estonia. These trips, like a gold miner finding the first few specs of gold on a new claim, only served to drive me deeper in search for the large nuggets which rested on the bedrock.  “You can be a student anywhere but you can only be a Scarfie in Dunedin” Mark Wilson looks at the prospect of extinction facing this New Zealand cultural icon.
New Zealand has an unfortunate habit of removing species from existence or pushing them to the brink of extinction. Since human settlement we have killed off the mighty Moa along with one species of bat, at least 50 other bird species, three types of frogs, three lizards, one freshwater fish, four plant species, and a number of invertebrates. 
The Bartab Bay Watch crew make their way through the streets of San Francisco - B2B 2010. Photo: Mark Wilson
Imagine taking the entire crowd of the Wellington Sevens, complete with costumes, cloning everyone at least twice before sending them off running, walking and dancing through the Capital to Lyall bay on the Pacific Coast. Why not bus in 100’000 curious spectators form the Hutt and Porirua to line the course and you may be able to fathom the insanity that is Bay to Breakers.
|
AuthorMark Wilson 
TAGS
All
Subscribe to updates below
|
RSS Feed