Cruising with a purpose

So I've signed up for a cruise heading into balmy Pacific waters where the ship carves a course through blindingly blue sea and the sun beats down from dawn to dusk. The air is filled with laughter as cocktails are shaken, the salad bar is endlessly re-stocked and ice settles in glasses as the cruise director coos news of countless shipboard amusements over the PA. 

Massages, dance lessons, art auctions, cooking lessons, tai chi, wine tasting, yoga, shopping, facials... you can imagine the delights.  

Meanwhile, down in the bowels of the good ship Oosterdam, in a small windowless theatre, I'm settling in for another lecture with some fellow cruisers as we get stuck into a course called Fractal Evolution. 

The lecturers are Gregg Braden and Bruce Lipton, top authors in the stable of Hay House International, the giant American publishing company that specialises in what the book trade calls MBS - the mind, body spirit genre. 

Having published in that area myself, I was intrigued by the sound of what they were offering.  Here's the blurb that drew me in: "Faster than we can document it in the media or teach it in our textbooks, it’s clear that we’ve entered a new phase of life on planet Earth. From the unprecedented crises of broken economies and the realities of climate change, to the shrinking resources of food, fresh water and the renewed threat of World War, even the experts are reeling at the perfect storm that’s converging on our near-term horizon. With all of the uncertainties there’s one thing we can be sure of: the collapse of global systems leads to big changes in our personal lives. 

"In this compelling new program, visionary scientists and bestselling authors Gregg Braden and Bruce Lipton marry their expertise in science and technology with the intimate knowledge preserved by the world’s indigenous elders to answer the questions on everyone's mind: What does our changing world mean to us? And what can we do to ease the transition?"

How could I resist? Cruising's fine but mixing the indolence with some stimulating mind food sounded wonderful. Bring it on, I thought. 

I wish I could tell you I triumphed in the learning department. The boys were compelling, their messages profound, their stories pertinent, their passion undeniable.  We touched on a thousand Powerpointed matters:  the world's stark choice between destruction and transformation, the wonders of cell biology, Darwinism and how he got it wrong,  indigenous wisdom, global warming and the Antarctic ice core samples that prove it's not our fault, energy healing, epigenetics, the rise and fall of civilizations,  self-belief, ancient scrolls, the tree of life, the nature of physics, geomagnetic fields, reincarnation, Hopi prophecy and the power of community. And more. 

All of this poured out every day that we were at sea in between afternoon tea time and the cocktail hour. You know, that blob-out time of day. When you're on holiday, what really calls you at 3pm is napping.  

At the end of one afternoon I left with my head full to bursting, fled through the noisy dazzle of the casino and the happy-hour cheers from the bar and went outside to gulp in what I needed most – air...buckets of salty air, the setting sun's warmth and a view of limitless blue.

The disconnect between what we were learning and the happy, mindless, pleasure-seeking other life we were luxuriating in was too much. I went a bit nuts there for a while. 

My mood roller-coasted between high elation at being out on the ocean on a huge, gorgeous ship surrounded by huge minds, and deep gloom over my lack of scientific education and the scale of my own tiny life. Then, bless it, on some weird energetic level my body seemed to sympathise with my turmoil and went out in protest. Suddenly I had a sore throat, a snotty nose and could hardly breathe (what, in the tropics?!) and with huge relief was forced to lie down. 

I think next time I want my mind blown I'll do it on dry land in sensible clothes with a sharp pen and a posture of total attention and dedication. If I cruise again I'll absorb nothing more challenging than a cracking good novel and the menu of delicious spa treatments. Oh, and another of those Tequila Sunrises would hit the spot as well.  :)

PS I did actually learn a lot. And had a wonderfully good hot-stone massage. Thanks, Ann, star member of the Oosterdam's spa staff.

How deeply I heart you

It’s an organ of many parts, the heart. As the body’s workhorse it keeps on busily pumping away more than 100,000 times a day to push blood around our bodies, a job we’re only too happy to delegate and forget about it… until and unless something goes wrong. But over and above all the muscular action we still doggedly persist in thinking the heart is the thing we feel with. We talk about how our hearts get broken or how they swell with pride or how our hearts go out to others in distress. And lately, in the social media world, we’ve begun to use heart as a verb, using either the word or a logo to express how much we love things.  People are hearting everything online from boyfriends and kittens to big, smelly cities. I haven’t yet heard it actually spoken in romantic dialogue though. As far as I know, no movie actor has gazed deeply into someone’s eyes and sighed, "Darling, I heart you". But it can only be a matter of time...   

A Wallow in Yellow

Springtime in New Zealand drives me a bit nuts. So much wind, so much blustery smacking of breezes  and rain against your face. The sun is a bit of a stranger too, with so much cloud skudding from horizon to horizon that we long for weather that's settled and hot. We know it's coming, but just now midsummer seems a long way off.  

But I cheered myself up the other day by taking out my camera on a yellow binge. Nothing like yellow's sunniness to add a dose of cheer to your life. And there's miles of it out there. Marigold, lemon, buttercup, saffron, egg yolk, mustard, cream. So many happy colors. You just need to notice.

The Herald's look-back letter H

The grand old New Zealand Herald, which has been talking to Aucklanders daily since 1863, has been shrunk from broadsheet down to compact size and been given a big revamp. But in one way it’s not so new because while the old masthead has been sidelined, we are still left with one lonely letter, the capital H, printed in what’s known as blackletter font.  

And that’s not new at all. In the middle ages, monks used to fill their days by writing out religious texts by hand, using ink and quill pens to produce convoluted gothic lettering. 

So when Mr Gutenberg invented, in 1455, a way to print words over and over again, using movable type, it was natural for him to copy the monastery style you can see below. . 

He printed his famous bible and showed the world a way to make books available en masse for the first time. 
Blackletter is closely linked with German history and much used by Hitler's lot for nasty propaganda publishing, which is why it fell right out of favour after World War II. 

There are of course thousands of modern, more readable typefaces, but many newspapers, in love with the aura of history and authority conveyed by blackletter script, have clung on to it. 

So even now the Herald still carries a 15^th century echo of Gutenberg. Given how very hard it is to read, we can just be very thankful that graphic designers dropped blackletter font for any other purpose a very long time ago.  

Me and My Car

Depending on how your life works out, and if you’ve had kids, and if they’ve had kids, and assuming you’re all living in the same town, you might get caught up in granny duties at some stage of your mid- or late-life years.

At 60 I thought I’d never be a grandma. Blink. A few years on there’ve been three new arrivals, all accessorised with irresistible smiles. Being on granny duty (let me amend that to ‘calling’ rather than ‘duty’) can be complicated if there’s fair distance between your house and the dwelling of the little people.

So I find myself driving. A lot.

There are two ways to cope. You can mutter darkly to yourself on the motorway about how ridiculous this is and how you’ll have to move closer before you go mad or the rising price of petrol chews up your bank account forever.

Or you can sit back, play some nice music and ponder on the fact that actually you’re so lucky to have a car to get you to the big-hug zone. And how some of your friends have grandchildren growing up 12,000 miles away who they only get to see on Skype, while your trip is only 50ks long.

And that there are some nice cafes and excellent produce shops to drop into
along the way. And that when you get there it really is worth it. Every time.

I’ve made a small video about this modern driving dilemma. Hope you enjoy…

Why China should be on your to-do list

It’s easy to think of reasons why China might not be on your places-to-see list. It’s so big and so foreign, huh? All those vast cities, language you don’t understand, food you might not warm to?
I’ve just done a quick whizz through Shanghai and Beijing and I can tell you those excuses simply don’t stack up. If there was ever a time you should dip a toe into China, it’s now.
We’re talking, after all, of the land that’s pretty much holding the world’s economy together. We need to understand it better and you can only do that by putting feet on the ground.
These are two huge cities – each of them home to more than five times New Zealand’s population. China has more than 160 cities of more than a million people. It is also arguably the country of biggest contrasts.
It’s pulsating and pushy, confronting and confusing, surprising and surreal.
You can see a Ferrari nudging past a man straining to haul a handcart loaded with bricks. Within a block of your hotel there’ll be people buying squalling fighting crickets housed in little grass cages – or choosing the upholstery colour for their Bentley.
You can wander the Forbidden City in Beijing, with its vast squares and pavilions, and be charmed by a moment with a happy modern mum and her son (see picture) all dolled up in Angry Birds T-shirts.
You can feast in an elegant Shanghai restaurant one night and next day see a man with hens in a cage on his push-bike, cutting feathered throats on the spot for customers wanting fresh birds.
But then, in moments, you’re in a beautiful shady park watching someone painting poetry on the ground. He daubs characters in water with a long brush, writing words that will quickly fade and evaporate. It’s called water calligraphy and its contemplative, ephemeral beauty is a lovely thing to see.
Here are some other things I hadn’t expected:
I felt safe. I strolled alone on busy streets at night without any qualms. Crime against westerners is almost zero. In Shanghai, the locals keep taxi receipts because they know if they leave anything in a cab they can call back and have their items returned. That says a lot in a city of 23 million (at last count).
I was charmed. Many locals are quick to give you friendly smiles, even when you’re wandering past them with camera in hand. They’ll also soon let you know if they’d rather not be photographed, but it’s usually just the wave of a hand, not a snarl. The hotels I stayed in had staff who were eager to please and their English skills were humbling.
I was beguiled. Life, at least in summer, is so much lived outside. They come out en masse in the mornings to do tai chi, keep fit, dance, sing and talk. People gather in parks to lustily belt out traditional songs, led by passionate conductors. And they sleep outdoors, everywhere, with open, vulnerable faces, confident of being left alone to dream. Check out this site for proof.
I was delighted. Modern China does city style with pizzazz, using bold graphics and art and smart design. And while its older residential tower blocks may look grim to us, its new major buildings are state-of-the-art and hotels as sassy and eco-savvy as any you’ll find anywhere.
I was impressed. It’s hard to be otherwise when you ride the train between the two cities, ripping through farmland at 300kmh. It does the 1318kms (for $NZ187 in first class) in a little under five hours. That’s further than Auckland to Invercargill – and the run is so smooth it sets up no more than a tremble of fluid in your water bottle.
And the food, oh the food! From upscale Peking Duck to cheap street eating, you’ll find eye-rollingly good tastes to savour.
Then there’s shopping with no limits, except the size of your wallet. And the chance to be naughty in ways now forbidden at home – like smoking in elegant bars or sidecar-biking without a helmet.
China, you’re big and smoggy and crowded and loud. But oh, there’s so much to like.
* Thanks, Air New Zealand, for taking me there. They're now flying direct to Shanghai five times a week, return fares from 1662.

Stand up for 'Mum and Dad'

I’m starting to get so antsy about the constant use of Mum and Dad as an adjectival phrase. You know the one. We hear about the Mum and Dad entities all the time. Mum and Dad investors. Mum and Dad retailers. Mum and Dad franchise holders. Mum and Dad ratepayers.
The Americans have their own version, as in Mom and Pop. In Australia they just call them battlers. I suppose it’s taken over from that older all-encompassing phrase ‘the man in the street’ which never worked either because it ignored women. Whatever, paternalistic words like this always come out of the mouths of people in smartly tailored suits, who work in splendid offices, drive (or get chauffeured in) gleaming new cars and who never come across as being part of any sort of family.
It always feels like they’re talking down to the rest of us. When they say Mum and Dad you know they’re referring to rest of us out here who are just members of the masses - possibly undereducated, needing advice, liable for manipulation, needing to be told what’s good for us.
I get the feeling from such authority figures that they think Mums and Dads are a bit thick and dour and very ordinary. And as we all know, that sure ain’t the truth.