Don't Go on a Fasting Retreat with Chocolate in your Pocket

A Fasting Retreat? For a week? You’ve got to be kidding. The whole concept was as remote as refusing a giant piece of pavlova.  ‘Fast’ to me, was a way of moving, the speed of my bike, the passing of time. I never for a moment had considered going on a ‘fast’. This was something Jesus and Moses did in the desert, Muslims recognize as an essence of spiritual cleansing, and Hindi gurus propound.

However, in a moment of madness and of perceived fatness I allowed my good friend Julie to persuade me to join her on a Fasting Retreat. Indeed, her excitement when sending me the link to a Aio Wira Retreat was hard to ignore. “It’s so good for you” she said, “It’s been known to improve brain performance, lower risk of diabetes and so many other benefits.”

The pre-fast information sheet advised us to moderate eating in the days leading up to the retreat, stick to salads and vegetables, cut out the caffeine and alcohol (are you getting the picture?) By preparing our bodies it would be easier to slide into the regime of daily juices, herbal teas, body brushing and giving ourselves enemas. Yes. You heard me. Enemas, not enigmas, nor the pretty little anemone flowers! There is nothing pretty nor enigmatic about an enema.

Aio Wira Retreat Centre is just 40 minutes from Auckland and tucked away on four hectares of native bush in the Waitakere Ranges. Founded in 1970 by a group of yoga students, the centre which is not based on any fixed spiritual philosophy, has developed to become a centre for many types of, body, mind and spirit gatherings and holds workshops from yoga, pilates and meditation to Qi Gong, mindfulness and wordless weekends. So many wonderful options for seeking and finding physical health, spiritual wellness and self-fulfilment, which leaves me wondering how I ever ended up on the fasting retreat.

Before arriving on a Thursday night, we stopped and had our last, light meal at the closest café to the centre. The last solid food for five days, then drove the last ten kilometres before turning onto a short gravel road. It was late but never too late to be greeted enthusiastically by the woofer (seasonal worker) and a fasting regular who had returned for his fifth fast in that many years.

We were shown to a row of homely rooms set up with wool blankets, crochet covers, cushions and hot water bottles, (or were they the enema bladders?) While unpacking, I happened to find a lost, lonely row of dark chocolate. Honest. I’m not kidding. They were not hidden there deliberately. 

Those four squares of chocolate were to test my willpower like nothing else. Well, nothing except the fact there was no cell phone coverage. I contemplated the best course of action. I could quietly eat the chocolate straight away, but, strictly speaking the fast had already started. To eat them would be to cheat. Wouldn’t it? I could tell the others and they would keep me on the straight and narrow or, they might make me share it! The final choice was to just forget I had it, which is what I tried to do.

We soon settled into the routine at Aio Wira beginning with a lesson on how to use the enema kits, accompanied by nervous giggles from those of the 17 participants who were first timers.  A daily timetable was hung up detailing sessions for yoga, meditation, Tai Chi and sharing sessions with empty spaces for signing up for other optional health regimes including seaweed wraps, posture alignment and counselling offered by independent consultants.

By day two the growling and squeaking of empty stomachs dominated the sharing sessions along with more personal reflections of how people were coping. Strangely enough after the first 24 hours I felt no real desire to eat. The fruit juices and evening broth were doing their job. However, by Day Three, I was getting hangry and restless for contact with the outside world.  All the talk of people’s bowel habits and enema encounters was becoming too much. It was time for a drive to Bethells Beach in search of wide open spaces, cell phone coverage, a coffee cart perhaps and, maybe, just a nibble on the chocolate. Gosh. I was beginning to behave like a teenager sneaking out after dark. Fortunately, I was not alone in my cravings and clandestine escapades.

 By Day Four I had little energy for anything, even contemplating unwrapping those four squares of delicious, dark chocolate was exhausting. I began counting down and dreaming of the date-filled baked apple they had promised us for breakfast as a gentle breaking of our fast.

Tuesday morning began with much excitement. The thought of food made it difficult for me to meditate. The morning walk was just a mere stroll as we drawled over what we would eat when we left. And then it was over.

 In small groups we took ourselves off to our cars and headed home. How many of the women would jump on the scales and how many of the men would down a quick pint was anyone’s guess. The only thing for certain was that most of us would be on cell phones as soon as we were in signal and that the four squares of chocolate wouldn’t last much longer.

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Soaring on skiis- Innsbruck Austria

High Flier

I’m sitting in the café at the top of the Bergisel ski jump in Austria, site of the 1964 and 1976 Winter Olympics. It’s a nauseating height. The kind that even spectacular panoramic views can’t help you ignore. I feel as if the collective nerves and adrenalin of the hundreds of competitors who have launched themselves into record books have gathered in my stomach.
I order a strong espresso but it only seems to heighten the nausea, so, I order an applestrudel in an attempt to take my mind off the scenery and onto my stomach.
Then I saw it. The reason I was so nervous. A young Austrian jumper, on the slope, preparing to jump. Perhaps I had been channeling his nerves?
Heart racing, perspiration pouring down, a quick prayer as the seconds ticked by….and that was just me! In contrast, this athlete appeared as cool as an Austrian snowflake. His lithe body bends, clips onto the two ski rails , adjusted his vest and soars. Skis crossed, sky high and then gracefully gliding down the artificial grass slope. A terrain watered and tendered like a prize cricket pitch. Visons of Eddie the Eagle flashed through my mind. I was in awe.

Thinking how lucky I was to witness this in the height of summer I make my way slowly step by step, slope by slope….down the path. Suddenly the jumper runs passed me, back to the cable car, back to the top. Unlike me, he didn’t need to stop for coffee and cake at the café. Realising he was heading for a re-run, I rushed to the bottom for a different view. A group of Indian tourists were gathered on the teared seating getting an informative brief from an English speaking, Austrian coach. I stop, and listen in. Discretely of course.

 Huge sprinklers spray water droplets into the sky creating rainbows and sparkling like thousands of Swarovski crystals. After a few minutes the sprinklers stop, a tiny speck appears at the top of the jump, then, without hesitation, soars through the sky. The crowd applauds and break into a clacker of disbelief. The smiling ski-jumper  takes time to approach the group, pausing for a few quick photos, then its “auf wiedersehen” and back to the top. Me, well, I head down to the next coffee shop. All that exercise and energy has made me exhausted.

Blokzijl, Netherlands

The campervan squeezes along the narrow streets. We suck in our breath and pray that nothing comes the other way. I'm grateful that our friends discovered Blokzijl in the northern Netherlands by canal boat and told us about it, otherwise we would never have found it.

Now we sit in an old café. The owner seems as old as the building. He creeps in the darkness amidst tables set with candles and surrounded by art work in the style of the Dutch Masters. The rain and gloom is fitting with the atmosphere but somehow adds to the experience of visiting this medieval fortress built in the 1600’s. We are the only patrons.

Outside the rain quietly fills the gaps in the cobblestones spraying afar as red cape-clad cyclists pedal passed. They stop momentarily and peer in the window. No doubt we do not make a suitable display and they pedal on in the rain. Barry Manilow sings on the radio in contrast to what I see and feel.

As I finish my coffee and yet another slice of Dutch appeltaart the music changes, the radio now plays “You can be a Champion”  transporting me back to Vanuatu where Facebook reminds me that I was two years ago. The song was sung loudly and enthusiastically by my Grade Six class as they graduated from primary school, many of them departing to boarding schools in more developed countries. How life changes, so quickly, and yet Blokzijl reminds me that in reality, some things never change, they just wear the markings of time.

Many dorrways have small displays

A gloomy day but full of discoveries.

The most wonderful thing about campervan travelling and having time, is that you end up in the most unexpected places. There is a huge population of grey-haired nomads roaming foreign territory and doing it in a way that is self sustaining financially; renting out their homes, living off their pensions and living cheaply. At times it seems as if the whole world is populated by 0ver-60's!

We have arrived in Germany and know about ten words of German between the two of us. Our prime objective is to stay off the beaten track as much as we can, however some larger towns and cities definitely deserve a side trip.

Our first stop is Kassel in the Hesse District. Nearly obliterated by 400,000 bombs in October 1942, the town managed to rise from the ashes and today is a vibrant, creative community.  We came in search of the Grimm Brothers as  part of the Fairy Tale Route but arrived in time for one of the world’s most famous contemporary arts exhibitions. “Documenta 14”. “What? You’ve never heard of it?” Neither had we! But tens of thousands of other people had and the city was swamped.  The festival takes place every five years, the chosen artist kept a carefully guarded secret until the event. It is highly organized and deeply meaningful. I managed to locate an outline of Documenta 14 written in four languages but it was so artistically intense with purpose and clarification there is no point in me trying to describe it. I’ll leave that to Google.

Needless to say on a balmy summer evening we stroll with others along greenspaces and public venues seeking meaning and understanding of many of the huge art installations which have begun unfolding during the 100 days of the exhibition. I’ve always loved installation-art. The fact that one can dream up an idea and have it created in the most fancival sizes and constructed in whatever medium fits. I once had the opportunity to be a part of an art installation called “The Queue”. I was one of thirteen people who queued in the most unexpected places and then waited for a code word on which we would disband and reassemble at another obscure point over three days.

I am, of course, in awe of the huge Pantheon with pillars constructed of tens of thousands of books preserved in plastic wrap. The sky above is stormy and daggers of lightening flash. The on-coming rain will be a real test of how water tight the structure has become. Nearby what appears to be  huge terracotta piping is housing assorted homely objects. A speaker on a trolley is set on full-volume and repeats a haunting phrase over and over. People crowd around it discussing it’s artistic merits. I just want a translation of it’s words. All of this deep thinking creates a thirst and we are soon eating and drinking in the temporary pavilions set up in one of the plazas and discussing the meaning of life...and art.

Pantheon of books at "Documenta 14" Kessel

Close up of a tiny part of a column

Five Must Do Activities in New Zealand's Northland for Walking, Cycling Grey-Haired Nomads.

Five Must Do Activities in Northland for Walking, Cycling Grey-Haired Nomads

I never thought I’d even have grey hair let alone join the thousands of. New Zealanders who now are part of a movement generally known as “The Grey-Haired Nomads”.

There is no official membership but many of those belonging to this group generally range from mid fifties to late seventies  are semi or fully retired, have free time, are trying to avoid being trapped into supporting adult children, own a mobile home of some sort, either caravan, campervan or the salubrious fifth-wheeler, and most probably belong to the New Zealand Motor-Home Association.

In saying all that, I only fit into the age category but have been fortunate enough to team up with a friend who has all of the above qualifications. So, letting my hair go grey, (not a requirement to belonging, just a convenience) we set off for the far north.

It's a big rig. No wonder we needed bikes and boots to get us close to the action.

 Goat Island-Walking

New Zealand’s first marine reserve, established in 1975 the area has developed in the kindest way to protect not just the marine life but the entire surrounds with heavy planting of native trees, information plaques and carefully placed walkways designed to enhance the area without dominating the scenery. The gentle coastal walkway which can be accessed right beside the University of Auckland Marine Laboratory is a gentle and enjoyable meander with only slight inclines but excellent views of the offshore islands. When you’ve worked up a sweat, dive into the water for a snorkel with some of the area’s most endearing marine life and take time to visit the marine centre. The exhibits are fascinating.

Goat Island taken during a hill-top walk

Matakana-Cycling

This small settlement has pulled out all the stops to attract passing traffic.  You can’t miss the public toilets, an instant indication that art is an important aspect of what Matakana has to offer. Have a coffee and carrot-walnut muffin at Plump Café then hit the cycle trail. The 14 kilometre trail passes through country lanes and farmland. Directions are found inscribed on a series of ceramic pipes stacked like totem poles. The hieroglyphics demand out-of-the-box thinking to follow and we find ourselves lurching from pole to pole as it crosses roads and lanes. The path, although mostly a well- laid gravel track, becomes a gut buster at one section. Just as I give in and begin to push my way to the top I hear a squawk and look behind me. My companion’s bike has come to a halt.  He falls over in a slow motion ballet. Struggling to unclip his cleats from his pedals he disappears down a small bank. Only the waving flax leaves indicate anything is amiss. Bruised pride soothed we compete the ride then head towards Whangarei.

Mount Manaia-Walking

The distinct craggy outcrops of Mount Manaia define the skyline of Whangarei Heads and just beg to be conquered.  The two-hour walk is described as “easy” in the brochures, don’t believe it. Mount Manaia rises 420 metres from the calm inlet of Whangarei Harbour and is summited by way of a well-defined path and 1000 steps flanked by imposing Kauri trees, Nikau Palms, silver ferns and other native plants which twine together to create a cramped and dense forest. Piwakawaka flit about waiting to feast on tiny insects disturbed by dislodged ground litter. Above us tui call and croak, drunk from the berries plucked from branches above. I start steadily but soon hold up my overly active friend.  He decides to run, yes…run on ahead, running back to check on me every ten to fifteen minutes. He’s still bouncing up and down steps two at a time on his fourth re-run. I feel the pressure and I feel stupid. I insist he goes ahead and waits at the top until l eventually arrive at the final steps. Grasping the hand rails I haul myself onto a rocky outcrop flanked by spectacular views. Thankfully, authorities haven’t felt the need to fence off the area which makes it even more special.

View from the top of Mount Manaia

Pahia to Russell to Opua to Raruru-Cycling

Paihia is on holiday. There’s a laid back lazy feel to the place, and I like it. We purchase a ticket and ride the White Ferry, one of three companies transporting tourists the 10 minute ride to Russell. We’d decided to cycle from Russell to Opua, unfortunately I forgot to check how many hills were involved. Uphill hills that is! There were too many and they were mammoth. The gap between passing cars and cyclist was minimal, the effort needed to sustain pedalling was massive, and the only thing that kept me pedalling was the thought of a stop at Opua Marina Café.

The ferry from Okiato to Opua is large enough to carry any type of vehicle. Needless to say, we had the only bikes. We paid our $1 and used the five-minute crossing to recover. However, even a great coffee wasn’t enough to summon the energy required to tackle the hills between Opua and Paihia. The cycling sequence became predictable, pedal as far as I could, change to the lowest gear, little legs going round and round but the bike staying virtually still, wobble wobble, dismount, push, summit, free-wheel down and slightly up the next incline, then repeat the process. By the time we reached spectacular Haruru Falls with its gold-coloured droplets coloured by the setting sun I was too tired to appreciate it.

For a much gentler ride try the new but not quite complete Pou Herenga Tai Twin Coast Cycle Trail from Opua to Kawakawa. The gentle gradient traces an historic rail line, a section of which is still used by the vintage steam train which runs from Kawakawa to Taumarere. The cycle trail follows estuaries and inlets, through a tunnel, over bridges and ends in Kawakawa where the distinctive ceramic columns, garden roofs and mosaic and tile work of Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser define the town.

Bikes at rest-Opua Wharf

Haruru Falls

Whatuwhiwhi on KariKari Peninsula-cycling and walking

Just 23 kilometres further along the stunning coastline, past Maunganui, Coopers Beach, Cable Bay and elegant Taipa Beach is Whatuwhiwhi, a place I had never heard of. Nestled on KariKari Peninsula this area must be one of New Zealand’s best kept secrets. With butt and calf muscles now used to daily torment I even felt slightly enthusiastic about our next ride, to Matai Bay.

This time it was only a short pedal…uphill with head-on wind then a slight downhill run. Matai Bay. Is a double cove with calm water and pocked with small rocky outcrops, a camper’s, walker’s and snorkeler’s dream. We locked the bikes to a pole and walked the length of the bays until the start of the Fig Tree Track. The trail was poorly signposted and we alternated between blue ribbons on trees, orange arrows and the occasional DOC sign on a stick. An hour into it and my enthusiasm had wained. The manuka provided a thick canopy and a view was illusive but there was no disputing the beauty and spiritual solitude of this special place. It was time to stop walking and cycling. It was time to find stillness and peace, leaving the physical exertion behind and focus on emotional and spiritual reflection. What better place than here.

Taking Learning out of the Classroom

Suddenly the year seems to be speeding away on me. Weekdays are full with teaching followed by coffee and socializing on the water front and weekends are also full with sailing, paddle boarding, market shopping and Sunday morning swims at Mele Beach followed by a big breakfast which takes us through to lunch and sometimes dinner. There is not much to complain about and life is good.

Evening sail on Skye-Rose.

School trips are an interesting event. My first ‘outing’ was taking my class to the inter-school Beach Cricket Competition. Buses were ordered and the kids were organized and ready. We waited and waited. Half an hour later we managed to contact the bus drivers “oh, very sori, weels, they fall off bus”. After another half an hour we finally get two more vans. The students pile on board these beat-up roadsters, packed in with no seatbelts, windows wide open, kids hanging out and we head off. We don’t get far and we come across a street parade for the university open day. The bus stops. By now the cricket competition is, or should be well underway. We finally arrive one and a half hours late. Never mind, half the other schools haven’t arrived either. Island time”! The wind, which never blows onto the beach has decided to come in full force. We were sand blasted and hit full-on with horizontal rain. The kids were still happy, at least it was warm.  They lost all their games. Not a surprise. The girls only learned how to play the day before and guess who taught them. Yes, I took a five minute look at a book and for the first time in my life learned how to play.

The Girl's team trying to look fierce.

After the shambles of this trip it was with some trepidation that I took them to Parliament the following Monday. It was the opening session. The MP’s arrived with police escorts, there was a lot of serious business and I threatened my students with all manner of punishment if they dared play up in the Gallery. There was a lot of pomp and ceremony and the kids were fascinated. Parliament lasted for twenty minutes then the MP’s retired until later in the week.  We headed off to the Cultural Centre, a run around the park and anything else I could add to delay returning to school too soon. I feel like I can tackle anything now!

Sand drawing demonstration at the Cultural Centre. Mesmerizing stuff!

The staff highlight for this term was The Amazing Race which Susi and I organized. I’d forgotten how competitive teachers are. It was absolute carnage with staff either ripping off or swimming in their clothes during the paddle boarding, forming roadblocks to wave down buses, jumping on the back of trucks they had waved down and literally ‘throwing’ pots at Wan Smol Bag Art Centre. Activities which Susi and I had spent days organzing and hours putting into place were completed or demolished in minutes. It was hilarious.  Now they all want to know when the next event is. Needless to say there were many weary bodies at school today.

My wonderful teacher-assistant Naomi trying to make a kava bowl during the Amazing race.

But life is not just school. The harbour is always a scene of mystery and intrigue.

Not the drug boat or the Russian launch. Just a nice evening on the waterfront.

 

 This week’s big news was the seizing of 32 billion vatu (72 vatu to the NZ dollar) of cocaine cemented to the hull of a yacht which has been sitting in the harbour for years. A search was carried out two years ago after tip offs but nothing was found. I wonder how hard they looked! We watch all manner of boat come and go. The latest was an enormous launch complete with helicopter, submarine and grenade launcher owned by a Russian billionaire who flew in on his private Lear jet for a spot of big game fishing for a weekend and then departed again.

There are so many stories that could be written here. I’m just too lazy and too busy enjoying myself to be the one who writes them.

Until next time. Lukim Yu

 

 

 

long taem no blog

 

There is never a dull moment at school and two events in particular are worth a quick blog mention. The first is the school athletics day, not for the Olympian style events or the incredible distances our Ni-Van students manage to throw the javelin, but for the behind-the-scene action which fortunately didn’t result in death. Our Ni-Van grounds man had been instructed to cut and prepare the fields for this annual event. Unfortunately, he spent three weeks carefully cutting and grooming around the oval but omitted to spend any time within it! Finding the discus and javelin after each throw was somewhat of a mission impossible!!!

My special teaching friends Carla, Susi and Naomi my TA.

The dilapidated stadium at the sports field was originally built for the Pacific Games  but for many years now, has been left unmaintained and is a real earthquake hazard. Only the brave would dare sit on the seats to watch events and our students were banned from going anywhere near it. Not so for our grounds man who, with a few spare hours at hand happened to notice a large fuse box hanging loosely from the wall. The protruding copper wire was enticing. Here was a chance for him to make a few extra dollars. He returned to school to get a hacksaw and promptly proceeded to saw through the copper wire. Unfortunately, he forgot to check if the fuse box was live!!!!! The first we knew of this was when he arrived at school on school a few days later with a bandana tied around his face. “Oh? What’s wrong with you?” our principal asked. “Mi hav wan bigfala cold” he said.  “You can’t walk around school like that” she replied “Take it off. You look like a ganster.”  

He did so, only to reveal his nose, lips and surrounds burned black. Shocked she questioned him further until she got the whole true story.  On further inspection she noticed a badly bandaged hand. Our deputy principal, who has the  stomach for dealing with medical disasters carefully unwound the bandage revealing a black, rotting, stinking hand.

 We all waiting anxiously while he was taken to the doctors, convinced that the outcome would be an amputation. Fortunately, luck was on his side and the hand could be saved. Any longer and this would not have been the case. I don’t think he’ll try stealing any more copper wire!!!

From solemn commemoration to Celebration

The school curriculum says to teach Australian history but it seems irresponsible not to be teaching the history of the country I’m teaching in. Especially as Vanuatu was gearing up for the first commemoration of the atrocity known as Black-birding. So, armed with three volumes on Vanuatu history, I set about trying to understand the political journey of these islands and  how they progressed from being The Sandwich Islands then The New Hebrides to finally in 1980, being renamed Vanuatu.

If New Zealand Maori have grievances, they almost pale in comparison to what the Ni-Vanuatu have endured. In the 1800’s generations were torn apart as islanders were taken to Queensland to work on the sugar-cane plantation, slavery more commonly known as Black birding. It had taken 150 years to acknowledge what the people endured and the commemoration which marked the start of Independence Week was emotionally charged with speeches with many moved to tears. Thank heavens for the energetic dancing, songs and entertainment which followed to lift our spirits!

 

 

 

 

 

Vanuatu was settled by the French and the British, enemies for years,  and their relationship in these islands was no less harmonious.  Trying to create a lawful society, they first tried to be governed by a Naval Commission but without success. This was followed by establishing a condominium where both countries governed simultaneously. Imagine...own languages, own schools, own airlines, own police departments. No wonder the condominium soon became known as pandemonium. The indigenous people were virtually ignored and powerless. Neither government took responsibility for the islanders,  they had no country of citizenship,  and identity cards were the only form of identification.  It wasn’t until the 1970’s-1980 which were fraught with demonstrations and bloodshed as the islanders fought for recognition and the French and British fought to keep what they had taken, that  a constitution was written, the New Hebrides became independent and were renamed Vanuatu. Big breath. END OF HISTORY LESSON!

 

As you can imagine, this history led to a lot of debating and drama in the classroom as the kids came to grips with all of this, especially....the French, the British and the Ni- Vanuatu students. It’s a wonder that I didn’t start a civil war in my class room (although it sounded like it at times)!!

After the colour and drama of the commemoration I was keen to follow the Independence Day celebrations and was not disappointed. The weather was sweltering and when you packed about ten thousand people into the park the heat was overwhelming.  You cannot ignore the colour of these islands. With the woman wearing colourful island dresses (Mother Hubbard Dresses as they are known), umbrellas in the Vanuatu colours and the blinding whiteness of the troops it was a sight to behold. The pomp and ceremony of colonialism was still evident with the marching, brass band, speeches and flag-raising, but, even amongst the ceremony there were many light-hearted moments. 

 

 

 

By the afternoon, even though entertainment was in full swing all over Port Vila it was time for a little light recreation. So, it was off to Mele Beach and the Beach Bar with friends for a swim and our own celebrations. A great day.

Lukim Yu



The way I see myself (Left) and the way one of my students sees me.