When
Lviah Fenster visited New Zealand recently she was both charmed and
exhilarated by the richness of Wellington’s culture. During
festival time the city sparkles with life and energy!
Like
many cities in the British Colonies Wellington
is a familiar name to South Africans. When I informed a friend that I
was about to see the National Theatre production of ‘The History
Boys’ by Alan Bennett in Wellington, his bemused response was “is
Wellington having an arts festival with the original cast?”
Yes,
and an exhibition titled ‘Matisse to Picasso’,
and some very experimental theatre. At last I’ll have an opportunity
to hear late 20th Century music played by the Amsterdam
Quartet.
“In
Wellington?” came a final faint query. Well,
there’s Wellington and Wellington both have their charms, but I wonder
if we will ever see our South African stages, art galleries, outdoor
venues and coffee shops overrun by the vast variety of exhibitions and
speakers that descend on Wellington, New Zealand in February and March
every two years.
From
Robert Fiske to Michael Cunningham and Cape Town’s Lyndall Gordon now
living in London. A feast for a culture glutton with opera, jazz, ballet
and Charlie Chaplin’s grandson performing brilliant mime as well as
fringe events a-plenty.
February
is a perfect month to visit. The city sparkles, the rain is elsewhere
and the wind abates.
In
the Botanical Gardens, overlooking
the sea and city, the roses are in full bloom and the begonias in the
hot houses are the size of dinner plates!
Meander
through pathways and come across statues of Wellington’s worthies as
well as a splendidly positioned reclining Henry Moore figure. An
auditorium nestles in the hillside ready for jazz in the park or
‘Twelfth Night’.
Stroll
down to the city to the Houses of Parliament, built
around the turn of the 19th Century and recently restored,
lifted off the ground, creating an air cushion in the event of an
earthquake.
Onto
Lambton Quay filled with coffee shops, where cappuccinos are justly
renowned. Sushi bars are ubiquitous adjoining pie shops and bakeries.
Visit
grand Kirkeudi and Skins department store, with its courteous
ambience and a doorman dressed like a lord from a Gilbert and
Sullivan operetta.
However
what makes Wellington different from other cities is its tolerance, not
only of its various peoples, but also its fondness for the eccentrics to
be seen mostly in Cuba Street – a mall closed to traffic, joggers dart
through the open air tables, the weird and wonderful stroll and a street
where bookstores abound.
This
is the domain of ‘Blanket Man’ so named because he walks the street
in underpants and a decidedly mothy looking burgundy blanket draped
round his shoulders as though it were an ermine cape.
Here
too, is a benign, spaced out looking character holding court on a
particular corner. In mellifluous, seductive tones he tells all who pass
that they look lovely today. “I love you darling,” he calls. The
populous smile back cheered by his praise.
Absolutely
anything goes dress wise in Cuba Street.
No
one seemed to notice three young people who looked as though they’d
emerged from a Dickensian funeral parlour. They wore black top hats,
tails and platform boots that elevated them high above other
pedestrians.
On
the Chinese New Year the whole city was there to wave flags and cheer.
Main streets were closed to traffic and the drummers could be heard long
before they were seen, followed by a procession of floats, entrancingly
decorated and carrying members of the Wellington Chinese Opera Company.
The
company was a vision that appeared to have materialized from the secret
city of Beijing, with intricately embroidered robes, scintillating
headdresses and stylised make-up intensifying the impression of a remote
and ancient art form. Naturally there was a spectacular lion dance down
the red carpet.
Civic
Square is the heart of Wellington, a large open space with a huge steel
ball suspended above its center. The
work of New Zealand artist Neil Dawson and despite weighing tons it
appears to be featherweight and ethereal. The ball’s incandescent
effect, mirrored by the colours of the sea and sky, a shimmering surface
of silver tree fern leaves. These tree ferns are to be seen in parks,
gardens and the forests that surround the suburbs.
Shortly
before the Chinese New Year another minority group was acknowledged. A
large candelabra marketing the Jewish Festival of Chanukah was erected
in Civic Square.
Wellington
is an extremely hilly city. Nevertheless
the powers that be are encouraging its citizens to cycle instead of
using cars. Astonishingly they seem to be having some success. Cyclists
are rewarded by the Mayor who gives a free Sunday breakfast to all who
arrive at the Civic Centre on their bicycles.
The
Museum of New Zealand Tie Papa is one of the world’s great
museums.
Here
one can learn the history of the peoples and their country. (There are
only four million people in New Zealand.) Maori art and life is given
great prominence. But the best aspect of this museum is that it is
always filled with the young, visiting the children’s section and
playing on the vast number of computers available. Like all great
teachers, the museum authorities have made learning a fun filled
adventure.
One
is constantly reminded that Peter Jackson shot his ‘Lord of the
Rings’ trilogy here.
The Victorian Theatre, which he restored and where it opened, is a
source of pride. The opening was a grand parade of the films’
characters and cast cavorting joyously, cheered on by children and
adults.
As
a South African, I suppose what startled me most, was that I never had
to bother locking the house. Nor did I see the house keys for the month
I was visiting. My only fear was that I might inadvertently leave the
latch on when I left and then lock myself out!
The
houses are mainly made of wood and
painted in a variety of colours. The colour experts are prized for their
advice and are most sought after workmen. The result is reminiscent of
an illustration for a child’s storybook.
The
gardens have rhododendrons the height of a three-story building,
the sea views bewitch and foxgloves line the riverbanks.
One
can be forgiven for thinking that this is a magical city.
Perhaps
if Katherine Mansfield’s spirit were to visit she might regret having
fled her birthplace and drift happily through her old home and city.
