Utopia
Takaka, New Zealand
Standing by the side of the road
outside of Kaiteriteri, I put my thumb up in the hope of catching a
ride to Takaka, a quaint little town niched in the heart of the
Golden Bay Area, on the northern part of Te Wai Ponamu, New Zealand's
south island. Anthony, the owner of a pizzeria and backpackers called
the Beach Whale back in Kaiteriteri was nice enough to drop me off
here. I met Anthony a couple of days ago as I stepped inside the
Beach Whale after hearing that there was some live music going on. Of
course I asked whether it would be ok for me to jump on stage and
join the festivities. We spent two evenings jamming on the little
stage of his restaurant, in front of a small but attentive audience.
As it turned out Anthony had his claim to fame with a couple of radio
hits in his younger days, and made a living as a musician for many
years before deciding he'd had enough and used his savings to open
the restaurant. Anthony also allowed me to stay in his caravan
outside on the parking lot for the couple of nights I spent there in
Kaiteriteri. When I told him I wanted to go over to Takaka, he kindly
warned me about that so-called Takaka Hill the town was hiding
behind, that it really was more of a mountain, and that whoever
called it a hill had quite some sense of humor! So he told me I could
leave my bike in his garage for a few days, and gave me a lift to the
main road. Takaka is known as a bit of a hippie place in the Tasman
National park. I wasn't especially planning on going there because it
is a bit out of the way of my two months cycling trip from Auckland
to Queenstown, but while I was busking in Nelson someone working at a
place called the « Roots Bar » invited me to come over
and play there, if ever I happened to pay the town a visit.
Only five minutes have gone by
when a white Toyota campervan pulls over to offer me a ride. Driving
the rented van is a young Dutch couple on a six months road trip
through this beautiful land. As we are driving up the mountainous
road I silently thank Anthony for his advice, but also try to
convince myself that I made the right call. The view of a struggling
cyclist about halfway to the top helps comfort me in my decision.
Whenever I am not the one on the bike, I always feel a sense of
relief: « Thank God that's not me ! ». But it's
always the hardest thing to leave my bike behind on such trips. I
almost never do so. You have to push yourself so hard to overcome the
challenges of cycling over thousands of kilometers in such a hilly
landscape that what keeps you going is the thought that when you've
finally made it, you'll really have surpassed yourself and
accomplished something trully special. So this feels like I'm letting
myself off the hook. I do tend to be excessive in what I do: that's
how I work, that's how I get things done. I throw myself completely
into whatever it is I have undertaken.
As they drop me off at the top of
mainstreet, I hand them one of my cds as a thank you. I head into the
first shop I see to ask for directions to the Roots Bar, and it turns
it's right next door. I also learn something interesting as the
shopkeeper and I get to talking: he used to work at a little place
called the « Dangerous Kitchen », a little further down
the road, and they have live music there too, so I could always ask.
The weather isn't looking too good this week end, with quite a bit of
rain to come, so I might not get to a lot of busking done. Indoor
options do sound good! I thank him for his help and head next door.
That's the Roots Bar indeed, but
unfortunatly the guy who invited me over back in Nelson is away for
the weekend, and the girl behind the bar has no idea who I am.
However to her knowledge no one is scheduled to play here tonight, so
I can always send an e-mail to her boss.
While waiting for a reply I decide
to explore main street in search of a nice busking spot while the
weather still holds up. Colourful painted storefronts and peace
writings on the walls definetly give the place a hippie vibe.
Restaurant menus suggest a variety of organic foods. Bohemian style
clothing, colourful patchworks and baggy trousers seem to be the
dress code. I decide to follow the sound of music as I enter a place
that's half thrift store, half tea room, and a third half live music
venue! An out of tune honkey tonk piano, guitars missing a string or
two, a couple of djembes and a washed up drum kit are the instruments
of choice. There are already three or four people playing, so I pick
up the guitar that has the most strings left, and decide to join the
jamming fun of shuffle blues and reggae.
As I head back out after a couple
of songs I find myself a perfect spot in front of a closed up nature
and fishing shop. It has a covered entrance, which is perfect given
the weather forecast for the afternoon. People of all walks of life
pass me by as I set up my busking equipment.
I
start with Utopia, as
I often do, but here more than ever, it feels like the right place to
do so. This is a song I wrote a few years ago between my two stays in
Canada, after reading a book about how the world back in the sixties
and seventies was like the carefree teenager to today's grown up
world. How the dreams and innocence of youth were now over and it's
time to face facts after decades of unbridled consumerism and brutal
exploitation of the earth's ressources.
It
turns out to be a great session. People are hanging around and
enjoying it from both sides of the road. And I have sold a few cds
too. Once I am done playing I cross over to the Dangerous Kitchen
place to ask them if they would be interested in me playing tomorrow
night. They are, and the deal is a meal, a drink, and a 50$ voucher
for the restaurant. This isn't much, especially given that I probably
won't have the time to spend much of my voucher anyway, since I'll be
leaving the day after. But I came here to play, and the place does
have a cosy vibe that will be just right for my songs. And it looks
like it's going to rain cats and dogs tomorrow, so it's a deal.
Soon after I also receive a
confirmation for the evening at the Roots Bar. And it looks like the
pay is better this time. Great!
Next up on my list is finding a
bed for the night. While I was busking there was this one lady who
offered me a room to stay at her home outside of town. But when I
told her I would most likely be playing at the bar until late this
evening we both agreed it wouldn't be possible. I am not in luck this
time. I didn't book any accomodation, and because of the bad weather
all three backpackers in town are completely full for the weekend. I
usually prefer to camp, but I had to leave all of my tenting gear
back at Anthony's along with the bike. So I finally head back towards
an Old West style hostel I had spotted earlier right on the corner
opposite the Roots Bar. With its saloon and old school furniture, it
felt just like the kind of place Lucky Luke and Jolly Jumper would
have made a stop at for the night! It's also a bit more expensive
than the other backpackers, but at least it has vacancy and the rainy
weather doesn't encourage me to take any chances elsewhere. Plus it's
conveniently situated for tonight. I'll take it.
It's now 7pm, and I am setting up
for the gig on the little stage of the Roots Bar. It's everything
you'd expect a blues bar to be: dim blue and orange lights,
beers, burgers, and lots of background noise. The boss warned me upon
my arrival: I'll be playing over the chatter of people eating at the
tables right in front. It's good for me to go back to these kinds of
gigs everynow and then, for they remind me of how good I have it out
on the streets, where I have control over my sound and I can hear
myself properly, at least most of the time (unless I am playing next
to a road busy with trafic of course). In a bar I sometimes feel
like people take live music for granted, it's there in the
background, fighting it's way over the chatter and laughter. In the
street, a good song becomes the most unexpected of gifts to people
just passing by in the rush of day.
Still I can tell I am getting the
music through to a couple of them here in the bar today, and those
are the ones I sing for. Those are the one's that might come for a
chat after the show. The owner's of the Roots Bar are cheering and
enjoying it too. I mention a couple of times that I have an album and
cds for sale, but I am not getting my hopes up: cd sales are usually
quite slow in bars. It turns out I still sell most of them my while
busking.
Every now and then people will
offer to book me gigs in proper venues, so that I won't have to play
on the street any more. While I am all for it, they should know that
I'll always come back and play on the streets for the pleasure of it,
for I trully love it here.
Both gigs today were nice ones.
One on main street, one in the Roots Bar. But if I had to pick only
one, I would choose my busking gig. Even with a bit of cold and rain,
that's the one I enjoyed most, the one that made my day. I am very
lucky to feel this way. Something about playing on a street corner
appeals to the romantic in me. To the poet. I am a dreamer, and maybe
that today, singing my songs on the streets of Takaka, I was the most
hippy of all.
*****
World we were so young
And love’s the word that told
freedom
World we knew no rules
Oh were we fools?
To live for fun knowing someday
we might grow old?
I’m a 1960’s child and I
can’t help but wonder why
The polar bear has no ice left
to stand?
I’m a flower power child, how
come I see in black and white?
When everything seemed so
colourful then
Look back on these hippie years
Setting out to write the future
When Utopia was not left to
dreamers
World land of possible
Where no’s no word, yes says
it all
World throw in some colours for
faith to blossom
From the ashes of a land once
young that’s now grown old
I’m a 1960’s child and I
can’t help but wonder why
The polar bear has no ice left
to stand?
I’m a flower power child how
come I see in black and white?
When everything seemed so
colourful then
Look back on these hippie years
Setting out to write the future
When Utopia was not left to
dreamers
