Utopia

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