Barbara Holloway. Photo / NZ Herald
Barbara Holloway writes an ode to her Auckland.
Last, loneliest, loveliest, exquisite, apart: Rudyard Kipling's oft-quoted line from his poem The Song of the Cities, written in 1891, is not Auckland today. In the travellers' and digital age, no matter how remote our place on the globe is, we are not a lonely isle.
Auckland has become a
crucible for innovation and experimentation, with ties across the planet. The place I feel most embraced is the mighty K, on K Rd. There you can be whoever you want to be. I feel most urbane in the High St district where my Londoner genes are stirred, and I often sit in the narrow lanes feeling part of something permanent.
In the 1950s as the daughter of Irish/English immigrants, I grew up with Maori, Samoans, Scots, Poles, Dutch and Italians learning national dances and how to dress elegantly by watching Italian women. Today my grandson is a Kindo - a Kiwi Indonesian - and in Auckland we have the enjoyment of foods, festivals and traditions so exotic it's like living in New York but with better weather and fewer people.
We have incredible hybrids like Latin salsa interwoven with the beat of Pasifika to produce Siva Salsa. Mangere Markets is truly Pacific, and while I admire the craft of the older ladies there, they admire my metre-long hair: "Ah Palagis, never have that long hair!"
