Here are the YES’s and NO’s for the usual Wellington markets over Easter if you fancy a wander and inhale or imbibe:
And if you are travelling further afield, here’s a NZ list of Easter markets for your purveying pleasure, including the Foxton Easter Fair which is pretty well known or the Masterston Rags Market (both of which might just be on the way….).
Are you one of the increasing number of cycling daredevils who spend mornings and evenings dodging the traffic on Riddiford Street, outrunning buses in the Adelaide Road bus lane, and watching in dismay as cars try and overtake you on the downhill stretch into the Bay when you’re already doing 50km/h?
If so, you might be interested an open day taking place this Saturday (12th April) at Island Bay’s Baptist Church Hall from 10am-2pm, where the various options for improving the south coast-to-city route are going to be on display.
More info @ http://wellington.govt.nz/services/parking-and-roads/cycling/island-bay-to-city-cycle-route
[See all Notional Significance posts]
I set off along Taylor Terrace, and into the slow, steady heart of the suburbs. So far my path has traversed urban, edgelands and rural landscapes, with occasional tangential encounters across suburbia’s ragged edges. But here I am engulfed, flanked on both sides, striding out its loose domestic rhythms: hip, hip, gable, hip. The motorway is just a quarter-acre’s depth from my right foot, but its drone is nearly drowned by the harsher buzz of mowers and late-summer cicadas, its pungent monoxide lost among the grass clippings. The sudden limbic snap back to schoolground memories.
The road rises and falls like a deep ocean swell, occasional breaks in the hedges revealing the flat valley to my left. Flatness is so much its defining feature that until the 1950s it was officially known as “Tawa Flat”. It’s the homely flatness of an egalitarian ideal, a fading dream in a post-Rogernomics country, but still legible in the modesty of these homes—scaled to human limbs and aspirations, unlike the bulked-up Hardie’s castles on the other side of the highway. The hard-won flat line of a life without surprises, when families struggled towards comfort rather than polystyrene columns. Not that dreams are absent: they just tend towards the harmlessly whimsical (an angler’s idyll airbrushed onto the side of a caravan; a garage door wallpapered in imitation brick; a clapped-out Caprice restored to a loving sheen on the roadside verge). It’s the flatness of Lynn of Tawa’s vowels, a caricature (none-too-lovingly scratched with fake nails on a worn-out blackboard) of lower-middle class middle New Zealand. And so Tawa became a metonym for post-war suburbia—simultaneously a cruel classist joke and a Boomer origin myth—and staked a claim to national significance of Pavlovan eminence.
The mouth of the cul-de-sac eventually disgorges me at a roundabout, and I turn up Tawa Terrace, following the highway as closely as I can. A wooded eminence rises above the flatness: one half of a hill that was bisected by the motorway. I drift into Court Road, and the route turns wild once again, bending across a former watercourse and up the hillside. A strange, aloof house, its roofscape a collision of acute angles, sits sentinel upon the peak. The road twists and narrows, peters out into a track. The crunch of gravel. The snap of broom and the crushed licorice scent of fennel. The sun’s insistent pressure on my chest, resisting my passage. Keep reading →
As if Easter coming isn’t enough (I hear the cinnamon bunnies at Bohemein are hopping out the door again), we now have more sweet deliciousness on offer around the city.
Firstly the new venture on Featherston Street in the old Capri space – Louis Sergeant Sweet Couture. By (you’ll never guess…) Louis Sergeant, the until-recently head patisserie chef at Hippopotamus. You can get all manner of delicious afternoon tea French sweet things to have with your tea or bubbles, or a range of salads, sandwiches (baguette style), and platters. Works of art in a very Parisian-feeling setting. Tuesday to Saturday daytimes at the mo, with an 8pm finish on Fridays (mmmm, fromage with warm bread fresh from the oven and bubbles to celebrate the start of the weekend….).
Then the re-emergence of Newtown’s French Cancan patisserie into the former Chill space up Willis Street, just before Dixon. Cancan had a huge following at Newtown, so we don’t imagine they’ll struggle for custom citywide. Delicious pastries, and tasty quiches and tarts (also now available at Moore Wilson). Due to open on 14 April. Easter fingers crossed.
And just to prove I’m not only on a French junket this week, Dough Momma (yep her of the delicious sweet pies available weekly via her facebook page or at the City Market from time to time) pairing up with the Miramar Wooden Spoon ice creamery girls to make cookie ice cream sandwiches, now available at Moore Wilson. What better way to follow one’s hot roasted chicken from the Chook Wagon.