What colour is nostalgia?

 

Does it have a colour at all?  A few days in my turangawaewae (literally a place to stand; more generally, where you come from) of Taranaki had me thinking nostalgia has the colour black. 

 

 

But not in a bad way.  

 

The black of the volcanic iron sands on the beaches - it makes me remember the beach trips of my childhood when you left the safety of your towel and ran across the scorching sand to the cool solace of the ocean.  There were countless picnics at New Plymouth’s Ngamotu Beach, where you’d lie under the pohutukawa trees and get ready for that run across the sand.  Bacon and egg pie, sandwiches and orange cordial. The taste of childhood. 

 

 

Ngamotu Beach

In retrospect, New Plymouth doesn’t have a standardly beautiful beach, yet a working port and towering power station chimney give it character and a certain grim beauty.  

 

The port, Paritutu, and the power station chimney

 

The black of the sugar loaves rearing out of the sea at the harbour.  I’ve just had to google why they are called sugar loaves.  They are the Sugar Loaf Islands and, along with the pinnacle rock Paritutu, are the remains of a ring fracture or eroded volcanic vents, yet for me they’re an indelible memory of Taranaki. 

 

 

The black of Mount Taranaki (2,518 metres) against the Summer twilight.  I grew up under the shadow of this mountain, though  until 1986 it was Mount Egmont, named by Captain Cook after some British nonentity. 

 

Mount Taranaki

 

The black of the rocks along the shore.  There’s now a coastal walkway/cycleway stretching 11 kms from the Port to suburban Bell Block.  The path runs close to downtown, along surf beaches, across several rivers, through a wetland and emerges in a park.  

There’s a beautiful bridge that on a perfect day, rare in Taranaki, frames the moutain. 

If you squint, the mountain is visible in the photo.

 

Wave. Or whale’s ribs? And where’s the mountain?

There are a number of sculptures along the path, not least the 45 metre high Wind Wand, another Len Lye design that was too complex when he came up with it, but modern teachnology and engineering made possible. 

 

Wind Wand

 

 

Or maybe it’s just the black heart of the bitch nun who haunted my high school years and, apparently, haunts me now.  You know who you are Sister Barbara. 

 

Now I have to add silver to my memory bank. The recently completed addition to the Govett Brewster Art Gallery is the spectacular Len Lye Centre, a home for the kinetic artist’s works and archive. Disappointingly few of his sculptures on display but the architecture of the Centre alone is worth the visit. 

 

 

The Len Lye Centre

To quote the website “Like a Lye sculpture, the shimmering stainless steel façade is a striking and provocative expression of movement. The curtain-like exterior is seemingly fluid as the curved steel reflects and transmits light, activating the spaces within and without. It is a modern day temple, reinterpreting Lye’s fusion of ancient and modern concepts, and his proposition for a ‘temple of art’.”  What they said.    For me it was a chance to relive memories of a misspent youth - hours spent underage drinking at the White Hart hotel wine bar instead of taking Physics. 

The White Hart, scene of my youthful exuberance, reflected

Sadly, the White Hart Hotel has become ‘trendy’, and is now the sort of venue old school motorcycle gangs wouldn’t be seen dead at - let alone underage Catholic school girls. 

Kim Kardashian or Audrey Hepburn?

It depends on what you like.  One is fake, flashy (some would say trashy), and over-rated.  The other is effortlessly classy, serene and understated. And that’s how I think of the difference between Dubai and Oman.

 

 

Trinkets at the gold market in Dubai

 

 

Dubai is unarguably a new country, both in its short history and penchant for continuing to become “more”.  With a population of about 2.88 million, 85% are expats (42% are Indian). The country has over 95 skyscrapers exceeding 200metres, with plans for another tower to exceed the current Burg Khalifa at 1,000 meters.  Why, you ask yourself. 

 

Bigger and better?

 

Muscat, population 1.28 million, the capital of Oman (4.64 million) on the other hand, has limits on building height, and the 90m minaret on the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque is the tallest point in the city.  The history of the country goes back hundreds rather than tens of years and you can visit forts, castles and towers built in the 1600s.

 

 

Fishing boats, Muscat - no fish in the waters off Dubai as development has decimated the ecosystem

 

In a direct contrast to their Grand Mosques, Muscat’s design and architecture is restrained while Dubai’s is daring and creative.  It’s as if Dubai says “why not” and Oman says “let’s not”.

 

Leading families in Dubai have monopolies in different industries; transportation, mall development, tourism, building, telecommunications etc.  For example, all public transportation is owned by one family.  Even Uber.  After a big outcry when they initially shut it down, they just took it over.  If you call Uber you get a white Lexus and it costs more than a taxi.  On our recent trip the family controlling telecommunications blocked Skype (WhatsApp voice was already blocked).  You and everyone you want to talk to overseas has to buy an app from the telco and use their system. 

 

Omanis work, and so you get to meet them on a day to day basis.  The taxi driver is Omani because the Sultan wants visitors to experience Oman hospitality when they arrive in the country.  In Dubai the taxi drivers are Pakistani, service staff in hotels and restaurants and shops are Filipino, African, Pakistani, anything but Emirati. Literally millions of south Asians make up the construction workforce.  Emiratis may have jobs, often at a level that exceeds their ability and a salary that exceeds an expat colleague, but they don’t necessarily work (anecdotal evidence gathered from friends working across a range of jobs in Dubai).  There is a saying that Emirates stands for English Managed, Indian Run, Arabs Taking Extra Salary.

 

Emitarisation is a policy of giving preference to local Emirati staff in selection.  Fair enough.  However, given a proportionally small population, most of whom are women and children and therefore unavailable for work, this is not a particularly realistic strategy for efficiency and productivity.

 

In Oman there is a policy of Omanisation.  To make it work the Government has funded universities and training organisations to provide education and training for locals to ensure they are appropriately qualified and skilled for the workforce.  With expats at 45% of the population (again mainly south Asian) the attitude and framework are there, though they admit it’s a long game. 

 

In Muscat after work on a Thursday (the weekend is Friday and Saturday) we watched local Omani guys playing seven a side football (soccer) on the beach.  In Dubai, we see Pakistanis play cricket in the car parks - they’re not allowed to use the grass.

 

Football on the beach in Muscat

 

I could go on, but you get the picture:  two countries sharing the Arabian peninsula with commonality in many things, for example, religion, but quite different in culture, values, and attitude.  At leSt that is my impression, shallow as it may be!

 

So which do you prefer?  Hitting the malls and designer shops with Kim?  Or a walk through a C17th castle with Audrey?