An article in the Sydney Morning Herald on Pat Tillman. The US Army has now accepted that Pat was killed by friendly fire. Not by Afghan insurgents
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Dhal – Chaval: The essentials of life.
Roti, Kapada aur Makhan (Food, Clothes and a House) was newly independent India’s formulae for strong and vibrant nationhood.
Fifty odd years on, the young 20-30 something Indian software engineer/ business professional living in Bangalore has kapada covered by Raymond’s suitings and is makhan-ed in clutches of Aunty Rosie’s “Tarun-Ill-take-half-your-salary-you-don’t-need-so-much-anyway” PG Acco (Paying Guest Accommodation). But Roti is another story, decades of maternal fawning, the magical appearance of masala tea and Andhra chicken roast at the dinner table has created a generation of culinary ignoramuses, who couldn’t boil a pot of water without burning it.
A generation that fends for itself in an alien town on a diet of Maggi Chicken Malasa Noodles – 2 Minutes to cook and enough chemicals to kill, Fanu’s Mambo Sheek Kebab Rolls – great to eat, spiced with a generous sprinkling of the Iqbal’s ball scratch, the list goes on. And sorry to burst your bubble, but Old Monk Rum does not give you any immunity to the Delhi-belly that will most certainly follow. Suffice to say that our stomachs are the Promised Land for every stomach bug in the universe - I speak from experience.
Junta, you need to learn how to cook. As we are starting simple, you wouldn’t invite a date over with this first lesson (Though I can tell you she will be freakin’ impressed. Especially if you keep your kitchen clean.)
Dhal-Chaval (Lentil Stew and Rice)
Your Spice Cupboard
Ginger Paste
Garlic Paste (Now available in bottles even in India boys, fantastic isn’t it.)
Mustard Seeds (Kadige in Malayalam, Sarsoon in Hindi)
Mangel Powder (Don’t know what it is in Hindi think its Haldi but don’t hold me to it, in English - Tumeric)
Chilli Powder
Jeera (Fenel Seeds in English)
Cinamon Sticks ( I just asked my cousin what this stuff is called in Malayalam and she said “Write it in English if they don’t know what it is tell them to go and ask their mothers”)
Chaval
Get a rice cooker it is a good investment. But you can do it the hard way too.
Fill a saucepan with the amount of rice that you want don’t put in more than half the saucepan, the rice will flow over as it cooks. Wash the rice, and then fill the saucepan with water. There is a secret to cooking rice just right, dip your forefinger in the water until it touches the top of the grains, the water should be just over the first ring on your finger. This trick works with cooking rice in a rice cooker too. Cook on a low flame in the saucepan and check on the rice every ten minutes, don’t let it burn.
Dhal
Ingredients
500gms Lentils (The orange coloured lentils are the best and fastest to cook)
Oil - as much as you like
1/2 Onion
1 Tomato
Curry Leaves (Karivepillai, available in any Indian Spice Shop in Australia. Don’t bother if you don’t have them.)
If you want to be adventurous
In Australia, I sometimes add Frozen Spinach or Frozen beans.
Wash the lentils and fill the saucepan with water. You can add as much water as you like depending on whether you like a watery or a thick stew. I personally, like my dhal a little thick so I fill the water to about 11/2 rings of my forefinger from the top of the dhal – I add more water as it cooks if it needs it. Boil the lentils on a low flame with a pinch of Mangel. If you are adding spinach or beans cook them with the lentils. They most often don’t even need to be defrosted.
Allow the lentils to cook and turn into a yellow mushy paste.
Heat the oil in another saucepan, add a half teaspoon of mustard seeds, the same measure of fennel seeds, half a sprig of curry leaves and a few small pieces of cinamon sticks. Enjoy the fragrance of the spices as they combine and quickly follow with the diced onion. Allow the onions to brown a bit and then add a half teaspoon of ginger paste, garlic paste, mangel, chilli powder to taste (I add a half teaspoon). Allow this to cook for a bit, not too long don’t let it burn.
Add the tomato allow the mixture to cook until the tomato loses a little bit of its firmness. Add this mixture to the dhal. Add salt to taste. Cook the dhal for another 5 minutes
Music
Cooking can be a meditative experience. I like to create the mood with music. My current favourites:
Norah Jones – Come away with me
Dido – Life for Rent
David Grey – White Ladder
Serving Suggestions
Make a salad accompaniment, diced onions, cucumber and tomatoes dressed with pepper, salt, sugar and vinegar. Serve with some Mango Pickle (Devine!) and finish off with a little bit of yogurt, rice and salt.
Maybe sometime I’ll talk about cooking meat to go with the dhal and rice.
Dhal is a highly versatile food and can be eaten with rotis (Indian Bread), or even regular bread. I love eating a few slices of bread, tomato sauce and dhal, this my friends is an acquired taste. When I was studying in Australia, all we knew how to cook was Dhal and its spicy south indian variant sambar, Murali and I would cook enough for three days and stretch the yellow liquid out for another day by adding hot water to it. At the end of 6 months I didnt want to see another drop for dhal again for a long long time. Moral: I know this is good stuff but dont over do it.
Finally!
If you can afford a cook, go for your life. Harish and I did for a year and it was fantastic to come home to hot chappatis every evening. Chokkamma and Shoba, Siva’s wife and mother of Siva’s son respectively are great friends – they would come home every afternoon, collect the keys from Harish’s aunt next door and chatter away the local gossip while they cleaned our house, made our dinner and packed it away in hot-cases ready for the evening feed.
Roti, Kapada aur Makhan (Food, Clothes and a House) was newly independent India’s formulae for strong and vibrant nationhood.
Fifty odd years on, the young 20-30 something Indian software engineer/ business professional living in Bangalore has kapada covered by Raymond’s suitings and is makhan-ed in clutches of Aunty Rosie’s “Tarun-Ill-take-half-your-salary-you-don’t-need-so-much-anyway” PG Acco (Paying Guest Accommodation). But Roti is another story, decades of maternal fawning, the magical appearance of masala tea and Andhra chicken roast at the dinner table has created a generation of culinary ignoramuses, who couldn’t boil a pot of water without burning it.
A generation that fends for itself in an alien town on a diet of Maggi Chicken Malasa Noodles – 2 Minutes to cook and enough chemicals to kill, Fanu’s Mambo Sheek Kebab Rolls – great to eat, spiced with a generous sprinkling of the Iqbal’s ball scratch, the list goes on. And sorry to burst your bubble, but Old Monk Rum does not give you any immunity to the Delhi-belly that will most certainly follow. Suffice to say that our stomachs are the Promised Land for every stomach bug in the universe - I speak from experience.
Junta, you need to learn how to cook. As we are starting simple, you wouldn’t invite a date over with this first lesson (Though I can tell you she will be freakin’ impressed. Especially if you keep your kitchen clean.)
Dhal-Chaval (Lentil Stew and Rice)
Your Spice Cupboard
Ginger Paste
Garlic Paste (Now available in bottles even in India boys, fantastic isn’t it.)
Mustard Seeds (Kadige in Malayalam, Sarsoon in Hindi)
Mangel Powder (Don’t know what it is in Hindi think its Haldi but don’t hold me to it, in English - Tumeric)
Chilli Powder
Jeera (Fenel Seeds in English)
Cinamon Sticks ( I just asked my cousin what this stuff is called in Malayalam and she said “Write it in English if they don’t know what it is tell them to go and ask their mothers”)
Chaval
Get a rice cooker it is a good investment. But you can do it the hard way too.
Fill a saucepan with the amount of rice that you want don’t put in more than half the saucepan, the rice will flow over as it cooks. Wash the rice, and then fill the saucepan with water. There is a secret to cooking rice just right, dip your forefinger in the water until it touches the top of the grains, the water should be just over the first ring on your finger. This trick works with cooking rice in a rice cooker too. Cook on a low flame in the saucepan and check on the rice every ten minutes, don’t let it burn.
Dhal
Ingredients
500gms Lentils (The orange coloured lentils are the best and fastest to cook)
Oil - as much as you like
1/2 Onion
1 Tomato
Curry Leaves (Karivepillai, available in any Indian Spice Shop in Australia. Don’t bother if you don’t have them.)
If you want to be adventurous
In Australia, I sometimes add Frozen Spinach or Frozen beans.
Wash the lentils and fill the saucepan with water. You can add as much water as you like depending on whether you like a watery or a thick stew. I personally, like my dhal a little thick so I fill the water to about 11/2 rings of my forefinger from the top of the dhal – I add more water as it cooks if it needs it. Boil the lentils on a low flame with a pinch of Mangel. If you are adding spinach or beans cook them with the lentils. They most often don’t even need to be defrosted.
Allow the lentils to cook and turn into a yellow mushy paste.
Heat the oil in another saucepan, add a half teaspoon of mustard seeds, the same measure of fennel seeds, half a sprig of curry leaves and a few small pieces of cinamon sticks. Enjoy the fragrance of the spices as they combine and quickly follow with the diced onion. Allow the onions to brown a bit and then add a half teaspoon of ginger paste, garlic paste, mangel, chilli powder to taste (I add a half teaspoon). Allow this to cook for a bit, not too long don’t let it burn.
Add the tomato allow the mixture to cook until the tomato loses a little bit of its firmness. Add this mixture to the dhal. Add salt to taste. Cook the dhal for another 5 minutes
Music
Cooking can be a meditative experience. I like to create the mood with music. My current favourites:
Norah Jones – Come away with me
Dido – Life for Rent
David Grey – White Ladder
Serving Suggestions
Make a salad accompaniment, diced onions, cucumber and tomatoes dressed with pepper, salt, sugar and vinegar. Serve with some Mango Pickle (Devine!) and finish off with a little bit of yogurt, rice and salt.
Maybe sometime I’ll talk about cooking meat to go with the dhal and rice.
Dhal is a highly versatile food and can be eaten with rotis (Indian Bread), or even regular bread. I love eating a few slices of bread, tomato sauce and dhal, this my friends is an acquired taste. When I was studying in Australia, all we knew how to cook was Dhal and its spicy south indian variant sambar, Murali and I would cook enough for three days and stretch the yellow liquid out for another day by adding hot water to it. At the end of 6 months I didnt want to see another drop for dhal again for a long long time. Moral: I know this is good stuff but dont over do it.
Finally!
If you can afford a cook, go for your life. Harish and I did for a year and it was fantastic to come home to hot chappatis every evening. Chokkamma and Shoba, Siva’s wife and mother of Siva’s son respectively are great friends – they would come home every afternoon, collect the keys from Harish’s aunt next door and chatter away the local gossip while they cleaned our house, made our dinner and packed it away in hot-cases ready for the evening feed.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
Carpe Diem
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, Here I am. Send me.”
Isaiah 6:8
(On the US Army Ranger website. www.ranger.org )
It was a dismal evening in southeastern Afghanistan. The April sun had long since disappeared leaving in its wake, dark mountains, long shadows and an uneasy calm. A unit from the 75th Regiment of the elite Army Rangers left the secure comfort of their base on what was reported as a routine combat patrol. Circa 7:30pm local time, near the village of Sperah, 40kms southwest of Khost, things went horribly wrong. The Rangers were ambushed by Afghan militia, most likely a renegade bunch of Al Queada and Taliban fighters. The ensuing battle was a rapid and bloody firefight in which two Rangers were injured and one man was killed. The engagement ended as quickly as it began when one of the militia was killed.
The story of the Ranger killed that April day is especially interesting; Specialist Pat Tillman was a star footballer, the No.40 jersey for the Arizona Cardinals. In 2001, after 4 seasons playing for the Cardinals, Tillman walked away from a fresh $3.6million contract and joined the army. Since the news of Tillman’s demise, mainstream media and the winding alleys of the Internet have been filled with a confusion of opinions. This war has caused deep divisions in public opinion. On the one hand, jingoistic eulogies portray Tillman, as a hero, a legend, a role model to be emulated. Others sickened by past experiences of false propaganda have taken a step back in silence. Then there are the confused like Rene Gonzalez who expressed his anti-war stance by trashing an extraordinary man. The gist of what Rene wrote in a college newspaper was that Tillman was a GI Joe, a “Rambo wannabe” who got what he deserved. Rene felt the wrath of a nation, his telephone number was published on the Internet, he was abused on several forums of public debate and finally issued an apology to the Tillman family.
What is the truth? Does Tillman’s story hold a message for us all or is he another paper tiger, a war-marketing tool invented by the powers that be? What would it take for someone to exchange a fat contract for an $18,000 army salary and the tough life. There are no easy answers, and definitely none from Tillman who declined to give any interviews immediately after he joined the army. This was a very personal journey. I do not follow the NFL, I hardly know the game, I have never seen Pat Tillman play; but Tillman was 27 when he died, not much younger than me, his life experiences though are infinitely greater.
My mate Jeff Burns said to me today, ‘It isn’t about how old I am anymore, as much as it is about another digit being added on’. As much of my generation motors surely towards mid-life, I find myself and others contemplating the same questions. Am I making any progress? Do I make a difference? Am I really living the way I would like to? If I died today what would be my epitaph? When I put Tillman’s life in the context of my own, I see strength and direction from what I would like to think is the way he lived and died.
Hit hard
A Sports Illustrated article on Tillman says that in college, as an all-Pac-10 linebacker Tillman always went at full speed. Tillman with helmet on and long mane flowing put the fear of God in his adversaries, he would hit with bone jarring focused intensity so much so that in practice coaches had to often slow him down so that he wouldn’t hurt anybody. Slowing down was hard for Tillman. In life too he seems to be a man who zoned in on a goal and then put his heart and soul into achieving it by hitting hard, bone jarringly hard. Pete Prisco of CBSSportsline.com sums him up quite aptly ‘The hair set him (Tillman) apart from everybody else on the big screen, but the reality is that Tillman set himself apart from everybody else with the way he lived.” Now, how is that for an epitaph?
Blueprint
I suspect Tillman’s decisions were not made on the spur of the moment he had a blueprint for his life, a broad-vision road map that gave him direction. Bruce Snyder, Tillman’s coach at Arizona State wanted to extend his eligibility by a season, which would also have required him to spend another year in college. Tillman told him “You can do whatever you want with me but in four years I am gone. I have got things to do with my life.” Just before he joined the army, he told reporters that after three years he would return to the NFL.
Back yourself
Those that knew him say that Tillman did not know the word FAIL and there is striking evidence that he backed himself against seemingly insurmountable odds to win every time. In college, Tillman landed the last remaining football scholarship at Arizona State, NFL.com says that his place at the end of the bench was where dreams go to expire. Written off as too small to play, he finished up four seasons later as Pac10 Conference defensive player of the year. In the NFL, Tillman was the 226th pick out of 241 for the Arizona Cardinals 1998 draft, five months later, a man who was called too slow to be a safety, was the Cardinals starting strong safety. The tough brawn was backed by intellect, Tillman graduated with a marketing degree and a 3.84 GPA.
Code
Tillman lived his life by a simple code; tales of honour and loyalty are numerous. He was loyal to his team, he spurned a $5 million contract to play for the St. Louis Rams and stayed with the Cardinals. He said that he joined the Army because of the catastrophe that rocked the world, 9/11. I know of idiots who have racked up debt and bought fancy cars in the name of that sad cliché, as if it gave them some license to stupidity. But Tillman though put his life on the line to defend what he believed in, in his words “because it is time to give something back”.
Carpe Diem
Life is a truly wonderful blank canvas, gifted to each of us by God to paint, as we desire. Thick brush strokes of bright colours, a dash of depth and ‘je ne sais quois’ or a dismal, shallow, no-effort, the choice is ours and only ours to make. Seize the day because nothing ventured is nothing gained. Tillman painted well, he tried just about every colour on the palette of life, he took up the triathlon and before the 2000 season, he ran a 70 mile marathon just to see what it was like. In living he has created a portrait for all to admire.
In regards to Rene Gonzalez and his ilk, I would like to pose the theory that Rene would not even have registered on Pat’s radar. Pat had more important things to do. He had a road to travel, a journey to complete.
For me Pat Tillman is about the simple things, eating less, running more; talking less, listening more; meeting more people; frowning less, laughing more; running the city to surf, living more; and borrowing a phrase used by Mark Latham on a youth gathering in Perth, bringing more ‘bling-bling’ in my life. (take that as you wish. But don’t laugh! This man, Latham, might very likely be the next prime minister of Australia)
Seriously though, do you have the spunk to do a little Pat Tillman? Think about it.
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, Here I am. Send me.”
Isaiah 6:8
(On the US Army Ranger website. www.ranger.org )
It was a dismal evening in southeastern Afghanistan. The April sun had long since disappeared leaving in its wake, dark mountains, long shadows and an uneasy calm. A unit from the 75th Regiment of the elite Army Rangers left the secure comfort of their base on what was reported as a routine combat patrol. Circa 7:30pm local time, near the village of Sperah, 40kms southwest of Khost, things went horribly wrong. The Rangers were ambushed by Afghan militia, most likely a renegade bunch of Al Queada and Taliban fighters. The ensuing battle was a rapid and bloody firefight in which two Rangers were injured and one man was killed. The engagement ended as quickly as it began when one of the militia was killed.
The story of the Ranger killed that April day is especially interesting; Specialist Pat Tillman was a star footballer, the No.40 jersey for the Arizona Cardinals. In 2001, after 4 seasons playing for the Cardinals, Tillman walked away from a fresh $3.6million contract and joined the army. Since the news of Tillman’s demise, mainstream media and the winding alleys of the Internet have been filled with a confusion of opinions. This war has caused deep divisions in public opinion. On the one hand, jingoistic eulogies portray Tillman, as a hero, a legend, a role model to be emulated. Others sickened by past experiences of false propaganda have taken a step back in silence. Then there are the confused like Rene Gonzalez who expressed his anti-war stance by trashing an extraordinary man. The gist of what Rene wrote in a college newspaper was that Tillman was a GI Joe, a “Rambo wannabe” who got what he deserved. Rene felt the wrath of a nation, his telephone number was published on the Internet, he was abused on several forums of public debate and finally issued an apology to the Tillman family.
What is the truth? Does Tillman’s story hold a message for us all or is he another paper tiger, a war-marketing tool invented by the powers that be? What would it take for someone to exchange a fat contract for an $18,000 army salary and the tough life. There are no easy answers, and definitely none from Tillman who declined to give any interviews immediately after he joined the army. This was a very personal journey. I do not follow the NFL, I hardly know the game, I have never seen Pat Tillman play; but Tillman was 27 when he died, not much younger than me, his life experiences though are infinitely greater.
My mate Jeff Burns said to me today, ‘It isn’t about how old I am anymore, as much as it is about another digit being added on’. As much of my generation motors surely towards mid-life, I find myself and others contemplating the same questions. Am I making any progress? Do I make a difference? Am I really living the way I would like to? If I died today what would be my epitaph? When I put Tillman’s life in the context of my own, I see strength and direction from what I would like to think is the way he lived and died.
Hit hard
A Sports Illustrated article on Tillman says that in college, as an all-Pac-10 linebacker Tillman always went at full speed. Tillman with helmet on and long mane flowing put the fear of God in his adversaries, he would hit with bone jarring focused intensity so much so that in practice coaches had to often slow him down so that he wouldn’t hurt anybody. Slowing down was hard for Tillman. In life too he seems to be a man who zoned in on a goal and then put his heart and soul into achieving it by hitting hard, bone jarringly hard. Pete Prisco of CBSSportsline.com sums him up quite aptly ‘The hair set him (Tillman) apart from everybody else on the big screen, but the reality is that Tillman set himself apart from everybody else with the way he lived.” Now, how is that for an epitaph?
Blueprint
I suspect Tillman’s decisions were not made on the spur of the moment he had a blueprint for his life, a broad-vision road map that gave him direction. Bruce Snyder, Tillman’s coach at Arizona State wanted to extend his eligibility by a season, which would also have required him to spend another year in college. Tillman told him “You can do whatever you want with me but in four years I am gone. I have got things to do with my life.” Just before he joined the army, he told reporters that after three years he would return to the NFL.
Back yourself
Those that knew him say that Tillman did not know the word FAIL and there is striking evidence that he backed himself against seemingly insurmountable odds to win every time. In college, Tillman landed the last remaining football scholarship at Arizona State, NFL.com says that his place at the end of the bench was where dreams go to expire. Written off as too small to play, he finished up four seasons later as Pac10 Conference defensive player of the year. In the NFL, Tillman was the 226th pick out of 241 for the Arizona Cardinals 1998 draft, five months later, a man who was called too slow to be a safety, was the Cardinals starting strong safety. The tough brawn was backed by intellect, Tillman graduated with a marketing degree and a 3.84 GPA.
Code
Tillman lived his life by a simple code; tales of honour and loyalty are numerous. He was loyal to his team, he spurned a $5 million contract to play for the St. Louis Rams and stayed with the Cardinals. He said that he joined the Army because of the catastrophe that rocked the world, 9/11. I know of idiots who have racked up debt and bought fancy cars in the name of that sad cliché, as if it gave them some license to stupidity. But Tillman though put his life on the line to defend what he believed in, in his words “because it is time to give something back”.
Carpe Diem
Life is a truly wonderful blank canvas, gifted to each of us by God to paint, as we desire. Thick brush strokes of bright colours, a dash of depth and ‘je ne sais quois’ or a dismal, shallow, no-effort, the choice is ours and only ours to make. Seize the day because nothing ventured is nothing gained. Tillman painted well, he tried just about every colour on the palette of life, he took up the triathlon and before the 2000 season, he ran a 70 mile marathon just to see what it was like. In living he has created a portrait for all to admire.
In regards to Rene Gonzalez and his ilk, I would like to pose the theory that Rene would not even have registered on Pat’s radar. Pat had more important things to do. He had a road to travel, a journey to complete.
For me Pat Tillman is about the simple things, eating less, running more; talking less, listening more; meeting more people; frowning less, laughing more; running the city to surf, living more; and borrowing a phrase used by Mark Latham on a youth gathering in Perth, bringing more ‘bling-bling’ in my life. (take that as you wish. But don’t laugh! This man, Latham, might very likely be the next prime minister of Australia)
Seriously though, do you have the spunk to do a little Pat Tillman? Think about it.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Aeroplane Dreaming
For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be,
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;
Lord Tennyson. Locksley Hall
written 100 years before mans first flight.
Speeding down the Wanaka-Luggate highway, the little pulsar engine was fighting with itself to cruise at a steady 100 kmph. Over the sound of our whining automobile we heard a signature thump-thump getting louder by the second. Over my right shoulder I saw little specs in the sky, the unmistakeable sight of aircraft flying low in close formation. The aircraft became clearer in the distance two Hurricanes and a Spitfire, flying flat out at an estimated 250mph. The winged metal ships were over us in an instant, propellers blades cutting through the icy cold air creating a whup- whup effect as the metal tips approached and crossed the speed of sound. The warbirds majestically pealed away and disappeared over the distant peaks, freshly sugar dusted with snow. Our extended bandwidth radio hissed to life ‘Calling Bird Dog, Abort, we have friendly dogs in the kennel’. We breathed again because we knew that they were off to find another battle.
Wanaka is no kennel, this is Lord of the Rings country, Lake Wanaka (www.lakewanaka.co.nz ) is nestled in the Remarkables range in close proximity to the 3000M Mt.Aspiring in New Zealand’s Southern Alps region. The home of Middle Earth in Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy, this region is arguably one of the most picturesque locations anywhere in the world. Axl Rose must have thought of this neck of the woods when he sang ‘Take me down to paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty’
The view, skiing and rock climbing apart, Wanaka brings to the world something that is quite unique. Come Easter every alternate year, aviators, aviation buffs and assorted nutters brave the cold weather to fly or as we did stand for 3 days looking up in the sky marveling at some of the most beautiful wood and metal birds ever made – THE WAR BIRDS OVER WANAKA (www.warbirdsoverwanaka.co.nz ).
Over easter weekend 2004, it was the turn of George and Tarun, quack aviator (Typo, replace ‘quack’ with ‘crack’) and aviation buff respectively, to set foot on that hallowed tarmac, Wanaka airport. Suma, George’s wife was with us as a keen observer (I strongly suspect a result of spousal influence). Three days of biting cold, the constant mozart like symphony of aircraft – a crescendo bordering at times on acoustic mayhem akin to the famous Metallica-San Francisco Philharmonic concert, the tangy-bitter smell of rubber burn out and the sweet scent cocktail of aviation and diesel fuel was a little too much for Suma. Another visit to Wanaka Airport on the fourth day was quietly threatened to be met with dire consequences, murder of either spouse or friend or both was gently whispered at various times. Wily as we are, we did find a way to be at the airport on day 4 and were treated to an almost lap dance-esque final private exhibition, but that’s another story for another day.
Wanaka was taken back in time with bi-planes and tri-planes of a different era, poetic in flight. Aviation was a young science during World War I, little was known about how to build an aircraft that would stay up in the sky. If you closed your eyes for an instant you were reminded that aviators who flew in this age were pioneers, flying aces, real pilots. They took untested designs up among the clouds and if the flying wood, string and Irish fabric coated generously with dope stood up to the test, it survived to become a famous aeroplane - many have failed and many have died in this quest.
Replicas from the early 1900’s took to the air, as I whistled to the tune ‘Those magnificent men and their flying machines, they go up titty up up, they come down titty down, down.’ A Sopwith Camel (New Zealand Fighter Pilot’s Museum. www.nzfpm.co.nz ) and Avro 504k, powered by its original mint condition engine, engaged in a gentlemanly dogfight with a German Fokker Dr.1 tri-plane piloted by the Red Barron Manfred Von Richthofen himself.
Pistons on desperate airplane engines sputtered,
White aviator scarves from open cockpits fluttered,
Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat,
Pot shot machine guns filled the afternoon air.
Finally, true to script the Barron lay defeated,
His aircraft like a wounded canine retreated,
Trailing smokey sparks with theatrical care.
My eyes were returned to the runway by a racket of Polikarpovs wearing red army colours. Move forward to the 1930’s, the Polikarpov, I-16 Ishak (Rata) was simply the best aircraft flying in its day. Aviators who have had the privilege to fly this bird say that the experience was only slightly marred by the fact that it was tricky to fly and downright dangerous for an inexperienced pilot. The Stub-nosed polly with its racing car looks has an aviation first – the retractable undercarriage. The pilot can pull up the undercarriage with 44 turns of a lever and can lower it with a clutch plate style mechanism, in which a finger misplaced, is a finger lost. 8000 Pollys were built in all only 6 survive today. You can own a Polly for a small fortune as part of an investor syndicate. There are two planes currently on sale in Russia.
We played a game of spot the Indian in the crowd without much success until saturday evening. Wanaka has 5 restaurants in all and one of them is Bombay Palace. George and I named the resident chefs Ramu and Sundar, while they cooked our hot samosas and chicken tikka masala. The English bartender came to Wanaka for the ski season 2 years ago and never went back. He knew we needed Indian brew and brought us a couple of bottles of Kingfisher Beer– most thrilling, chilled. And that was enough to get George to orgasm on nostalgia lane. The man was in advertising and fervently believes that he designed the kingfisher bottles and accompanying beer glasses. He is my best friend, I indulge him, besides, I enjoy his trivia and use it liberally. For the record, to be fair to George, he did manage the Kingfisher account, he did meet Ritu Berri (the fashion vixen) and he also worked with that svelte, raven haired beauty, PB (he knows who I am referring too). The Bastard.
Ramu’s vindaloo and Sundar’s kebabs were culinary memories we could not forget; we ate at the Palace again the following day. This time around the food was accompanied by another Indian classic, Johnny Walker Black Label with soda. ‘Dho Patiala, bartender aur Madam ke liye chota gin aur tonic’ (Translation: 2 patiala pegs, old chap and gin and tonic for the lady). The bartender didn’t understand a word of what I said but it didn’t matter as the jolly pony tailed chap was hitting the bottle himself under the table. Later that evening the Englishman tripped over himself and sprayed the restaurant with 5 stubbies of Kingfisher. Ramu wasn’t very impressed and we left with the premonition that some tikka would fly that night.
After a good nights’ rest we awoke to a crisp sunday morning and some brisk exercise riding push bikes around the lake. Suma was the first casuality she retired to the lake front café, a café latte and cream cheese muffin. George and I soldiered on, until he lost a pedal on his push bike. After assessing the damage and finding the suspect bolt, I pulled out the Alan key to fix the bike. George decided to take matters into his own hands and vigorously bashed the pedal in with a rock. Bike fixed barring a bruised frame (the bike had already been thrashed by the last guy who used it.) we pedaled as hard as we could with sore bums and dreams of making millions by redesigning bicycle seats. We were keen to capture grandstand seats for the days’ show.
The C-130 Hercules bustled busily into the air, the centerpiece of its show was the max braking landing – max power take off routine. Designed to bring troops into and out off hostile territory using as little runway as possible the Hercules landed in less than half the length of the Wanaka runway. The aircraft then backed up and executed a max power take off heaving itself into the air on the same half runway distance. The analogy I first thought of was a Virinder Shewag cover drive late-fast-punchy-all the way to the boundary. On reflection however, it was more like an elephant with hot coal up its nether parts lumbering-powerful-Holy smoke, I can fly.
Man has worn wings and jumped to his death in pursuit of the thrill of flight it would be fair to say that we have done some extremely silly things before the Wright Brothers with Kitty Hawk got it right a little over a century ago. You would think that we would be satisfied with what we have achieved but you still hear of the odd nutcase who decides he has the Right Stuff and he can and will push the edge of envelope. At Wanaka this nutter was a Lithuanian who straps himself into an SU-31 Kaibutsu aeroplane after breakfast and constantly defies the ground rules of aviation and gravity as we know them today. Kaibutsu is japanese for Monster and nutter is english for Jurgis Kariys, Aerobatics, World Champion.
For a divine 20 minutes each day, FM Wanaka 100.5 would crackle with urgent excitement, ‘Jurgis flying upside down over Inky Tulloch's CAT powered freightliner.’ Or ‘Ahhhhhh! Jurgis drops out of the sky, hot metal, he isn’t flying right now he is tumbling, flick…..flick….flick…flick, that is his signature cork screw maneuver, I am counting off 5, 6,7,8……..20. Ladies and gentleman that is simply unbelievable, Jurgis has just completed 20 flicks literally tumbling out of the sky before leveling off. He is estimated to have close to 9Gs acting on his body through that routine’. For the uninitiated 9 Gs is 9 times your body weight – you can do the math.
Every morning on all three days, Jurgis was in the zone, flying, sideways, upside down, racing trucks and most often not flying at all – tumbling, falling and hovering. Effectively doing things that aircraft conventionally are not supposed to do. www.jkairys.com gives you the inside stuff on a mad man whose aeroplane, a commercial pilot once reported to Air Traffic Control as a large model plane doing some very strange things in the sky. Taking the risk of preaching to the converted, in Lithuania Jurgis has guided his aeroplane under a bridge flying upside down. The fact that the bridge had people standing on it gives you an idea of their faith in the pilot’s skill and to a lesser extent the advanced state of aviation safety regulations in that country.
The jet era saw a rare formation mix ranging from the 1940’s to 1970’s. The 1940’s were represented by the sleek rocket like vampire, Britain’s first single seat jet fighter, the 1960’s by the L-39 Albatross and the 1970’s by the A37 Dragonfly. The Dragonfly dived down low and dropped a few bombs on a wooden shack that exploded revealing a sign that said BUGGER! The next days repeat revealed a reinforced sign that said BUGGER! AGAIN. Australians in the crowd alluded in jest to a rumoured kiwi pastime, now exposed. Kiwis had their turn blaming a bumpy runway on Australian fuel that caused Kangaroo jumps.
A highlight of my day was the photo opportunity of a spitfire flying as fast as its propeller could push and the L-39 flying as slow as its jet engine would allow, crossing each other for a magical split second. Two very different eras of aviation in a single frame captured on film forever.
NZAF’s 757 swooped silently down low as if from nowhere, a trademark of this aircraft being its relatively silent jet engines, a result of increasingly stringent noise pollution regulations world over. The aircrew enthusiastically grabbed one of the few opportunities to take their mammoth aeroplane to the edge and provided us with a visual feast with several agressive low passes along the display line. Air Force paratroopers dotted the sky as the leapt out of an Orion in the clouds. On the radio, Air Force recruiting spread their message; ‘join us for a life of fun, danger and excitement’ and when one of the paratroopers landed hard, the commentator chimed ‘join us for a sprained ankle or two’.
The show wound down to a grand finale with the Brietling fighters, a posse of aircraft that included the Curtis P40 Kittyhawk, North American P51 Mustang, Kiwi Corsair and the Spitfire ably lead by Kiwi and RAF flying ace Ray Hanna and financially supported by the Brietling watch company. Takapuna’s favourite son leads his 3 man flying team into precision aerobatic routines predominantly with hand signals.
Along came the evening, how time has flown. George took off his gold-framed Ray Ban Aviators and I sensed the hint of a tear in his eye. I felt that same feeling in my heart, the setting sun glinted off the wings of the silver Mustang, the shadows grew long and dark. The show was over and the planes had been put away. But, we knew there was hope they would live to fly another day.
For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be,
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales;
Lord Tennyson. Locksley Hall
written 100 years before mans first flight.
Speeding down the Wanaka-Luggate highway, the little pulsar engine was fighting with itself to cruise at a steady 100 kmph. Over the sound of our whining automobile we heard a signature thump-thump getting louder by the second. Over my right shoulder I saw little specs in the sky, the unmistakeable sight of aircraft flying low in close formation. The aircraft became clearer in the distance two Hurricanes and a Spitfire, flying flat out at an estimated 250mph. The winged metal ships were over us in an instant, propellers blades cutting through the icy cold air creating a whup- whup effect as the metal tips approached and crossed the speed of sound. The warbirds majestically pealed away and disappeared over the distant peaks, freshly sugar dusted with snow. Our extended bandwidth radio hissed to life ‘Calling Bird Dog, Abort, we have friendly dogs in the kennel’. We breathed again because we knew that they were off to find another battle.
Wanaka is no kennel, this is Lord of the Rings country, Lake Wanaka (www.lakewanaka.co.nz ) is nestled in the Remarkables range in close proximity to the 3000M Mt.Aspiring in New Zealand’s Southern Alps region. The home of Middle Earth in Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy, this region is arguably one of the most picturesque locations anywhere in the world. Axl Rose must have thought of this neck of the woods when he sang ‘Take me down to paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty’
The view, skiing and rock climbing apart, Wanaka brings to the world something that is quite unique. Come Easter every alternate year, aviators, aviation buffs and assorted nutters brave the cold weather to fly or as we did stand for 3 days looking up in the sky marveling at some of the most beautiful wood and metal birds ever made – THE WAR BIRDS OVER WANAKA (www.warbirdsoverwanaka.co.nz ).
Over easter weekend 2004, it was the turn of George and Tarun, quack aviator (Typo, replace ‘quack’ with ‘crack’) and aviation buff respectively, to set foot on that hallowed tarmac, Wanaka airport. Suma, George’s wife was with us as a keen observer (I strongly suspect a result of spousal influence). Three days of biting cold, the constant mozart like symphony of aircraft – a crescendo bordering at times on acoustic mayhem akin to the famous Metallica-San Francisco Philharmonic concert, the tangy-bitter smell of rubber burn out and the sweet scent cocktail of aviation and diesel fuel was a little too much for Suma. Another visit to Wanaka Airport on the fourth day was quietly threatened to be met with dire consequences, murder of either spouse or friend or both was gently whispered at various times. Wily as we are, we did find a way to be at the airport on day 4 and were treated to an almost lap dance-esque final private exhibition, but that’s another story for another day.
Wanaka was taken back in time with bi-planes and tri-planes of a different era, poetic in flight. Aviation was a young science during World War I, little was known about how to build an aircraft that would stay up in the sky. If you closed your eyes for an instant you were reminded that aviators who flew in this age were pioneers, flying aces, real pilots. They took untested designs up among the clouds and if the flying wood, string and Irish fabric coated generously with dope stood up to the test, it survived to become a famous aeroplane - many have failed and many have died in this quest.
Replicas from the early 1900’s took to the air, as I whistled to the tune ‘Those magnificent men and their flying machines, they go up titty up up, they come down titty down, down.’ A Sopwith Camel (New Zealand Fighter Pilot’s Museum. www.nzfpm.co.nz ) and Avro 504k, powered by its original mint condition engine, engaged in a gentlemanly dogfight with a German Fokker Dr.1 tri-plane piloted by the Red Barron Manfred Von Richthofen himself.
Pistons on desperate airplane engines sputtered,
White aviator scarves from open cockpits fluttered,
Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat,
Pot shot machine guns filled the afternoon air.
Finally, true to script the Barron lay defeated,
His aircraft like a wounded canine retreated,
Trailing smokey sparks with theatrical care.
My eyes were returned to the runway by a racket of Polikarpovs wearing red army colours. Move forward to the 1930’s, the Polikarpov, I-16 Ishak (Rata) was simply the best aircraft flying in its day. Aviators who have had the privilege to fly this bird say that the experience was only slightly marred by the fact that it was tricky to fly and downright dangerous for an inexperienced pilot. The Stub-nosed polly with its racing car looks has an aviation first – the retractable undercarriage. The pilot can pull up the undercarriage with 44 turns of a lever and can lower it with a clutch plate style mechanism, in which a finger misplaced, is a finger lost. 8000 Pollys were built in all only 6 survive today. You can own a Polly for a small fortune as part of an investor syndicate. There are two planes currently on sale in Russia.
We played a game of spot the Indian in the crowd without much success until saturday evening. Wanaka has 5 restaurants in all and one of them is Bombay Palace. George and I named the resident chefs Ramu and Sundar, while they cooked our hot samosas and chicken tikka masala. The English bartender came to Wanaka for the ski season 2 years ago and never went back. He knew we needed Indian brew and brought us a couple of bottles of Kingfisher Beer– most thrilling, chilled. And that was enough to get George to orgasm on nostalgia lane. The man was in advertising and fervently believes that he designed the kingfisher bottles and accompanying beer glasses. He is my best friend, I indulge him, besides, I enjoy his trivia and use it liberally. For the record, to be fair to George, he did manage the Kingfisher account, he did meet Ritu Berri (the fashion vixen) and he also worked with that svelte, raven haired beauty, PB (he knows who I am referring too). The Bastard.
Ramu’s vindaloo and Sundar’s kebabs were culinary memories we could not forget; we ate at the Palace again the following day. This time around the food was accompanied by another Indian classic, Johnny Walker Black Label with soda. ‘Dho Patiala, bartender aur Madam ke liye chota gin aur tonic’ (Translation: 2 patiala pegs, old chap and gin and tonic for the lady). The bartender didn’t understand a word of what I said but it didn’t matter as the jolly pony tailed chap was hitting the bottle himself under the table. Later that evening the Englishman tripped over himself and sprayed the restaurant with 5 stubbies of Kingfisher. Ramu wasn’t very impressed and we left with the premonition that some tikka would fly that night.
After a good nights’ rest we awoke to a crisp sunday morning and some brisk exercise riding push bikes around the lake. Suma was the first casuality she retired to the lake front café, a café latte and cream cheese muffin. George and I soldiered on, until he lost a pedal on his push bike. After assessing the damage and finding the suspect bolt, I pulled out the Alan key to fix the bike. George decided to take matters into his own hands and vigorously bashed the pedal in with a rock. Bike fixed barring a bruised frame (the bike had already been thrashed by the last guy who used it.) we pedaled as hard as we could with sore bums and dreams of making millions by redesigning bicycle seats. We were keen to capture grandstand seats for the days’ show.
The C-130 Hercules bustled busily into the air, the centerpiece of its show was the max braking landing – max power take off routine. Designed to bring troops into and out off hostile territory using as little runway as possible the Hercules landed in less than half the length of the Wanaka runway. The aircraft then backed up and executed a max power take off heaving itself into the air on the same half runway distance. The analogy I first thought of was a Virinder Shewag cover drive late-fast-punchy-all the way to the boundary. On reflection however, it was more like an elephant with hot coal up its nether parts lumbering-powerful-Holy smoke, I can fly.
Man has worn wings and jumped to his death in pursuit of the thrill of flight it would be fair to say that we have done some extremely silly things before the Wright Brothers with Kitty Hawk got it right a little over a century ago. You would think that we would be satisfied with what we have achieved but you still hear of the odd nutcase who decides he has the Right Stuff and he can and will push the edge of envelope. At Wanaka this nutter was a Lithuanian who straps himself into an SU-31 Kaibutsu aeroplane after breakfast and constantly defies the ground rules of aviation and gravity as we know them today. Kaibutsu is japanese for Monster and nutter is english for Jurgis Kariys, Aerobatics, World Champion.
For a divine 20 minutes each day, FM Wanaka 100.5 would crackle with urgent excitement, ‘Jurgis flying upside down over Inky Tulloch's CAT powered freightliner.’ Or ‘Ahhhhhh! Jurgis drops out of the sky, hot metal, he isn’t flying right now he is tumbling, flick…..flick….flick…flick, that is his signature cork screw maneuver, I am counting off 5, 6,7,8……..20. Ladies and gentleman that is simply unbelievable, Jurgis has just completed 20 flicks literally tumbling out of the sky before leveling off. He is estimated to have close to 9Gs acting on his body through that routine’. For the uninitiated 9 Gs is 9 times your body weight – you can do the math.
Every morning on all three days, Jurgis was in the zone, flying, sideways, upside down, racing trucks and most often not flying at all – tumbling, falling and hovering. Effectively doing things that aircraft conventionally are not supposed to do. www.jkairys.com gives you the inside stuff on a mad man whose aeroplane, a commercial pilot once reported to Air Traffic Control as a large model plane doing some very strange things in the sky. Taking the risk of preaching to the converted, in Lithuania Jurgis has guided his aeroplane under a bridge flying upside down. The fact that the bridge had people standing on it gives you an idea of their faith in the pilot’s skill and to a lesser extent the advanced state of aviation safety regulations in that country.
The jet era saw a rare formation mix ranging from the 1940’s to 1970’s. The 1940’s were represented by the sleek rocket like vampire, Britain’s first single seat jet fighter, the 1960’s by the L-39 Albatross and the 1970’s by the A37 Dragonfly. The Dragonfly dived down low and dropped a few bombs on a wooden shack that exploded revealing a sign that said BUGGER! The next days repeat revealed a reinforced sign that said BUGGER! AGAIN. Australians in the crowd alluded in jest to a rumoured kiwi pastime, now exposed. Kiwis had their turn blaming a bumpy runway on Australian fuel that caused Kangaroo jumps.
A highlight of my day was the photo opportunity of a spitfire flying as fast as its propeller could push and the L-39 flying as slow as its jet engine would allow, crossing each other for a magical split second. Two very different eras of aviation in a single frame captured on film forever.
NZAF’s 757 swooped silently down low as if from nowhere, a trademark of this aircraft being its relatively silent jet engines, a result of increasingly stringent noise pollution regulations world over. The aircrew enthusiastically grabbed one of the few opportunities to take their mammoth aeroplane to the edge and provided us with a visual feast with several agressive low passes along the display line. Air Force paratroopers dotted the sky as the leapt out of an Orion in the clouds. On the radio, Air Force recruiting spread their message; ‘join us for a life of fun, danger and excitement’ and when one of the paratroopers landed hard, the commentator chimed ‘join us for a sprained ankle or two’.
The show wound down to a grand finale with the Brietling fighters, a posse of aircraft that included the Curtis P40 Kittyhawk, North American P51 Mustang, Kiwi Corsair and the Spitfire ably lead by Kiwi and RAF flying ace Ray Hanna and financially supported by the Brietling watch company. Takapuna’s favourite son leads his 3 man flying team into precision aerobatic routines predominantly with hand signals.
Along came the evening, how time has flown. George took off his gold-framed Ray Ban Aviators and I sensed the hint of a tear in his eye. I felt that same feeling in my heart, the setting sun glinted off the wings of the silver Mustang, the shadows grew long and dark. The show was over and the planes had been put away. But, we knew there was hope they would live to fly another day.
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