GOLDEN BAY

Golden Bay is a haven. Its geographic location allows it to retain a certain level of isolation, separated from the outside world by a mountain range with a one road in and one road out system. A winding mountain pass which acts as a sieve of humanity, keeping out the urban crawl of perceived progress. It is a place you go to for a reason. You can not carelessly and ignorantly pass through, like so many do on their travels around the world.
 
Once, I overheard a conversation where someone was saying that they knew a German man, who wanted to leave Germany for New Zealand. So he googled “New Zealand + beautiful + friendly people + low crime rate” to find his new home. It is truly a blueprint for a better world, a bastion of sanity, an example of how to live and move forward in a small community, where everyone knows everyone, and you get waved to whilst driving out of a shared common courtesy.
 
There is a broad spectrum of inhabitants, but there is a common thread of consciousness. The people who choose to live there don’t feel as if they are missing out on a single thing, and consider the lifestyles of those who live and work in cities as strange alternative. You don’t have to look far to find solar panels, vegetable gardens, composting loos or house-buses, and dreadlocks, beards and bare-feet are a common fashion ensemble. This is the way they live, and always will.

It’s the kind of place where you find yourself sitting in a warm, sunny park on any given afternoon, with a bunch of friendly locals playing bongo drums, strumming guitars and weaving crystals into necklaces, then the local dope-smoking-wizard complete with beard and staff walks down the street with a smile on his face on his way to an acupuncture appointment.