All – Page 8 – Chris Preston

Two more days of swimming in Miami

Sunday

The mornings are quiet here. The clean up crews have been out and everything is looking pristine. I’ve arranged to ride out with Donna and Anna this morning and walk the seven blocks to where their car is parked. As I go a young black guy asks where I got the Out Games T-shirt. He’s a Baskekball player, one of the casualties of the cancellations. I explain that the guys at the swimming pool were giving them away free. I also learn that the Basketball teams have managed to organise themselves into a tournament. Human resourcefulness is great isn’t it?

At the pool, competition is underway, and I’m in time for my 100m backstroke. This time I have three others to beat and so feel a bit more legitimate. It’s great to meet up with familiar faces from IGLA last year in Edmonton and even some from The Out Games in Antwerp four years ago. There’s a contingent from Australia (Wet Ones & Glamourheads) who I recognise from Proud To Play in Auckland in 2016 and in 2015 they also came to Wellington for the annual TAMS/Different Strokes challenge. Somehow I’m feeling part of a global community. Marcel, who briefly trained with TAMS in

Auckland is here doing all the hard events. Donna and Anna get to swim in the same heat and have to be cheered on for Out to Swim. They drop me at the nearby metro station as, I’ve discovered that there is a public transport system here and I’m keen to check it out. There’s no one around but up on the platform, I can see a few passengers waiting. As I’m looking for a place to buy tickets, a security guard comes over and asks what sort of ticket I want. ‘Just a single into the city’. He swipes his card and lets me in. I’m a bit surprised and briefly wonder if I have to swipe out at the other end. I’ve just missed a train, but the wait for another is not long and the journey takes only ten minutes. There is a problem at the City Centre end as I do have to swipe out and end up following a family with a push chair through one of those wide gates. The wait for a 120 but to Miami Beach is long but only costs $2.25. There’s no change given so fortunately I have the right money to drop into the slots. After another salad for lunch and a snooze, it’s time to try the

beach, which looked lovely on Friday. Even in the late afternoon, it’s packed, mostly with African Americans sun bathing and standing in the sea. I’ve come out with the bare minimum and leave a small pile on the white sand; Jandals, tee shirt, mini towel, hotel room key and hat. The water is warm and choppy – it’s shallow and I have to go beyond the waders to swim. Palm Beach on Waiheke Island at 22 degrees C, still gets my vote. There is, however, no need to dry off in this heat; it’s just strange wearing a bathing

costume/togs on a beach. It’s back to the hotel to shower before setting out on foot to check out The Gaythering, a gay hotel/bar here. It’s a long trudge in the late afternoon heat, so the air conditioned bar is a relief. I’m startled to find it full of Australians in their distinctive green sports shirts. I sidle around to the other side of the bar, put my dollar down and order a beer. There are a few locals next to me, but on one is talking, so I move to on of the older Australians who turns out to be the referee for the Field Hockey team. They are also casualties of the cancellation but along with the Netherlanders (2 teams) and the British, have organised their own competition with the help of a local sports ground. He’s from Sydney and quickly introduces me to a much younger guy, Tim, who turns out to be his partner and a swimmer. I suggest he joins Wet Ones the Sydney swimming club. Tim seems semi interested in that. So here is another example of teams organising themselves, with the help of the City of Miami. Who needs the World Out Games? When I try to pay my bar bill, this turns out to be on the house as it is a reception for the Hockey guys – time to leave and make my way South. A free

trolley bus appears and is going my way. A quick google of Miami Beach trolley busses reveals the route. Conflicted between checking facebook likes and comments and looking at the suburban scene, I miss my stop and end up on 6^th Street and have to walk back to 10^th. A Tagliatelli Carbonara leaves me feeling heavy and I wake at 2 am to silence – it’s Sunday night – and now I can’t sleep.

Monday

It’s still a holiday so traffic should be OK. I’ve arranged to share an Uber with Tristan and another guy from Wet Ones, Sydney. It’s my big day with three races, starting with the 800m freestyle The Carbonara lingers until after the warm up but it’s OK. We all have to arrange our own flip board operators to count up or down the lengths. At this pool it’s 32 lengths so there’s enough to think about without counting them. One of the Australians is doing the first heat and is able to turn around to pool one and count for me. I then have to count for Tristan, who likes to be counted down from 32. All goes well until we get to 9 and I can’t work out how to get a blank slate. I miss 9 and offer 17 with my hand over the 1 until I work it out. Luckily I’ve not miscounted. An hour later I’m doing the 200 Back and have to report that the new jammers made the race very comfortable. Perhaps I could have gone faster, but the guy with no times in the next lane shakes my hand – I’ve still no idea who won.

Later, I find out I have won and can now rest up for a while and watch Daniel do his Medley and support Anna and Donna in their 100m Freestyle. The guy with not times is in the next lane again for the 100m freestyle and I have a feeling that he’s going to be faster, and he is, leaving me in second place. I warm down, change and walk down to Coconut Grove for a decent lunch. Rob Wintermute texts and joins me. We both agree that this might be the end of the Out Games, although apparently the board are talking about Rio in four years time. ‘Rio?’ I say, ’that’s madness. They only just got through the Olympics.’

The London Orcas are playing their final against Boston in the recreational league of Water Polo. Boston is very good and the Orcas end up with Silver. Now it’s a bit of a wait for the Pink Flamingo. This is an opportunity for teams to put in a devised piece of entertainment around and in the pool. While we wait, I chat to Mark who does Gay Rodeo and was at Edmonton. He was planning to come to the World Masters in Auckland, but did his knee in at the Rodeo. At 54, I tell him, it’s time he retired from that.

The 6 Pink Flamingo acts are presented by an outrageous, but elegant drag queen and range from embarrassing to slick. Paris Aquatique win first prize and the whole proceedings

I get a lift to the dinner with Mark. We lose our way there and are still early at the Scottish Rites Temple. We walk along the riverside with some of the old guys from the competition. This is the 30^th anniversary if IGLA and there are photographs flashing up on the screen while we have our starters. It’s downstairs for a sit down main course of Paella and speeches. Some of the original guys from the very first IGLA meet are there and those that attended the first four make up a tidy group. It’s very moving to think that this organisation has spread from California to global in that time. There aren’t that many from Europe this year, but there’s no excuse next year with IGLA supporting the Gay Games in Paris.

IGLA and Nadadores take over from The World Out Games

Eating is essential to get though races, so calculating that breakfast doesn’t start until 7am and the competition commences at 9pm, I need to warm up around 8.30 in order to sus out the competition pool. Roads around the hotel are blocked off for the Hip Hop festival/Memorial weekend, so getting an Uber seems difficult as this hotel is cut off. In the end, after a hastily eaten breakfast, I organise a private taxi for 7.30 via the hotel and I’m taken down to the end of the block by one of the staff and wait for a big black 4×4 to glide up and collect me. Of course it’s expensive but I get to the Ransome Everglades School by 8 am, in time to check in and check out the pool. This is a very posh school in the Coconut Grove area to the south of Miami City, boasting a 50 metre competition standard, outdoor pool. A bridge divides it in two and they’re racing in both. There’s also a 25 m warm up/down pool to one end.

This meet is being run by the Local Miami LGBT club Nadadores in conjunction with International Gay & Lesbian Aquatics, so everyone here knows what they are doing in spite of the collapse of the Out Games. It’s hot here even at 8am so I apply sun block like everyone else and take to the chilled water to warm up. It’s a little too soon after breakfast and some of it comes up while I’m swimming. I have to swallow, which is not quite as bad as it sounds, rather than mess up the pool. I suddenly run into Daniel Paul from Out to Swim London. He’s racing as well as playing water polo for London Orcas. Instant recognition – we’re finding our team here as we go.

It’s time to get into my new Arena carbon fibre compression jammers. Tristan from Wet Ones Sydney is also getting into his pair. It takes around 5 minutes – another time factor to consider. He’s a bit further on than me but suddenly, just as he’s got them on, they split along the crutch line – not really a good look so he has to change back into his regular jammers. I take extra care and slowly encourage the fabric up my thighs, squeezing my bum into the back and bringing the top band up to my waist – whew. It really is like coaxing a tight stocking upwards. All is well and I have time to try them out in the warm-up pool before my race. They feel good and the water rolls off the surface. There are eight guys here in my age-group, but unusually, I’m the only one doing the 50 backstroke. That’s no reason to slack off especially at this is my only race today. I win the heat and shave off a fraction from my seed time. I’ve been keeping in contact with Daniel Wu from Team Auckland. He’s flying in from Houston this morning and there is some doubt if he will be on time for the 50 back. He texts via Messenger that he’s on his way form the airport and in the end arrives in time to both warm up and race, so all is well, as TAMS coach, Cynthia, has asked me to ‘look after him’.

Suddenly I make contact with Donna Pinto and Anna Moody from Out to Swim London and we have the possibility to form a relay team. I call up Rob, but he’s speaking at the Human Rights conference today and in the end Daniel Paul doesn’t have to go off and play Water Polo just yet, so we have a mixed freestyle relay team in the 160 age group. Hurrah! Actually we are the only team in that group, but Anna and Donna are thrilled to win their first international awards, and we’ve done a respectable time. We’re all resigned to not receiving medals as rumour has it that WOG didn’t even order them. Credit to Anna for organising us and doing the paper work – we feel like a team here. They are also

staying at Miami Beach, so I get a ride back with them in their rental car. Donna says that there is a whole league of Lesbian Baseball players here in Miami and they didn’t even know about the Out Games. How can that happen? You would have thought that accessing local sports groups would be a first organisational step for all the sports.

Back on South Beach, the barricades are up and people are everywhere. It is startling to see women walking around the town in skimpy bikinis, buttocks on full display and breasts almost as visible. The guys are all topless but there are no speedos here – the fashion is for the baggy beach shorts. Men and women sport tattoos – some done without much though to design. The US army has displays all along the beach park- commentaries are blaring out, but few are engaged, the crowds are all on the beach or parading down Ocean Drive. For Memorial Weekend there are also very noisy jet fighters frightening the life out of everyone. I’ve had pulled pork in a soft white baguette from the ‘food truck’ at the pool – a tasteless experience, so a mango ice-cream from the gelato shop to take up the lift up to my room is required. It goes well with coffee followed by a snooze. Carbing up for tomorrow with a New York Steak for dinner and a glass of Malbec is a good idea and I sleep well.

Unexpected Miami

The traffic around South Beach Miami is in grid-lock around midnight, so my taxi has great difficulty reaching the Breakwater Hotel on the sea-front. The area is a vibrant party with people everywhere on the streets. My room is in a block accessed across a courtyard with live music and party-goers – through a corridor and into an ice cream parlour, where a lift takes me to the third floor.

It’s been a long Thursday – thirteen hours from Auckland to Houston then a six hour wait before flying on to Miami. Wifi at the airport fails to connect me to Uber and there’s nowhere to find a US sim card. It’s still only just Thursday as I hit the shower with the intention of going downstairs for a night-cap. I’m too knackered for that and, breaking all my rules regarding hotel mini bars, I open the half-bottle of Cabernet Sauvingon on offer. It’s just what I need,

because there’s a hip hop festival going on outside. I fall asleep synchronising my heart beat with the music coming through the windows – briefly waking at 4.30 to note silence. Awaking somewhat refreshed and after an average, but global type, hotel breakfast of scrambled eggs and chicken sausages, I decide to explore. Just across the road is the Art Deco Information Centre, where a helpful woman hands me the usual brochure, pointing out locations of the Jewish Museum and the Watsonian.

‘Is that related to the one in Washington?’ I ask.

‘No, that’s the Smithsonian.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘That’s OK, everyone confuses them.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Art and design.’

I’m hooked and make a beeline as it’s literally two blocks along 10^th Street. It’s too early – time to walk and look at Art Deco architecture. There’s much more that I’d imagined and I get the feeling that this might be the true Art Deco Capital of the world – sorry Napier (NZ). I check my balance at the Bank of America ATM – my usual procedure – just to let my bank know where I am. Passing a phone shop is an opportunity to get a US sim card. This takes longer than usual as the guy is only experienced with iphones, but we get there. The Watsonian is an excellent and well curated collection over two exhibition floors.

A gigantic metal sculpture of a nude muscle man in Deco style dominates the ground floor lobby by the lift. The sixth floor is dedicated to Dutch design and art from the late 1800’s to the 1940’s. There are propaganda posters covering the range of political views, architecture, furniture and interior design. Of particular note are examples of Nazi art and graphics. I spot a chap giving a young man a personal tour and eaves-drop on some of his comments. Some of the art and graphic representations are examples of how the European colonisers depicted native peoples in idealised ways which the subjects would not recognise, or identify with. The collection continues in the same vein on the 5^th floor with studies for wall murals with overt political messages. Here is proof that the struggle of the left is recognised and recorded in this ever right-leaning country. Further down the building, a library (collected by the founder) occupies an entire floor.

Panel from the smoking room of a luxury liner

Romantic misappropriation of First Nation Amreicans

It’s coffee time and I’ve spotted the French bakery, recommended by the woman from the Information Centre. Yes they can do a late, but it’s too cold, weak and full of froth – a great disappointment. I’m missing New Zealand Coffee and in particular my favourites on

London Underground and the spire from the NY Woolworths buidling make it here

Waiheke Island. Lunch at the gay Palace Bar – ‘because every Queen needs a palace’ – is seared fresh tuna on a salad – just right and proving that you can eat healthy food in America. Time for a snooze before setting out to do my Out Games registration – there’s been an update email directing us to The

Unusual perspective by young artist. Self portrait with wife and son.

Lowes Hotel seven blocks away. There has been no signage around the streets, advertising this world event and only when I get to the hotel lobby do I see a sign by the escalator. At the top I find Rob Wintermute from Out To Swim London, enjoying his complimentary bap after registering for the Human Rights Conference (he’s a human rights lawyer) which is a part of the games. He’s also doing athletics as well as swimming. He tells me that there are two women here from OTS so there might be a chance of a mixed relay team. We exchange US phone numbers. I head to the check in area where guys are milling around looking confused. Suddenly Ivan, the Games CEO, who came all the way to

Auckland months ago to drum up support, comes out of a door. He doesn’t remember meeting me at a drinks reception Team Auckland organised, but he has a hassled look on his face. Apparently, swimming is registering at the Marriot Hotel a few blocks away so I set off with an Australian Swimmer, only to find that the Marriot hotel we need is miles away in Coconut Grove, near the swimming pool. We both decide not to bother as registration packs are always available at the pool on the day. I go back to the hotel and find an announcement on facebook that all WOG sporting events have been cancelled except Aquatics, Soccer and Country Dancing. No wonder Ivan was looking sick.

The first stacking chairs to retain elegance.

Self portrait (selfie) with Art Deco dressing table

OK, time to attend to the jet lag which is catching up on me. The consequence of this is that I don’t sleep well later. Admittedly the music is very loud tonight and the streets are heaving with African Americans doing ‘The Cake Walk’ – having a great time and looking everything from outrageous to fabulous. Too many things are running through my mind – my return to London and what has to be done. I’m busy planning ahead.

World Masters Games Part III

Day Five Tuesday

It’s a day for hard races. Elizabeth and I are doing the 200m backstroke. Cynthia and other TAMS swimmers make it in time to see Elizabeth come in on time to win a bronze medal. We are all ecstatic. I have to rush off to warm up for my race, which goes very well – all turns are perfect today and I’m placed 6^th. Debs also has a hard day with 200Fly (2^nd) and 400IM (3^rd). The TAMS women are doing well.

We’ve struck up a friendship with a bunch of Canadians sitting next to us. They are from Vancouver Island and are all in the older age groups – like us. The Wellington team have taken to sitting behind us, so when we are not racing, there’s plenty to cheer for.

Day Six Wednesday

It’s an early start as it’s the 100m freestyle, which just about everyone in the world has entered. I get to warm up in the competition pool and wait for Elizabeth in heat 20. She’s bought one of those Arena compression swim suits and recons she swims faster – well .03 secs actually, but once again a lovely race and placed 13^th. I have to go across to the warm-up pool just to re-warm-up and then to marshaling. I’m in lane 4 and on seed time am supposed to be the fastest in the heat. Sitting next to me in the marshaling rows is a 44 year-old Australian with Downs Syndrome. He says he’s a para swimmer and I tell him I know that. He’s small and wiry looking and I recon he’s fast and I can tell he’s competitive. We chat about the Australian Para team that has come over. Out in the pool I get a chance to look at the guy in lane 5 – a short stocky Canadian a bit younger than me – could be a threat. I start off doing bilateral breathing so I can keep an eye on both guys. The Australian is keeping up but the Canadian is pulling slightly ahead. I work harder on the way back down the pool and concentrate on catching the Canadian but he’s getting faster as well and out of reach. It’s made me come in under time and the Para Australian is only a length behind me. I sneak into the training pool to warm down – normally reserved for Para swimmers and the 70+. The Australian is warming down next to me watched by a woman who I mistake for his coach – she’s his mother. Apparently he’s just swum a personal best. ‘You must be very proud,’ I say. She says, ‘Yes he’s a great swimmer.’

It’s back to the pool for Ross and Ron to swim their 100m races. Ross takes off 4 seconds and Ron, .04. There’s more slashing of times in the 50m Breaststroke: Ron – 2, David – .50 and Ed – 2 seconds. Unfortunately Ed gets disqualified again – for not having his feet on the same horizontal plane. We are sitting watching the first heat of the Women’s 100m butterfly – not something that I could ever contemplate. There are three in the pool the 95 yea-old American and others in their 80’s from Japan and Canada. Wow, it’s amazing that these women can swim this race. The women in their 80’s complete their race while the American reaches the end of the first length. She stops, holding on to the rung of the starting block. There’s concern, but a lane judge is watching her without panic. She’s having a rest, for about two minutes, before setting off back down the pool. The cheering is tremendous and she gets out of the pool unaided and raises her arms in triumph to the spectator gallery. Ross is in action now in his 100m butterfly heat, slashing a massive 22 seconds off his time to come 7^th. We are also treated to some breathtaking swimming from the younger guys and ex Olympians in this event. They make it look so easy, and I know that it’s not.

Our final event for the day is the Men’s 4 x 50 metres medley relay and I’m starting us off with backstroke. It’s a mad dash up the pool and I’ve no idea how we are doing. By the time I get out of the pool, Ed has done his breaststroke length – he was nervous about getting disqualified again. Ross is steaming up the pool with butterfly making up time and Ron does likewise with freestyle bringing us under our seed time by two seconds to 9^th place in the 240 age group.

Day 7 Thursday

It’s the last day in the pool and the car park is full to overflowing. I find a place right at the bottom on stony ground between a curb and the perimeter fence. David is all ready for his 200 breaststroke when I arrive. Although he doesn’t quite equal his seed time, he has the longest underwater starts and push-offs in the heat – fantastic. Now it’s the 50 metres freestyle, a long session of ‘Splash & Dash’ as they call it. Once again, the world and his wife (but not I) have entered. Jenny comes 5^th with 35.85s, Ron cuts a second off for 9^thplace and Ross on a mission, mindful that he’s swimming 100 times this on Sunday in the 5K ocean swim, does 27.55s to come 9^th. The competition in this event is fierce and spectacular with 32 heats of women and 40 heats of men. The confusion and noise only increases

for the 4 x 50m freestyle relays. Our men’s team in the 200 years group is somewhat disadvantaged by being only 6 years short of the 240 year group. Nevertheless, we are not last. I start out with 36:28 followed by Ron at 35:89. David increases the pace with 33:03 with Ross to finish with 27:77 – we are 11^th.

We are not going to squad tonight; instead the team meet for a celebratory dinner and join up with the rest of Team Auckland Masters Swimmers for a drink at the World Masters Games Hub on Queens Wharf. It’s been a blast and I’ve planted the seed of an idea to go to Japan in four years time for the next World Masters.

World Masters Games – Part 2

Day 3 Sunday

Ed and I drive out to the pool early to support Kevin in his 400m Freestyle race. We have the banner to display and make our presence felt. It also acts as a signpost for team members to find us. The Indian guy who took so long in the 800m on Friday is swimming so I warn Kevin that he has a while to wait. The Indian swaps from breaststroke to backstroke half way though and takes twenty-two minutes to complete. Kevin swims a great strategic race – he’s in lane 4 in the middle of the pool and comes second in his heat shaving 20 seconds off his time. The 400 is a punishing race, difficult to judge. We’d been lucky to catch Rebecca Perrott steam elegantly to victory earlier and now we cheer on Martin from Different Strokes Wellington. There’s also a para swimmer with one leg in the same heat. He turns out to be from the LGBT Sydney team – Wet Ones. I have time to warm-up before Elizabeth’s 100m Backstroke. Although she’s a little slower than she wanted she looks great in the water. As I’m waiting in the marshaling tent, there’s an Australian para swimmer with cerebral palsy lining up for his heat. These guys all get a tremendous reception from

swimmers and spectators. I always find 100 backstroke a hard race to judge – not going out too fast on the first length – it’s so easy to get carried away with the start, then not having anything left for the finish. I request a starting bar (a relatively new experience for me) which is lowered to just under the water-line. It is beveled into the wall and has a rough anti-slip surface. The feet are planted on it to start, getting them high and in the right position. I’m also trying out the new straight-arm starting position which I picked up at the Waitakere Club’s Backstroke and Breaststroke clinic recently. The theory is that you start high up and there’s not so far to travel before entering the pool for that underwater dolphin kick. All goes well and I make my time and am now officially 6^th in the world – Haha. Just as well Mike Bodger from Whakatane isn’t here or I’d be 7^th. Kevin is doing the same race in the same lane in the following heat. I turn around and promise to warm up the lane for him. He shaves 5 seconds off his time and is now 4^th in the world. He’s really having a great meet. The guy with cerebral palsy is now racing in his age-group but has his own category. It’s a huge effort for him to swim two lengths of the pool and he gets a massive round of applause at the end.

Our big chance for a medal is Jenny in the 50m Butterfly. A Russian woman has put in the same time and two others are in close contention. We are all in a state of great excitement and anticipation as Jenny needs to swim 2 seconds faster than she did yesterday in the medley relay. We are all shouting and waving the banner. Coach Cynthia has come in to watch from the gallery with other TAMS members. Jen gets a good start, spending the longest time underwater to come up level with the field. The Russian fades away to her left but there’s a fight to her right for first and second. Jenny hangs in there for third place. When she gets out of the pool, she has no idea and is blown away when she realises that she’s got a bronze.

It’s also great that we’ve been able to smuggle her partner Mike poolside to see it all and get a wet hug. Earlier we’ve seen a 95 year-old American sharing a heat with a couple of women in their 80’s doing 50 fly. It’s amazing. Ed, Ron and Ross are also doing 50 Fly and come in under time. Ron shaves a massive two seconds off his time to come fourth in the world. It’s now a rush to get showered and changed as I want to catch Jenny’s medal ceremony. I just miss it, but get the photographic evidence.

Day 4 Monday

I’m not swimming today, so the old body can have a rest. I’m here to support and check that the team is all in the right place at the right time, especially for the relays. Elizabeth is all ready for the 200m freestyle when I arrive. She’s such an elegant swimmer and looks so relaxed in the water. She’s also an ocean swimmer and regularly does 2.4K in a wetsuit, so I suggest that she might like to try an 800m or 1500m some time in the pool. Kevin is also doing the 200m and once again judges his race well. Ron’s had an encounter with a dodgy smoothy and has to drop out of the 200. It’s been another great day for the para swimmers and ex Olympians. We get to see Moss Burmester, Trent Bray and Anthony Moss in action – fantastic times for guys in middle age.

Our relay today is the mixed freestyle 4 X 50 for the 240 age group. Our team actually adds up to 265 – over by 25 years. Kevin, Jenny, Elizabeth and Ron cut a fantastic six seconds off our entered time to come 11^th.

The World Masters Games – Auckland 2017 Part I

Team Auckland at the Cloud after accreditation.

Sounds impressive doesn’t it? Begun in 1985, The World Masters Games happens every four years and you have to be over thirty to compete. In the case of swimming you can be 25. This year, in Auckland there are 27,000 competitors, twenty nine sports and 100 countries involved. You might wonder what happens to ex Olympians and the answer is that when they are old enough or retire from coaching, they become master. We’re rubbing shoulders with runner Peter Snell, doing table tennis, and Rebecca Perrott, still swimming, winning medals and breaking records in her age group.

I’m the team captain for Team Auckland Masters Swimmers, one of two LGBT clubs in New Zealand and I’ve persuaded seven others to enter the games.

Day one – Friday

I’m staying with team-mate Ed in Freeman’s Bay/ Ponsonby, so it’s only a fifteen minute drive over the bridge and up the motorway to the two year-old Sir Own Glen National Aquatics centre, adjacent to the AUT Millennium pool which has been taken over for warm-ups. I’m the only one from TAMS doing the 800 metres freestyle and this is the only event scheduled for toady.

There are 12 women’s heats and 13 for the men. It’s a bit nerve-wracking sussing out how everything works and as I’ve arrived too early, I sit and watch the women race. I manage to catch Rebecca Perrott’s heat. She’s perfect. The Canadian in the next lane starts fast and Rebecca is a comfortable third at the first turn. She gets faster and several lengths later has left the Canadian in the proverbial dust. It’s fantastic to watch.

I’m trying to time my warm-up with checking in for my heat. Marshalling is in a heated tent out the front of the pool and the woman in charge says come back at 2:00pm. I’ve probably done too much of a warm-up as I’m now a bit hungry. Reporting in for heat five, I find that heat two is still running. New Zealand Masters stalwarts, Fritz Bohn (85) – who always does backstroke and Sydney Salek (87) are swimming in this heat, so I know it’s going to take a long time. As I wait, I’m sitting next to a Kiwi chap in my age group. There’s a recognition of age between swimmers as there are no secrets. Our ages are all printed on the heat sheets. We chat – he’s from South Auckland and is worried that the delay will inconvenience his wife.

‘This is what keeps us alive,’ I say.

He agrees. ‘I’ve had a bye-pass – got the scar down my front.’

I tell him about my first UK Nationals – seeing all the old people parading their bypass scars. He’s also worried that he’s spending too much time swimming and not being with his wife.

‘Tell her she’s lucky to have you alive,’ I advise.

TAMS having a riotous time before the ceremony

It becomes clear the at the 82 year-old Indian chap in lane one is going to take even longer. He’s reckoned on thirty-nine minutes but he’s doing a very slow breast stroke with almost no kick and eventually finishes after 59 minutes. By the time we get to my heat, the benefits of the warm-up are wearing off and I’m running low on fuel. It’s a tough race and I quickly realise that the guy in the next lane is faster than the time he’s entered. I had hoped to shadow him but he speeds ahead after the second length. Still my time is about right for me all things considered. It’s just as well that I’ve brought a bag of fruit and nuts so I wash them down with water on the long drive back through heavy Friday afternoon traffic.

There’s no time to stop and rest at Ed’s place as we have to make our way by bus, train and foot to Eden Park – the iconic New Zealand rugby stadium, for the Official opening of the games. Amazingly, the trains are well organised; stilt walkers greet us and volunteers with signs point us in the direction of our designated entrance. It’s huge buzz as we carry the TAMS banner through the streets of Mount Eden, gathering team mates as we go. There’s time to grab a Thai Green Chilli and rice for dinner and find a central place to sit with the other swimmers from around the world. Our friends from the Waitakare team are sitting nearby looking great in their new black and green club uniforms. Further down there is a group of colourfully attired Lithuanians. Earlier I spotted and Iranian team of some sort (no travel ban here) plus Russians, Poles and loads of Canadians. The New Zealand Maori Quartet are in fine voice to warm us up and the show is compared by Ex netball player and now sports commentator, Jenny-May Coffin. There’s lots of smoke being wafted over the rugby pitch and each seat has a white wrist band attached, containing batteries and electronics, which we have to put

on for later in the show. It’s made in China. There’s a fantastic Maori welcome from Te Waka Huia and a magical cloud effect from the smoke is created with lasers, representing Aotearoa – the land of the long white cloud. It’s all a bit dark and gloomy, a bit like primordial forest and the Maori warriors doing their stuff get rather lost. When our wrist bands light up in sequence it all gets exciting. Then of course there are the inevitable welcome speeches from the games President, the Prime Minister, the Mayor of Auckland and the chief sponsor – a real estate agent.

Then there’s more music as we, sport by sport come down to the Rugby pitch and parade around in semi darkness. Swimming is to follow Golf but when we get down on the field, there is no sign of the Swimming banner, so we end up following Golf. This of course is a clever way to get us all out of the stadium in an orderly fashion where there are move volunteers holding up gigantic arrows pointing the way to buses and trains. It’s mercifully shorter than the

Olympic ceremony and we’re grateful to Auckland Transport for putting on extra trains into town. Great hilarity ensues in the crowded carriage, led by a large Australian bloke, looking for his mate Trevor who was supposed to be somewhere else on the train. In the end he got of alone at the same stop as us, so we will never know if Trevor was real or imaginary.

Day Two Saturday

It’s another tough race today; the 200 metre Individual Medley for Me and team-mate Ross. My warm-up timing is better today but I’m in an ‘age-group’ heat. They put the top fastest in each age-group in a heat so as I’m in lane 9 this means that I am in the top ten of the 65-69 year-olds, I’m also the slowest. We’re sitting in the heated marshaling tent when it becomes apparent that three guys have not turned up. Two of them (from Russia) are the fastest seeds and there’s also no one in lane 8 next to me. I’ll be automatically promoted to 7^th in the world so I decide to concentrate on style and just getting through the race. For me 50m butterfly is exhausting – it’s only the fact that I have to get to the other end that keeps me going – so there’s no point rushing it. The second length, backstroke should be my best, but I always spend it recovering from the butterfly. I’m none to keen on breaststroke but am getting better, so it’s not until the last lap of freestyle that I really get going. I’m pleased – only a few seconds away from my predicted time.

Now, as Team Captain, I’m there to wave the banner, cheer and encourage everyone else. Ross is pleased with his 200IM time and we go across the road together to warm-down. It’s good to get rid of the build-up of lactic acid in the muscles. Debs Hanley has her Masters registration with us but lives in Masterton. She’s also doing the 200 IM. She has a very stylish and sedate butterfly stroke. Elizabeth is next up with 100m Breaststroke and is close to her seed time. Ed is also doing 100m breaststroke and is very nervous. He has a little wobble on the starting blocks between ‘take your marks’ and the gun. He then dives at a funny angle and looses his goggles, proceeding to swim the race with them around his neck. We later find out that he’s been disqualified – presumably for his wobble on the block. It’s a shame but he later dines out on this story to all his friends.

Now we only have the Mixed Medley relay to go and anxiously await Jenny’s arrival. The team’s combined age is 238 years – only two years away from the next age group – so we are at a bit of a disadvantage even with young Ross making up time on the last lap with a fast freestyle. We are not last though – 20^th out of 22 in the 200 years age-group and swimming four seconds faster that predicted. Ed also redeemed himself swimming the breaststroke section with no wobble or loss of goggles.

In the evening we host a happy hour at Shanghai Lil’s in Karangahape Road for any LGBT athletes in the games.

Cultural Fusion to end the Auckland Festival

Anything exploring the interaction of two or more cultures gets onto my list. AWA, a collaboration between the Atamira Dance Company and the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra is a movement and music biography of Moss Patternon’s family. His dad worked on the Tongariro Power Scheme, damming central North Island rivers for hydro power. Years later he worked on the Yellow River, in China, where he died. His body returned in a closed coffin denying his family of Te Uru Rangi (a portal to heaven).

AWA – When Two Rivers Collide, uses Maori and Asian Dancers to create a beautiful tension between two cultures using Kapa Haka and Tai Chi to join the Waikato and Yellow rivers together to powerful effect. The string section of the APO is augmented with Taonga Puro (traditional Maori instruments) and Pipa a Chinese mandolin. Waiata Maori, performed by a children’s choir begins the performance and the focus is shared with a large Chinese choir. It’s an exciting mix, sliding between classical cultures which included Bach and Handel. The dance evokes the myth of Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatuanuku (Earth Mother) being separated by Tane Mahuta. The dancers work in close contact like flocks of starlings, each dancer taking his turn to lead the conflict, constrained by a dramatic semicircle of cables around the dance area. At times I wanted the dancers to take flight up into the cables, escaping the primordial slime in order to free the spirits. This is not possible with contemporary dance, however, and beautiful as it is, the dancers are limited to delving deep into the floor – grounded with Kapa Haka and Tai Chi elements from which it borrows.

AWA remains a mystery – moving and beautiful. Increasingly New Zealand artists are collaborating to explore cultural relationships as a time when China and Aotearoa are talking trade. This work was well attended and received by a multicultural audience. My hope is that this and similar work will help to break down still prevalent hostility and suspicion amongst Pakeha New Zealanders.

The Bone Feeder began as a play by Renee Liang which was produced in 2010. It’s based on the story of the SS Ventor which left New Zealand in 1902 carrying 499 coffins of exhumed Chinese bodies returning to their homelands in Southern China. The ship was wrecked off Hokianga, finally sinking near the harbour. Coffins and bodies swept ashore were kept by local IWI until a time when they could be claimed by their families. Renee has successfully written an opera libretto for composer Gareth Farr. This is a first for both artists and augers well for future New Zealand opera.

Farr has drawn on his early experience with the Indonesian Gamelan and expanded his composition skills to incorporate Chinese classical instruments – flute, fiddle and zither. A violin, a cello, marimba and Taonga Púoro make up the orchestra.

Young Ben, beautifully portrayed and sung by Australian tenor, Henry Choo meets The Ferryman (Tioti Rakero) and asks to be taken to Mitimiti cemetery where the bones of his ancestor, Kwan and three of his countrymen are excited at the prospect of finally going home. When Kwan sees his descendant, he is reminded of his New Zealand wife. Chinese workers were forbidden to bring their women to Aotearoa and some took local wives, occasionally travelling back to China with money and to produce more sons. Ben, however is part of his New Zealand family so there is a question in Kwan’s mind. Is it appropriate for his bones to return to China? The plight of his Chinese wife, Wei wei is delicately portrayed by Xing Xing, while Chelsea Dolman does credit to Louisa. Together with four other female singers, they create a fantastic and atmospheric chorus. There is a scene where Ben can, in a dream, see Kwan and he is persuaded not to dig up the bones but feed them instead.

Chinese came to Aotearoa with the gold rush and have been here ever since and almost as long as the Europeans. They worked quietly tending their market gardens and selling the freshest fruit and vegetables in small towns all over the country. When the UK joined the Common Market (as it was then) New Zealand looked to Asia for markets, beginning a new wave of immigrants. It is helpful for Pakeha and Maori New Zealanders to be reminded of this long history and to learn, at last, about another culture.

Ibsen and Garland Recycled

Recycled theatre – Peer Gynt for this century.

I thought it was time to re-acquaint with Ibsen’s episodic ‘masterpiece’ and ATC’s offering for the Auckland Festival provided an opportunity to experience Eli Kent’s updated version. Somehow Peer Gynt had eluded me – I know I’ve read it and imagine I’ve seen it somewhere and of course there’s the Music by Grieg and perhaps I’ve seen the Ballet. Ibsen’s other work, I know and love: Hedda Gabler, The Dolls House, The Master Builder and Enemy of the People all have strong narratives and powerful sub-plots which collide dramatically. Ibsen emerges as the leading and enduring architect of the ‘Well Made Play’ and modern drama.

Peer Gynt doesn’t behave like any of these works and yet it has a protagonist who, Odysseus – like, sets out on a journey. Gynt leaves home to wander the world, abandoning his mother and Sol, the woman he loves to seek (mostly) sexual adventure. Much of the original narrative is lost in the recycling, replaced by Eli Kent as a character, sub-plot or even Troll, discussing with the audience and himself the process of writing and self-analysis with the aid of his projected mother and short-time girlfriend. Kent brings the landscape up-to-date beginning with Gynt’s seduction of his ex prior to her wedding to ‘The Batchelor’. Wherever you go with Ibsen, Trolls are not far away and topically, Gynt has a narrow escape from his next sexual conquest, the daughter of the Troll King. He can’t return to Sol and so travels to America to seduce the leader of a strange yogic sect and again, narrowly escapes death. Years later and with a change of actor, he’s in Dubai with his ghost writers in a book deal. Milo Yiannopolous is also there for the party. An indentured Starbucks worker breaks in and shoots everyone except Gynt. It’s become clear now that he’s a survivor but Kent has meanwhile ‘given birth’ to Ibsen who protests about cuts and tries to take over the play. A lot of philosophy ensues and difficulty for Kent when the Actress playing Sol, refuses to wait for her love – thus scuppering the ending. Meanwhile, Gynt is judged by the Button-maker, not good enough for heaven or bad enough for Hell and is designated for recycling. In the wake of a shipwreck Kent changes clothing and identity with Gynt in an effort to avoid his fate and the writer is left alone on stage waiting for a miracle to close the play.

At times it’s edge of the seat stuff, though the author’s navel gazing and sexual problems verge on the embarrassing – a significant number of the audience left at the interval – the wait was worth it. A mostly older crowd – the audience seemed bemused and possibly offended by the crudities and sexual references. The men in particular were uncomfortable. But that is what theatre should do isn’t it? There was an underlying feeling of gladness that they had taken this risk and were slightly liberated. Or did it remind them of their own younger selves in the 60’s and 70’s? Personally, I could have done without the angst ridden Eli Kent’s non character and wanted more of the Gynt story which was beautifully performed by the ensemble.

Rufus Wainwright recycles Judy with opera as a starter

I’d heard of Rufus Wainwright and knew that he’s a singer songwriter. I didn’t know that he writes opera and that’s what attracted me to this event. Only an email reminder from the Auckland Festival pointed out that he would be ‘Doing Judy Garland’ in the second half.

Prima Donna (the visual concert version) has come from the Adelaide festival. Actually only Rufus and his conductor plus the video have traveled. The Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra and New Zealand singers have put this together. The Story is about an opera singer who lost her voice years ago in the opening night of ‘Eleanor of Aquitaine’. Madeleine Pierard was in fine voice for this role. She’s announced in the press that a revival is planned and she’s found her voice, but the real test will be in the theatre. Supporting roles are the maid, Marie, a girl from Paiccardy finding Paris so … different. Madison Nonoa has a high pure soprano, whilst tenor Filipe Manu gives the romantic interest singing about love in the garden, his best shot. Both of these young singers will be ones to watch in the future. The music is beautiful and soars against a video backdrop where film artist Cindy Sherman, dressed in a costume worn by Maria Callas, silently plays the diva.

An opera audience is quite different from Judy Garland fans, except that there were a significant number of gay couples of a certain age who might get off on both. Judy has never really done it for me, though I’m semi-familiar with many of the numbers. I don’t think I’ve got the ‘Judy gene’ which gay men are supposed to have. Rufus has a powerful belt to his voice and at times sounds a bit like Judy in her later years, particularly when he sings Do It Again in her original key. He works hard – too hard – I don’t like to see performers work that hard and then to let us know how hard it is going to be before or after a number. He’s got a good voice, but sadly it’s unremarkable. Fortunately he slipped in one of his own compositions, Forever and a Year from the excellent Australian gay film Hold the Man. I would have liked to hear more of his original stuff.

New writing at the Auckland Festival

I wrote about Cellfish last year when part of it was presented as a work in progress.

Miss Lucy takes Shakespeare classes to a prison and has some remarkable and unexpected results. Rob Mokoaraka, Miriama McDowell and Jason Te Kare have collaborated to forge a funny and moving script. The characters are introduced to Miss Lucy at a Powhiri (greeting) in the prison. Some of the play is in Te Reo Maori and it is unexpected to hear the Prison Guard, leading the proceedings speaking Te Reo with an Indian accent. Mark Ruka and Miriama McDowell play all the characters between them often swapping over, though Miss Lucy is always played by Miriama. I still think that my question from last year stands, about expanding the cast to clarify characters. Audiences are willing to work hard but not this hard and some gems were lost, becoming a bit of a how – clever -are – the – actors exercise. The writing, sourcing heavily from Macbeth, draws parallels for the prisoners between their lives and the characters in Shakespeare. Miss Lucy has to overcome illiteracy, appalling family circumstances and damaged childhoods. She also comes from a similar background but has found her salvation in Shakespeare. Miss Lucy creates desires for the prisoners but she is drawn to one of the prisoners in particular. He turns out to be the most damaged and seemingly un-redeemable, but he’s also her estranged younger brother. It seems she also had ghosts to confront. Cellfish confronts the undeniable prison statistics that Maori are three times more likely to be arrested, imprisoned and receive a longer sentence for the same crime. You can more or less transfer these to black populations in the US and the UK and while Shakespeare may or may not be the solution, it’s pretty clear that some things have got to change with the system. There’s enough world-wide anecdotal evidence that The Arts can help, so it’s ironic that this production coincides with news that the National Endowment to the Arts in the US has been deleted.

Everything After by Shane Bosher is part of the RAW project. Like Cellfish last year, it’s a work in progress. The War is over, Gay men no longer die from AIDS, or so it seems. Protagonist Nick has been through it all – friends and partner dying, making best friends with Nurse Mary on the AIDS ward and himself living with HIV. Things have changed rapidly in the last few years. People with HIV and on combination therapy live seemingly normal lives and most can be classified as ‘undetectable’. This means that the virus can not be detected in tests and the chance of infection is remote. Additionally, something called PrEP is on the market so negative guys can take this combo of drugs and dispense with the condoms. The psychology of HIV and AIDS is very complicated ranging from surviving partners deliberately going out to catch the virus (guilt?) to retiring from sex altogether (fear?). Nick meets a younger HIV free guy and they really like each other, but Nick is unable to have sex and of course the relationship is short lived. He then descends into a Meth addiction phase and in the excerpt we saw engaged up in a blinding argument with best friend Mary. The ending is not revealed yet, but clearly anything from redemption to death is possible. This feels like it’s going to be New Zealand’s post AIDS answer to Angels in America. One to watch out for – next year perhaps?

The Biggest by Jaimie McCaskill is a story about Kiwi blokes doing what blokes do. It’s not on the surface my sort of thing, but it’s new writing and it has Apirana Taylor (brother of my buddy Rangimoana) – two good reasons for seeing it. The first scene in the local bar confirms the blokey aspect and sets up the premise of three friends set out to win the Hauraki Fishing competition. They want to replace the boat of their friend Stu who lost his in a road accident – cue for loads of jokes and abuse, especially as Stu has been confined to a wheelchair since the accident. Gradually I was drawn in by this story of male loyalty, love and identity. There’s an unexpected feel-good ending where paternity issues are sorted and although the mates don’t win the boat, Stu gets two surprises. The real ending however is the resolution of Poppa’s prostate cancer diagnosis and Mick’s return from Australia to embrace his Maori culture. I was disappointed that the Rangitira Theatre audience was sparse, but cheered by an older bloke who gave me the thumbs up on the way out.

Revolt. She said. @ Silo Theatre on International Women’s Day

I’m sitting naked on a beach enjoying the sight of a South American Rugby team, half of them striped off, nervously sitting in rows facing the sea. I’m also reading The Stories of Frank Sargeson, a (closeted) gay New Zealand writer covering the 30’s – 60’s, when my phone rings. It’s a local Auckland number.

‘Hello?’

A pleasant young sounding man – ‘Is this Christopher Preston?’

I’m cautious – ‘Yes.’

‘I’m Mark from iticket.’

I just bought a load of tickets from these guys for the Auckland Arts Festival. What’s gone wrong?

‘I noticed that you tried to book tickets for Revolt. She said, at the Basement Theatre.’

‘Yes, it didn’t work so I assumed it’s sold out.’

‘No, no, it’s not, there are tickets left.’

‘Oh, right. How did that happen?’

‘I think you tried to click through on a Silo Theatre email that was faulty.’

‘Oh.’ How did this guy get my phone number? Presumably all the data I entered is still floating around somewhere.

‘Would you like to book a ticket now?’

‘Um … I’ll have to look on my diary. Do you think I can do that while you are on the phone?’

‘Should be ok. I can take your credit card details.’

My credit card is sitting in the pocket of my shorts next to my towel. I attempt this new manoeuvre with my phone. ‘No, I can’t do it. I’m sort of on a beach.’

‘Oh, nice.’

‘Actually there’s no “sort of” about it, I am on a beach.’

Giggles from the young man.

‘I’ll have to do it when I get home what availability is there for Wednesday or Friday?’

I thank the young man and note that the Rugby team have relaxed and are now standing around with arms folded chatting to each other – some on the beach, others knee deep in the sea. Reg, a local in his late seventies, is watching with admiration. I return to Frank Sargeson whose writing hints strongly of homosexuality. We were in those days, illegal.

It’s Wednesday evening and the tiny foyer of the Basement Theatre is filling up with anticipation. Increasingly, my approach is to avoid too much research beforehand. By experiencing a work without expectations I’m more easily taken by surprise. It is enough that one of my favourite companies, Silo Theatre has produced Revolt. She said. Revolt again, but a number of my professional theatre associates have recommended this show on facebook, including my trans friend and theatre critic Lexi Matheson.

The stage area is scattered like ‘Tracey Emin’s Bed’ and props are visibly on display, encouraging speculation. The stage manager’s desk is also visible as there are no wings in this auditorium. The last few late-comers are ushered over the stage as the cast enter in overalls and clear up the ‘mess’ and proceed to set up for the show. It’s all frantic activity, choreographed, watch-able and exciting. My expectations are aroused as backdrops are hung and a floor-cloth unrolled, ready for the show. It begins gently, with a scene where the token male expresses his sexual desire to a woman. It’s about gender language and when the woman joins in, his ‘penetration’ conflicts with her ‘enclosure’, so he has to adjust his vocabulary or it’s just not going to happen. The scenes progress with ‘him’ increasingly not able to understand or adjust. Polynesian actor Fasitua Amosa looks like a gentle giant and shows just enough of his feminine side to make you think there might be hope. He feels like the failed protagonist, the antagonist in fact. But with the scripts that Silo Theatre produce, you can expect the unexpected. Failing to understand that his female employee really does just want Mondays off, he proceeds to receive a ‘No’ to his marriage proposal in the third scene. Confronted with a melon-eating woman sitting in a supermarket trolley in the dairy isle, he retires from the fray. A mother, carrying her damaged daughter, visits her cave-woman mother to confront denial of female history. ‘He’ makes a brief appearance as a loin cloth wearing cave man, hardly reaching the stage before being dismissed. The structure breaks down to a chaotic and exuberant ending so that the three women might also be failed protagonists. There are strong performances all round from Sophie Henderson, Michelle Ny and Amanda Tito. I also enjoyed the performance by stage manager, Eliza Josephson-Rutter, who casually sits at her visible station, looking at her phone and eating snacks. She throws costumes and props on stage with indifference, leaving actors holding props too long and with impeccable timing runs her cues to the wire. The stage really is a mess at the end, but with it all rolled up in the floor cloth and backdrops torn down, the stage is bare for the bows.

There is no satisfactory ending, just a passing cry to ‘do away with men’ as they exit, pushing or riding a theatrical skip on what looks like it’s going to be a long journey to gender equality.

I’m used to no satisfactory ending these days – we’re supposed to think about it. Grabbing a programme on the way out gives me reading material on the ferry back to Waiheke and the first thing I noticed is that Alice Birch’s script was first performed by the RSC at The Other Place in Stratford-upon-Avon in 2014. That at least explains the bluebells. Her inspiration for the play comes from the story of radical feminist, Valerie Solanas and her self-published SCUM Manifesto. ‘She then shot Andy Warhole and book sales went crazy.’ Um … does this mean with a camera? So, typing ‘Who shot Andy Warhol’ into google, I find that he refused to make her film script as it was too dangerously radical, even for him, so she shot him with a gun. He was seriously wounded and never really recovered. She went to prison and was diagnosed (conveniently?) as schizophrenic.

All this on International (at least in the western world) Women’s Day – a day in New Zealand when the news is full of a facebook post by Senior Wellington College school-boys, claiming that true WC boys should take advantage of unconscious drunk young women. We pretend to be shocked, some try to excuse but deep down we know there is a problem raising boys to men. I wish I could remember and distill my mother’s method raising us. She claimed she always knew I was gay – I wonder if that influenced her. She was certainly always interested in diversity and difference.

It’s the small steps on a long journey which bring about change and there will be setbacks along the way. The courage of a Rugby team to go naked on a beach or attending thought-provoking theatre are such steps, but how do we erase phobias from human conditioning?