I’ve left Auckland after a fab few days. I was feeling I hadn’t quite got the pulse of the culture after four days. This, despite the fact I’d spent a day at the out of town 49th Auckland Folk Festival, a quiet little affair in the equestrian hills north west of the city. Woodstock it was not. Yup, face painting and tie dyed shirts for sale, tenor ukuleles and bamboo flutes, sloppy falafel off the back of a van and beige knitted lentils… and worse: no alcohol. Not even a Pimms! A dry festival. This is a serious contradiction in terms, and not, I hoped, a harbinger of times to come. In 28 degrees, with nothing but some wailing Antipodean strummers for company, one needs a drink. Or two. Even me.

Needing to understand the way this country works for you, I opted for some political theatre. Always a way in, I find. So on Sunday evening I made it into town for an evening of agitprop at The Civic. A famous tale of two people torn apart by the differences in their families, in their culture, their race and their class. One wealthy, the other from the streets. It was very moving – I felt transported, as if on a magic carpet ride, a whole new world, a whole fantastic point of view…. Well, don’t you just adore Disney’s Aladdin! A laugh a minute. The lyrics are so witty, so clever, the tunes so hummable – and oh, the costumes! it’s my favourite part of the Disney oeuvre. It’s so invigorating…

Actually the real reason I went was to see the theatre itself. The Civic was built in the 20s, and is a cross between Art Deco and kitsch pseudo-Asiana. The foyer is a riot of fake palms, elephant tusks and trunks, fake paintings of the British empire in India. Inside the auditorium there’s a skyline of purple minarets and terracotta balconies with trees growing out of them, luscious palaces and a star studded sky. It’s bold and beautiful – and the perfect place to stage Aladdin. Which was wonderful by the way. (Irony-free comment).

Elsewhere in Auckland I ate so well: food as good as Sydney (shock! sacrilege!). The highlight though was a guided tour of Tiritiri Matangai island – a sort of RSPB type reserve, predator free: farmland replaced by bush, encouraging the birds to settle. I particularly fell in love with the Tui, about the size of a large rook, with iridescent wings and the most plaintive two tone call. It has two voice boxes, and it mixes and matches the tones to provide a call that’s endlessly variable. But it’s the timbre… the haunting, mellifluous, rich deep sound of a classic soul singer. The spirit of Aretha in a bird…

One day I went in search of naturists on Wiaheke Island, as instructed by S. It was a bank holiday weekend bedecked with hordes of tourists, but fortunately studded with fab vineyards. I made the the mistake of stopping for lunch at one and getting totally smashed on a single glass (actually a flagon) of Viognier. You should try this. Salmon salad and fries at Cable Bay vineyard, then a 3 mile trek round the headlands back and downhill on an unstable track to the ferry in the mid afternoon heat. Do not try this at home.

Seriously though folks, you must visit the Auckland Art Gallery. I got a glimpse of what true multiculturalism might be like here. I was particularly drawn to the work of Maori artist Arnold Manaaki Wilson who references Moore, Hepworth and my fave Brancusi (who in turn weren’t afraid drawing from non western cultures). Also the new wave artist Pati Solomona Tyrell whose video work and photography explores issues of gender and power in Maori culture.

Anyway, this country is a riot. I’m up north now, sitting on a veranda overlooking an estuary and watching the herons fishing by the mangroves. Of which, I’m sure, more another time.

And to say it just once, in case you’re wondering, yes, absolutely, I’m missing her like crazy…