Gore might be a small district, but it is lucky to have a fantastic Art Gallery. The Eastern Southland Gallery features two permanent collections of national and international note.

The John Money Collection This is a large collection of African, Australian and American works of art. It was gifted to the Gallery in 2003 by Dr John Money - a New Zealand expatriate living in Boston. The collection was amassed over a period of 50 years. It is a truly wonderful collection and includes works by Rita Angus, Theo Schoon and Lowell Nesbitt as well as many fantastic African carvings and carvings and paintings from Elcho Island.

The Ralph Hotere Gallery The Gallery houses one of the largest collections of works by Ralph Hotere in the country.

In addition to these great permanent exhibitions, the Eastern Southland Gallery also hosts other touring exhibitions, performances and workshops.

Peugeot Hokonui Fashion Awards

In 2008 the Peugeot Hokonui Fashion Awards celebrated their 20 th year. They are the longest running Fashion Awards of their type in New Zealand and are a key event in the national fashion calendar. They are held in July each year and are well worth a look. The awards attract judges of the calibre of Karen Walker, Nic Blanchet, Francis Hooper (of "World"), Trelise Cooper, Kate Sylvester, Tanya Crlson, Liz Findley (Zambessi), Margi Robertson (NOMD).

The Annual New Zealand Gold Guitar Awards is held in Gore every June. The town's population of around 10000 swells by thousands at this time as Country Music enthusiasts from all over come to see New Zealand's top performers compete. These awards have been held in Gore for the last 35 years and are a great event if Country Music is your thing!

So, when planning your holiday in New Zealand, make sure you include the deep south in your travel plans and be sure to stop in Gore!

 

The first thing I noticed was how incredibly difficult it can be to get to New York from Oklahoma City. Apparently, there are no direct flights - at least, not on the airline we flew, and certainly not with the free tickets a very dear friend provided. We left home at dark-thirty in the morning, and took advantage of a four-hour layover in Chicago to have lunch at Navy Pier. Eventually, we landed in what I thought was a suburb of New York City, the way Moore is a suburb of Oklahoma City, a little place called Islip, Long Island.

In my Oklahoma mind, everything "up north" is just a cab ride away. Need to get from Connecticut to Rhode Island? Take a cab! Need to get from Long Island to Manhattan? Take a cab! Oh, and better take a credit card with no limit. A cab ride from Long Island to Manhattan is $150. Apparently, in the civilized world of the East Coast, people take trains. Well cool, I thought. A train! I haven't ever been on a train (except for the subway ride in Chicago for lunch, earlier that day).

Did you know that commuter trains run on electric tracks, even in the middle of a thunderstorm? Neither did I. Did you know that some commuter trains go underwater to reach their destination? You did? Well, let me tell you, it was a shock to this poor, claustrophobic, water-phobic and now train-phobic little Okie.

So okay - we made it into Manhattan and took yet another train, called a subway (did you know those are actually underground? You did?). The subway dumped us and our eleven-hundred pieces of absolutely essential luggage "near" our hotel, according to the map. "Near" our hotel, in New York-speak, is within ten city blocks. In the rain. Wearing three-inch heels. I know, I know - that was dumb. But hey, I don't travel much. I wanted to look nice on the plane!

But we made it! Suddenly, I looked up and Times Square was right there , in full, living, neon color. Holy cow! This leads me to the next thing I noticed about New York; despite what we've all been told, New Yorkers are very, very nice people. Not a single person spit on me, hit me, or even said something to offend my delicate sensibilities as I lurched down the sidewalk, dragging luggage and banging other pedestrians in the process. Everyone smiled and made way for us and didn't seem to mind the bruises at all.

The next morning, we hit the streets. Once again, I looked around, and it was still here! I was in the real deal, the big city, good golly, I was in Gotham. Patrick, being the planner that he is, had made what he referred to as a suggested itinerary, which in reality means that he had planned our day in fifteen-minute increments. I was willing to go along with all this, and then we turned the corner and probably for the first time in my life, I looked up at a street sign, just to see where I was.

I have a difficult time breathing even now, just remembering and reliving that glimmering moment in my mind, the moment I realized that I was standing on 5 th Avenue. Oh, manna from Heaven, oh, praise the retail gods, I have seen Mecca and I will never be the same.

Oh, how my heart pounded! My pupils dilated, I had a hard time breathing, and I know that Patrick thought I had surely lost what little was left of my mind. Chanel! Tiffany! Gucci! Oh, be still my heart! At one point, I realized that my mouth was very, very dry. Since we'd just had breakfast, I was a bit surprised to find myself so thirsty, until I walked by a large plate glass window and saw my reflection. My mouth was, literally and no joke, hanging open. I was gawking . I looked like a person with some horrible, unnameable disease….and then I saw it.

Prada.

I forgot my aching, blistered feet. I forgot to breathe. I forgot to stop at the intersection and I think I forgot Patrick. Prada - the land of shoe dreams. Prada, *gasp* having a monstrous (albeit it a discreet monstrosity) sale. On shoes. Prada shoes, 75% off. I was, at that moment, glad we had finally written our will, because I was quite sure I would die on the spot. I whizzed through the store like a dervish, screeched myself upstairs to the sale shoes, and promptly fell in love with the most beautiful, the most impractical, the most I-must-have-it-or-cease-breathing stiletto-heeled pump in the known universe. Did I mention it was 75% off?

Did I mention that my size was not available? Oh, coulda, shoulda, Prada.

I've been to New York. My life may never be the same.

Joseph was a painter. Ingrid was a sculptor. Peter was a photographer, his girlfriend a designer. The terrible dancer in the middle of the floor with the curly ponytail and Euro-tight suit was an "odour artist". He painted with crushed strawberries and, er, less pleasant-smelling natural materials. Every single person I met in Antwerp was an artist.

Rags to riches

Famed for being the world's diamond capital, with four of the 22 existing diamond exchanges sitting in its diamond district, pop stars and princesses still flock to Antwerp to shop for precious gems. But the city has proven it has more to offer than priceless jewels. Antwerp's tradition of inspiring and retaining its home-grown artists dates back to Rubens and Van Dyck, who were lured back to their hometown after exploring Italy's grandiose architecture and ancient art tradition. The Eighties saw the rise of the Antwerp Six (Ann Demeulemeester, Dirk Bikkembergs, Dries Van Noten, Dirk Van Saene, Walter Van Beirendonck and Marina Yee), who helped make the city's Royal Academy of Fine Arts fashion department world famous.

But it's not all glitz and gloss in Antwerp. Like its Benelux neighbor in Holland, it has a fully operational red-light district, complete with ladies of the night (and day, if you're up for it) behind windows advertising their wares and services. In the tradition of Paris' Pigalle and London's Soho districts, where there's sex on sale there's likely to be a trend-setting cackle of media-crats not too far behind. Style gurus and slaves have already set up shop in Antwerp's bawdier streets and it's worth a trip just north of the center to check out Café d'Anvers and Phil Collins - two of the city's places to be seen - even if you're not looking to purchase a romp.

Flandy is dandy

There's no shortage of trendy establishments in Antwerp: over 4000 nightspots for a city of some 450,000 inhabitants. Like Zürich, the city's former industrial quarter in Het Eilandje - the area around the old port - is getting a face lift. Dozens of designer bars and fusion eateries are popping up along the bank of the Scheldt River and the abandoned warehouses now house anything from small creative consultancies to empty beer bottles and bare dj tables, as many of these are used as venues for exclusive unsanctioned parties.

Het Zuid, just south of the center, is the liveliest district for hip drinking spots, especially if you're looking to bag a creative type. The Museum voor Hedendaagse Kunst van Antwerpen (Museum for Contemporary Arts of Antwerp) or MUKHA is nearby, as is the Museum voor Fotographie (Photography Museum), increasing your chances of stumbling into the arms of a frustrated young art student over the course of the evening.

But let's face it. Anyone going to Antwerp is likely to have just one thing in mind. As much as we all appreciate good food and raw talent, there's nothing like a strong dose of retail therapy to make a holiday worthwhile. Shopping in Antwerp is an experience. The high-street shops are restricted to the high street so there's no danger of a Gap lurking around every corner. The Antwerp Six are easy to find, as are other big names, but the lesser-known local designers and upmarket fringe shops might pique your curiosity more.

The same goes for interiors shops with antique and ethnic-influenced gallery-style stores littered around Kloosterstraat. In association with Mode 2001, a series of Fashion Walks were conceived to allow tourists to combine the city's important fashion landmarks with that crucial shopping spree, further blurring the lines between fashion and art in Antwerp.

Lines duly blurred, not to mention eyesight after a few Belgian whites, an Antwerp break is the grown-up alternative to a weekend in Amsterdam. Refined, yet naughty and, above all, fiercely cutting edge.