How to be a New Zealander

Well, I've traveled the country North to South and seen many of its most beautiful sites, but its time I write a little bit more about New Zealand and its people. I've spent just about my entire time living in homes of kiwis, adapting their lifestyle and observing their ways. A year-abroad in a foreign-speaking land, and I'd probably be fluent. I still cannot for the life of me impersonate a New Zealand accent, but I think that I can say that I have a pretty good understanding of New Zealanders and the culture as a whole. (And I'm sorry to say, that being a New Zealander has very little to do with Hobbits). New Zealand's The Listener magazine (equivalent to America's Time), printed an article on the main elements of Kiwiness. I thought I'd use a few their main points and comment with experiences of my own.
The number one aspect that makes a kiwi, a kiwi is their connection to the land. If you've seen any of my photos, you should understand why. New Zealand has been behind the rest of the world in industrializing, and much of the country is still rural and not heavily populated, leaving its natural wonders protected and relatively untouched. Owning a bach (a holiday home) in addition to their own home, is a must for most New Zealanders. These aren't ritzy, American-like, holiday homes, but more like rustic houses in beautiful places (that resemble shacks to American standards.) The concept of sending kids to summer camps is virtually unknown in New Zealand, because the entirity of summer holidays are spent with families at their bachs up away in mountains, the bush, or beaches. While my host family here runs an outdoor education camp, it is closed during the summer holidays and open only during the school year for area schools to visit and (fulfilling their outdoor education curriculum component which is essential in NZ schools..hint hint America?)
Sport is another big kiwiism. The All-Blacks are the most well-known New Zealand sports team and are the best Rugby team in the world (hosting the Rugby World Cup next year.) Kiwis say competative sport fuels their need to be noticed by bigger countries. It is a small country but produces great athletes, and the culture as a whole is very athletic. Sport and relationship to the land also go hand-in-hand. Skiing, rock-climbing, and tramping (backpacking) and the sheer chase of adrenaline are common for a New Zealander. New Zealanders are extremely laid back, but perhaps that is because all their energy goes into scaling mountains and snowboarding on active volcanoes over the weekend. It is not uncommon for New Zealanders to have various near-death experiences when seeking adventure in the outdoors. Each of my hosts have, one being hit by a plummeting boulder while mountaineering NZ's highest mountain, Mt. Cook, and the other nearly drowning when his kayak was sucked into an unknown spinning hole in high grade rapids.
That brings us to the next kiwism- the "she'll be right" mentality. New Zealanders don't stress, they don't argue, and they barely make any plans. They do things themselves and don't ask for help. They sail boats to Tonga, they build their own houses, they fix what is broken (nothing is ever broken, just in need of repair). Their houses and cars don't sparkle like ours, but they are just fine about that. They give me their car keys and their children, a map if I'm lucky and expect me to drive through foreign cities and get to appointments on time. Are they worried? No, because "I'll be right." This is an ad that encompasses this kiwiism on the dot-and also their dislike of Australians (kind of like the whole Canada-America thing). Plus, you get a peak into my everyday life of how cute 4-yr old NZ kids are: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqRVqXMyzhM
And of course there are the accents, or 'accints'. Not British or Australian, but Kiwi vowels are in a league of their own. Vowels are strung out into outer space it seems. "How are you" becomes "how are yewooo." 'R's are left out completely within words, and entire sentences are mumbled together in what sounds like one word. Almost everything sounds like a question. 'Eh,' is attached to every kind of word or sentence you can imagine. And of course there's the use of 'mate' and 'bro.' Okay its New Zealand, using 'mate' is fair enough, but coming from America where bro is originally black vernacular (or maybe white-frat boy vernacular too now), the use of bro is limited by nothing, used by everyone, even girls to one another. But of course its not just 'bro,' but its more like 'braoewe,' or basically how many other rounded vowels you can throw in after the 'br' part. Perhaps what took the most getting used to was the New Zealand phrase 'sweet as.' Coined from the term 'sweet as honey' New Zealanders use 'sweet as' to describe anything good. "Those waves were sweet as, bro!" And if that's not weird enough, New Zealanders also throw any word in before the as- 'cold as, sunburned as, fun as, sick as, hungry as.' Here's a popular video made by Australians depicting the overuse of 'bro' and the 'sweet as' phenomenon. If you listen carefully, you can tell they're Australian, but to an American they sound very Kiwi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdVHZwI8pcA . Further, good for you is 'good on ya,' how are you doing is 'how are you going, 'thank you is 'chur,' and the list goes on and on. I guess when only 4 million people, make up a country on an island this far away from the rest of the world, anything goes. Alas, I must admit I've grown quite an affinity for being called 'Pheybey.'.
And then there's the Maori part of New Zealand culture. I was literally dumbfounded upon my arrival to see that the Native inhabitants are not an echo of the past or hidden out of view on reservation land. Maori culture is alive and well, and so are its people. It is not of course absent of its own challenges and racism, but the integration of Maori to Pakeha (european) NZ culture (or is it the other way around?) is absolutely inspiring, exciting, and astonishing. The treaty signed between the NZ government and Maori requires all New Zealand schools to have a strong Maori education component. This means, learning Maori from pre-school age and having Marae visits throughout the entire schooling process. I visited a marae one day with 8-yr old Lucy, where we sang songs, learned Maori dances, and wove flax. During the introduction, each 8-yr old (mostly white kids) stood up and explained who they were, about their family, and where they came from (their mihimihi) all in Maori. I've even learned a hand-full or words that are used quite commonly like whanau (family) or kai (food). My 4-yr old friend, Charlotte teaches me these. It hasn't always been like this. This push of Maori culture back into New Zealand culture as a whole is only a recent thing after a more forgotten period. But regardless, how cool! America could learn a lot perhaps on cultural integration and race-relations. Hillary Clinton said it herself, how impressed she was by the presence of Maori culture in New Zealand on a recent trip here. Take a look at the bone-chilling haka performed by the All-Blacks before a rugby game. Can you imagine an American football team doing an American Indian war dance before the start of the game? Clearly not. New Zealand is awesome. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdMCAV6Yd0Y
New Zealand was a British colony, so the practice of tea-drinking is important as, bro. I have no problem with this, because I love tea. But never have I learned before that there are so many right or wrong ways to make a pot of tea. Coffee as well, blows American coffee out of the water. New Zealanders like good coffee, and they treat it like an art form and make it right. Trendy NZ coffee bars fill the country, along with a few Starbucks (for the tourists, Kiwis hate).
And last but not least, Kiwis have a sense of humour. Not outright, in your face kind of humour, but they love to laugh and slip witty remarks throughout everyday conversation. Their quick wit leaves me in the dust at time, but I've managed hold my own sense of humour, or at least nod at laugh at theirs.
So to summarize, New Zealand culture is close to the land because its some of the most beautiful in the world, they love sports and they love outdoor adventure, they don't stress but live their lives under the idea that they'll be alright, they speak what sounds like gibberish (or British gone hillbilly?), they are a leading example in maintaining strong indigenous culture, and they drink a lot of tea and make good coffee while telling jokes and laughing a lot. Summer is coming and they are all headed to their baches to be with their families amongst a pristine environment. And perhaps the kiwiism I most covet of all- now is the time of year where everyone walks around barefoot. I'm talking, an entire society of New Zealanders walking through town, buying groceries, stopping at the post shop, young and old, BAREFOOT. After months of deeming this unfathomable, I decided to give this a try on one measly walk from the local shop to home. With flip-flops in hand, I subjected my dainty, American-bred feet across concrete sidewalk, sticks and gravel. Losing my balance, grimacing in pain, hoping that the car next to me wasn't slowing down oggling because of me, I made it home in twice the amount of time I normally would. The bottoms of my feet were not happy, but I'll try again. Afterall, I am American. But thank gooodness for air-travel and the ability to travel the world and witness this bizarre, shoeless, island culture I've gotten to call home for almost a year. A place where you can go skiing, scale a mountain, kayak a river, go for a bush-walk, drink good coffee, speak in Maori, say things like "Sweet as...chur bro, good on ya!" and not turn heads, and walk around barefoot all in one day.

Everyday Photos

An assortment of photos from my everyday life in the last month or so-beautiful scenery, kids, culture, adventure, earthquake aftermath, my first turkey Thanksgiving, and a plethora of 8 and under themed birthday parties.

Start-light, Start-bright, HOLY COW this Land is Beautiful

I got some time off from WWOOFing, hopped on a few buses and headed South to explore a few places that I had yet to see. I spent my first few nights on my route down south staying in the “adventure capitals of the world,” Wanaka and Queenstown. Ski resorts galore and skydiving and bungee jumping companies flood the area, drawing thousands of adrenaline-seeking 20-something tourists. Although I, myself am also an adrenaline-seeking, 20-something yr old tourist at times, I chose to stay clear of this scene mostly, and rather hung out in parks reading and eating a plethora of granola-filled yogurt containers as my meals while taking cat naps under trees. Am I boring? Maybe. But my hearts desire was to see Southland, and I chose to save my money to continue my journey to one of the most beautiful spots in the world. I am sure I’ll plenty of time in my life to jump off high things anyways.
In order to reach my spot of destination, Milford Sound, you must journey across what is said to be the most dangerous highway in the world due to its almost 90 degree surrounding mountain slopes, cascading waterfalls, and extremely high amounts of snow and rain year-round. Luckily, I got through without any avalanches (although the entire next day the road was closed due to avalanche maintenance), and settled into my lodge nestled amongst the mountains. This spot is visited by tour buses each day, but very few actually stay overnight. Glad to stay the night and soak in the views on my own and take photos free of a few hundred Japanese tourists, I spent my first few hours on the bank and watched dolphins swim in shallow waters next to me.
Milford Sound is a World Heritage Site (like the Grand Canyon, Macchu Pichu, etc), and there I was sitting in a World Heritage Site completely alone. How often does that happen?
I guess when you’re in New Zealand in a place only reached by avalanche-covered highways. I was quite pleased with my decision to see this place on my own, as it was just myself and the most majestic mountains ever, mirror-reflecting waters, and dolphins just swimming about (okay, and the sandflies..horrible biting things not worthy enough to write more about).
Once I finished soaking in all the zen that I needed, I succumbed back to joining other tourists and hopped on a nature cruise through the sound. I was not disappointed as we explored waterfalls, spent time watching dolphins, penguins, and seals! Wee! Each waterfall was filled with rainbows on the sunlit day. Our boat tour was hypnotized as we drifted slowly into a pair of falls filled with rainbows called “fairy falls.” A version of “Over the Rainbow” was played over the loudspeaker, and we were caught in a trance watching the magical waters cascade down the cliffs of the Sound. Unbeknownst to us, the crew was giggling to themselves as the captain slowly steered the boat into the waterfall directly over touristy couples taking photos and holding-only to be disrupted by a nice cool shower. (Luckily I was a safe distance away, and both I and my camera came out dry.)

My last day in Milford Sound, I had to take an important matter in my own hands. With no other tourists around, how was I supposed to get a picture of myself and the Sound-or more importantly a JUMPING picture!? To my delight, a large log had been perfectly positioned in the middle of the beach, obviously set up by the camera Gods, complete with a patch of moss growing to set a camera on. My self-timer and I have overtime become good friends, and I managed to snap a sufficient jumping photo before I journeyed on.
I stayed in another few youth hostels on my journey back up north, delighting in the fact that nearly everyone I meet can no longer tell where I am from. I don’t think my accent has noticeably changed, but my enunciation, vocabulary, and perhaps even my demeanor has changed, and after a small conversation people guess me to be English, Kiwi, or Canadian. Score! I suppose so many months of simmering down my Americaness while hanging out with so many Kiwis, has made a dent after all. I will most probably lose this demeanor within a week of being back in America, but mate, its fun while it lasts eh?

I ended my holiday staying with friends in Lake Tekapo, where the Night Sky World Heritage Site lies. I have been here before (see an entry from April), but chose not to pay the $90 to get a night sky tour. I’ve regretted it ever since, and miraculously-since then I’ve made the right friends and connections to have been offered to do the tour for FREE. I could barely contain myself as I climbed into the old Antarctic Researchers jackets, they gave us to warm our bodies while we gazed upwards on top of a mountain for hours late at night. We were shown around gigantic telescopes and pointed out twinkling constellations above our heads. I put my camera through a telescope to get this shot of the moon, and set my camera on world-class astro-photography tripods that rotate with motion of the Earth.
I looked at globula star clusters that showed over 1 million stars with help of a telescope. These globulas were between 10-12 million years old, about the oldest things that we know of in our universe. Can I say that again? I was looking at one of the oldest-known things in the known-universe with my own eyes. A cluster of a million stars just twinkling at me saying “look at how amazing this universe is..you only a MARGIN of its splendor!” I drooled over the different constellations in the Southern night sky, looked at Jupiter and its moons, and looked at a star so far away, that in order for us to see its twinkle, its light has been traveling towards Earth from around the time of Christ. Giggity! The stars have me mesmerized, and word on the street is that if I came back here in a few years I’d be offered a job as a night sky tour guide! Most of my time in this country, I walk around hyperventilating about the beauty of this place and all the possibilities of where life might take me. Don’t worry, my fellow Americans…you won’t lose me…but I am definitely coming back and hopefully with some friends and family…and maybe I’ll even be your night sky tour guide.

Mountains upon Mountains

When I am not living in Diamond Harbour (my semi-permanent home right now) or evacuating aftershocks and earthquake rubble, I spend my days amongst the mountains of the Southern Alps at Mt. Cheeseman Skifield. Here, I’ve gotten to experience another New Zealand sub-culture. Ski fields are a bit of a New Zealand anomaly, run and owned by their few hundred members, providing a much more (I think) pleasurable skiing experience with no chairlift lines, fewer crowds, and a family-like feel between its members or “clubbies.” They are small ski areas, but have all the terrain you can ask for. Knowing the right people and having the right connections, I worked my way into the Cheeseman niche, dappling in the life of a ski-bum and, again, pulling the nanny card and working as part-time staff as “ski-nanny” (A word of advice: you can go anywhere in the world and DO anything you want to do if you’re willing to watch people’s kids).
My story here unfortunately starts as painful as it was exhilarating. Having learned to snowboard at upstate NY Greek Peak ski area for a few seasons during high school, I decided to take it up again. A month in, I discovered that re-learning to snowboard requires certain conditions which were lacking at Mt. Cheeseman Skifield. Firstly, it requires a certain amount of snow coverage. NZ winters are a hit or miss, and I spent most of the season learning on a very thin base of ICY, HARD-PACKED snow which made Greek Peak snow feel like the Rockies. Days of boarding (and falling, er a lot of falling), left my body looking so beaten and battered I chose to wear clothes into the swimming pool when I had to take my girls to swimming lessons so as not to broadcast myself to be what appeared an abuse victim. What beat and battered me the most, however, was the t-bar. Due to the smallness of the field, Mt. Cheeseman does not have chairlifts, but rather it has archaic-looking torture devices that are upside down metal t’s that you must slip through your legs, and if all goes well, pull you up a mountain.
Not so bad on skiis (note skier happily riding t-bar), but on a snowboard you must ride up the mountain sideways while twisting your body forward to see where you’re going, all while steering straight using your toe and heal-side edges, constantly stopping and gaining speed on different terrains. The first time I rode the t-bar, I ended up hanging from my arms with my legs dragging behind me, holding on to dear life until I reached terrain that was not so steep I would form a human avalanche rolling down. Week after week, my snowboarding improved, but my t-bar riding did not. I would fall off or get dragged in contorted positions so much that small ski-bunny 4-yr olds would ask me if I was okay.
At the beginning of the season, I was so thrilled to have found awesome neon purple snowpants for $3, but overtime discovered it is only awesome to wear neon colors on a ski field if you are awesomely good. Before my reputation had grown to full-blown, purple snowpants girl (mostly seen being dragged up mountain by one leg) I acquired a friend’s black pair. My confidence soared and my t-bar riding and snowboarding improved tremendously. Despite my sudden surge in competence, the season had left me with bruises covering entire body parts, a dislocated wrist, and the annoyance that snowboarding was only fun on ever-so-often fresh powder days. With the support of many friends of family, I decided to cross over to the other side. I learned to ski. Shivering in my boots that I was about to embarrass and hurt myself again for the next long few weeks, I set out with a friend one afternoon for a few hours, and miraculously ended my first session beaming. I learned to parallel turn my first day and was an intermediate skier by day 2. I was so happy the snow gods had granted me this new-found ability and I did not fall even once off the t-bar.
My job as a ski-nanny was an amazing experience that happened to fall into my journey, and will be one that I won’t forget. As a ski-nanny, I lived up on the mountain, skied and got lessons from Swiss instructors in the mornings, spent the afternoons in the lodge reading books to toddlers, skied a little more, and then played games with the kids at night. I became known as “Nanny McPhoebe,” and staff joked that I had become the most popular staff person at Cheeseman, as I was willing to take 30 children out of the lodge at night and play games with them in another building, giving both parents and staff some peace and quiet. Being a camp counselor never came in so handy as I played hours of ‘fishy, fishy, cross my ocean’ or whatever other games I had up my sleeve to cater to the wide range of ages 4-12 or so (Thanks mom, many Earth Arts games came in handy). The perks I received just for watching people’s kids were amazing, and I got to stay in honeymoon suites with glass doors opening up to the most holy of holy sunrises in the mornings.
I didn’t get paid with money, but I got paid with free food, spectacular mountain-view accommodation, free access to the ski-field, free daily lessons with some of the best Swiss ski instructors in the world, and the pure satisfaction of waking up, going to sleep and breathing every breath in-between amongst a pristine, alpine environment that people pay thousands for to stay at for a week. Just goes to show, that sometimes working hard and receiving payment in amazing opportunities and experiences is just as good if not better than a paycheck each week. Of course I would not be here if it wasn’t for money, but there is very little exchange of money currently in my life here, and in turn, I am living the fullest, most exciting days that I ever have. Looking after people’s kids wherever I go (and being very good at it), being able to help with anything, and making friends, has brought me all over this country, never without a pair of skiis or a snowboard to borrow, a car to drive, or a pair of black snowpants when you really need them.
The snow season is now over, spring has sprung, and New Zealand is once again drop-dead gorgeous. Trees are in blossom and lambs are EVERYWHERE throughout the countryside (I am entertained on long bus rides watching all the lambs frolic and play on rolling green fields). I’m continuing to work and live with the same family, and still call my home Diamond Harbour. But for now, I’m on a two-week solo holiday to the bottom of the South Island to see some of the most beautiful, un-touched sites in the world. I’m off to Fiordland-a place cut so sharply by glaciers, that it looks like nowhere else on earth. I am most looking forward to what Rudyard Kipling deemed the 8th Wonder of the World, Milford Sound. Anyways, I’m back to the backpacker lifestyle, eating baked beans out of a can, soaking in every minute of the 2 ½ months of New Zealand that I have left. Still so grateful to be here, and never weary of a new adventure in one of the most beautiful countries on the earth.

Christchurch: The City that Rocks!

My New Zealand immersion wouldn’t be a proper one without an earthquake. Just my luck, on September 4th at 4:35 am, my world here got shaken and rocked as a 7.2 magnitude quake drove through the Canterbury Region of NZ. At the time of the quake, I was safely tucked away up in the mountains. The epicenter was in a small farming town called Darfield (which I had driven through that same day) located between Christchurch and the Southern Alps, yet the magnitude of the quake was so great that the entire country was awoken that night to the rumbling of the quake. It was the next morning that I found out the size of the quake was the same size as Haiti’s, and that virtually any poorly built or historic brick building in Christchurch were now piles of rubble.

Thousands of bricks littered the sidewalks and streets of the city, yet miraculously there were no deaths and very few serious injuries. The example of New Zealand coping with this serious disaster has become a world leader in earthquake preparation and aftermath. It also shows the difference between 1st and 3rd world countries ability to sustain a large earthquake. The entire length of New Zealand lies upon the meeting point between the Australian and Pacific plates, resulting in hundreds of earthquakes (mostly small) per year. But sometimes, in this instance (said to be a 1 in 750 yr occurrence), the earthquakes are larger, and thankfully due to strict building codes and inspections, Christchurch and the surrounding areas withstood surprisingly well.

Thousands of families were displaced the week after the earthquake hit, and hundreds still are. Public buildings and schools became relief shelters for those whose houses were uninhabitable. Contaminated water, cut-off electricity, and broken sewage systems forced many to leave the area, including myself. I spent the week following the quake with my family several hours out of the region, staying at a friends house with flushing toilets, water and electricity, far away enough that the aftershocks were minimal.


I quickly learned that aftershocks follow a large quake, sometimes for months afterwards. Though the initial shake was terrifying, it was the aftershocks that rose the most amount of unease in myself and the community. In the past two weeks, there have been 600+ smaller earthquakes all hours of the day, some being as large as 5.1. Some are small jolts that feel as if you are slightly off balance, some shake the house for a moment sounding loud cracks in the walls, and some are long and hard enough that you stop what you’re doing to wait and listen to see whether you need to grab the kids and run out of the house or to the nearest doorway.

Despite the size, everyone accelerates your adrenaline in a matter of seconds, and it has been a great practice to control your calm and try to live normally in not-so-normal conditions. I struggled the most at first at night-time when aftershocks would jolt me wide-awake, adrenaline pumping, ready to jump out of bed if the rumbling got any worse. After a few too many sleepless nights, I finally came to a point of acceptance-that aftershocks are going to happen no matter what, and that I will know if there is a bad one where I need to move to a safe place.
My unease was so high previous to this that it became my only option to relax into the jolts unless I wanted to continue walking around any longer as an anxious, walking-zombie. After this, there was nothing a little yoga breathing couldn’t conquer in the determination to stay calm. The aftershocks have gotten better now, and the community has picked itself up again in effort to bring back normality into daily life. There will be no shortage of building jobs in the next 6 months, and many buildings are being torn down for good.Very few chimneys made it out alive, and many are being carefully removed so as not to fall in an aftershock or bad storm. Our own chimney nearly crumbled through the roof, so my hosts removed it several days ago to be safe.
There’s been no shortage of spirit in the Canterbury communities. There may have been fewer people out on the streets following the quakes, but you might find half the town tucked into the local coffee shop sharing stories, or makeshift playgroups being formed due to schools being closed. I attended a potluck put on by the Civil Defense in my local community where kids drew pictures of rainbow houses with fully-intact chimney’s and people just enjoyed the company of others and a chance to take their minds off their shaky lives. The importance of community in coping with the after-math of disasters is indispensable. This reaffirms the fact of how grateful I am to not be traveling alone, but be part of my own community and with friends that feel like family during what seemed like such a scary time. Everyday we are painstakingly aware of how lucky we are as we drive through the city to get groceries past streets of rubble and debris. We are eearily reminded of what it might be like to be in the position of thousands living in war zones or heavy disaster zones bombarded with blasts trying to get through their days with a sense of normalcy. I haven’t taken any pictures yet, and am not sure I will, so for now just pulled these photos from the local newspaper source. All is well, and things are basically back to normal as I sit and write this in the public library (yet not w/o the buzz of construction working on bracing a historic building next door). I am happy and safe. It has all been an experience. Next up, I’ll write about the glorious mountains that I have gotten to call home, and the adventures I’ve embarked on trying to ride down them gracefully.