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Published: August 18th 2006
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Auckland from above
It's compulsory to vist a city, climb the highest thing about and then take a photo of the place. I am currently experiencing culture shock. This is shocking in itself as New Zealand’s culture is not that different from Britain’s (with the exception of a higher occurance of dead-pigs-in-cars than Blighty). I know this because I read it in the Canadian’s Guide to Working and Living Overseas (by Jean Mark Hachey, Intercultural Systems Publishing, 1995), a book I idly picked up and flicked through whilst in one of the hostels. Although I’m not from Canada, I believe Canadians are not too dissimilar to the rest of the world: therefore I will trust in Jean Mark’s wise words.
Culture shock, or fatigue, is divided into four stages: Stage one is the honeymoon period where one is enthusiastic for everything about the new country (see earlier entries where I was extolling the virtues of New Zealand’s rocks). Stage two, the anxiety phase, is currently where I reside. In this stage the enthusiasm begins to wane and is replaced by boredom (“Oh look; another mountain/forest/beach”), irritability (“For god’s sake, please talk about something else other than the All Blacks”), stereotyping/hostility towards the host nation (see previous) and homesickness (I’m not that bad yet). Stage two leads predictably onto stage three, the rejection/regression phase.
This includes a longing for things to be like they are at home (“Well, a British pub and pint would go down rather well”), antisocial behaviour/rudeness (I display these traits often enough at home so these don’t count) and seeking out ex-pats to complain about the host nation (oh the shame- I have actually done this!).
It is not all doom and gloom, though. Jean Mark states that recognizing cultural fatigue is half the battle. With grit and determination I will reach stage four, adjustment, where the feelings of hopelessness are dispelled and you accept the new culture for what it is.
It is all part of the wonderful world of travel. For every exciting high that a new adventure brings one too must deal with the occasional lows of dislocation, boredom and loneliness. “Cheer up you miserable Sod” I hear you cry from behind your office desks. Yes, I will. But if a whinging pom can’t have a bloody good moan every now and then, what’s the world coming too?
*
Auckland. It all seems a very long time ago now. This is because it was. I have been putting off writing these entries as it takes me a
Rangitoto
I climbed this when I first arrived. Here it looks rather ominous. while to scribble it all down, type them up and all the other bits involved in letting everyone know I’m still alive. The longer I put them off, the more stuff I do, and the longer it takes me to write. It’s a Catch 22 situation. Let’s just bite the bullet, have a damn good think and see what random things I can remember about Auckland.
*
The purpose of my return was to purchase a car. This was successful as I am now the owner of a 1995 Mazda Familia. “Tidy little car” was the description by the man who sold it to me (I didn’t haggle with him as he had a moustache which in my mind means he knows about cars). Be warned! “Tidy” in car speak stands for slight steering misalignment, broken windscreen-washer pump and a boot that mysteriously fills with water from somewhere. It does have a radio, though. I was very excited about this as my old Honda didn’t have one. When driving I was often slipping into mild dementia due to lack of in-car entertainment as I had started whistling to myself for hours on end. However I shouldn’t have raised my hopes.
As soon as you leave any built up area in New Zealand the signal evaporates and you are left with the annoying hiss of static, or worse: Christian rock. At one point, on top of a large hill I was so overjoyed to receive a clear signal I actually stopped the car and listened to Bryan Adams’ “Everything I do (I do it for you) just for the novelty factor. I am meandering a little; back to Auckland.
*
I went up the Sky Tower; the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, crushing other lofty efforts by Antarctica, Papua New Guinea and the Falkland Islands. It was an easy way to take photos of all the places I saw on my previous visit without my camera in one fell swoop. People jump off this building attached to a wire and then freefall 192m to the pavement below. I was not one of these people.
*
I also went to Auckland Zoo with a German guy from the hostel one free afternoon. Here they have an excellent meerkat enclosure. A series of tunnels that would put the Vietcong to shame have been constructed beneath the rodent’s pen, allowing you to pop
The Sky Tower
Rather tall building. Quite a lot of it is aerial, though, which I always think is slightly cheating. up under numerous Perspex domes to watch the animals at close quarters. I think it was meant for children but that didn’t stop two twenty-something Europeans from using it. I managed to scare an old lady when I popped my head up where she was expecting a foot tall rodent to be.
Stefan, the German guy, had the otters take an instant dislike to him. When he arrived at their pen they-reared up, bared their teeth and started squeaking and hissing in his direction. It is a little known fact that otters are actually quite dangerous. Esteemed naturalist and one time Really Wild Show presenter Terry Nutkins has two fingers missing due to a vicious otter attack. Fact! We quickly moved on fearing for our digits. I need mine to hold cutlery and point at ugly children.
*
On a bleak Sunday afternoon I visited the suburb of Devonport, located a short ferry ride away from the city centre. When I stepped ashore I was particularly under-whelmed by the place: so much so that I needed a sit down and a coffee to recover. Whilst there I climbed an extinct volcano (there are plenty of these here), took some photos
before catching the ferry back to the other side of the harbour. In hindsight, this is not a very interesting story.
*
I spent a lot of time with my hostel mates discussing where they had been, where they were going and if God existed or not.
Hostel mate: “I don’t believe in the existence of a supreme being per se, but I think that there is an energy within all and it is this energy that allows us to be creative individuals and shape our own destiny. If you wanted to, you could call this energy God if you were inclined to that way of thinking.
*Silence*
Me: Anyone fancy a pint?
*
One time when I was out I was accosted by the bar drunk. They seem to know that I will politely listen to them as if they were rational human beings which very drunk people very rarely are. This doesn’t happen at home, only abroad. Martin and Dan can vouch for the time in Copenhagen when a slurring, middle aged gentleman wouldn’t stop talking to me about the levels of tax he suffered in the Danish capitol. This particular drunkard kept letting me know exactly what
he thought of the band currently playing. After quarter of an hour of this I decided to fight fire with fire. If he wanted to talk, then talk is what we would do. I turned round, gave him my fullest attention and started asking him all about his life and his drinking problem. After 10 minutes he claimed that talking to me “was no fun”, promptly fell backwards off his bar stool and then disappeared out of the pub, never to be seen again. He was a rather sad man in all senses of the word.
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