A Stranger in a Strange Land

Sometimes I almost feel at home.

At night, the city lights reflect against the windblown lagoon, like long yellow shadows. As I walk over the bridge, I can hear fish jumping in the darkness. The seagulls on the railing begin to squabble as I approach; then they take flight, returning with lazy grace once I've passed. The wind makes my ears cold.

During the day, the weather is warm, for winter. It is often sunny, and I can walk into town wearing only a sweater. As I pass over the bridge, I stop to watch the strong current pulling at the water, like the folds on the surface of a river. When the tide is low, oystercatchers run on the muddy sandbars, calling to each other and changing direction, moving according to their strange logic. I always see cormorants waiting on the rocks beside the road. They regard me aggressively from one wary yellow eye.

A few leaves still cling to the massive Kauri trees in town, but most have been left in big windblown piles, like snowdrifts or sand dunes against the buildings. They look very much like maple leaves, and they have that same russet colour. The clock tower declares the wrong time.

It feels like any other sunny autumn day I have known in my life.

Sometimes, though, I feel an inexplicable dread. At times, it seems like the streets are full of unfriendly strangers, and I feel upset. People are often rude to me, especially service people: bus drivers, baristas. 

Maybe it’s my accent, my shyness. I speak too quietly, anticipating and provoking a sharp tone, even if I just want to ask a question or order a coffee. It makes me wish I was brave enough to be aggressive, give attitude. 

I’ve made a vow to myself to always make outsiders and strangers feel welcome, if I ever have the opportunity, once I’m back home.

For me, the strangeness of New Zealand has mellowed and also accelerated over time. Sometimes I feel completely at home, but then sometimes I catch myself locked in a surreal mindset: I’ve become a stranger in a strange land. I am alone and without distraction, so that incidents of cultural difference compound upon me – events no longer isolated, and no longer surprising.

For example, in New Zealand, guys often wear their hair in mullets or rat tails. Teenagers walk through town, and into shops, barefoot, listening to loud pop music from the speakers of their cell phones. I can’t help but wonder if they own headphones – or shoes, for that matter – and why, in this country, a mullet is a totem of masculinity, whereas in my world, it’s an unfortunate relic of the 80’s, or at least a sign of cultural backwardness. 

New Zealand’s isolation from the rest of the world has its perks, though. In this country, one can feel truly free. I don’t just mean that standing-on-a-mountain kind of free (although that is here too). There is a certain cultural freedom that comes at the cost of isolation, a lack of cultural diversity that results in a kind of social unity.

For example, it seems to me that in New Zealand, everyone wears what he or she likes, without an ounce of pretentiousness. Running shoes and sweat pants are okay. Different fashions from past years are all mixed in together casually. With my complete lack of style and limited wardrobe, I actually feel comfortable, even stylish myself. It seems that most people couldn’t be bothered with this or that fad.

No one really cares to look the way so many kids do back home: there are no skinny jeans, no vintage sweaters, no leather satchels, and no wide-rimmed glasses; there are no old-lady dresses or beards or rock-star hairstyles. No one wants to be the first to discover a new indie rock band; no one has heard of Jack Kerouac or William Burroughs, and no one seems to be trying to outdo anyone else in the pursuit of belonging to an elusive hipster scene.

Instead, everyone seems to agree that bop-along hits are the only songs worth listening to. Unfortunately, there is not much choice, not much diversity – but they seem to like it that way, because there’s no debate. No one knows the band, but everyone knows the words.

Recently, in Tauranga, I went searching for some live music to keep me busy. I looked for posters on telephone poles and on café windows, but I didn't see much, and the few I saw advertised events that had already passed. A lot of pubs play live music on Friday nights – 90s rock, like Fastball, Oasis, and Green Day. The only official “show” coming up is a largely unknown, indie-looking rock band, and, while their music would undoubtedly fill the hipster hole in my life, the tickets cost an astounding $25. So, while I must concede that the indie rock scene appears to exist here in New Zealand, it may be too unreachably expensive to survive for long.

And speaking of expensive culture, I really am pissed off at the state of the book industry in this country. Most of the book stores are going out of business, and no wonder: they have no customers. They have no customers because the books are so bloody outrageously expensive. For example: a mass market paperback sold in America for $6.99 (or in Canada for $10.99) sells in New Zealand for $34.99. I’m not good at math, but that’s like, three or four times more expensive than in North America. And as a consequence, people read less. Who can blame them? Television is cheaper and easier. Even secondhand books cost twice as much as we would pay for a brand-new book back home. It breaks my heart. It really does.

Needless to say, one of the first things I did upon arrival in Tauranga was to get a library card. The institution is a haven for book lovers everywhere, a source of free media, and free information – well – sort of – free-ish. Actually, the use of the libraries in New Zealand does cost a bit of money. Sometimes it’s $10 per month for the card. Also, it costs a couple of dollars to borrow CDs, DVDs, audio books, and any recent or popular books. The libraries in New Zealand have become more like video stores where you rent the books instead of borrow them.

Still, it’s cheaper than actually buying books.

Today I decided to sit and read the newspaper. But I didn’t want the Bay of Plenty Times (the top story was about school bullies): I wanted something broader, with more international and exciting news. The library didn’t carry international newspapers, and the lady at the book store just gave me a rude “do you mind, I’m going out of business here” stare when I asked her. She looked at me like I was a crime happening on TV.

The librarian recommended the post shop, but when I got there it was closed. So, I got myself a cup of tea and read the Bay of Plenty Times after all.

There was a story about a seniors dance club (they were really young at heart), a feature about the kiwifruit harvest (it’s over), something about the local politics I didn’t quite follow, and then of course the Facebook bully story. In all, I found myself wondering about the nuclear meltdown in Japan, the reaction to the recent gay rights laws passed in New York, the economic crisis in Greece, the developments in Middle East, and news from home. What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on The New York Times.

In New Zealand, internet companies charge by the megabyte, so it is generally pretty expensive. You are not likely to find free WiFi signals in coffee shops. Now, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I am something of an internet junkie. It’s always been my limitless source of entertainment, pop culture, and information. I’ve grown up with it, and I use the internet to do almost everything: it’s my map, my yellow pages, my encyclopedia, and my newspaper. I normally download films, music, and television as I desire them. I surf when I’m bored, checking out things that interest me, from recipes and knitting patterns, to sports, jobs, facts, bands, blogs, news, and travel articles. The internet is how I keep in contact with family members and friends. It’s how I entertain myself, and it’s how I stay informed.

I guess what I’m saying is that I am suffering from pop culture withdrawal.

What with the expensive internet access, the overwhelming mainstream music, the lack of international newspapers, and the high expense of books, I sometimes feel a little frustrated with the lack of media, the difficulty of getting information and international news. It makes me feel even more isolated from the world than I really am.

On the other hand, it makes me realize how dependent I was – am – on the mainstream culture in North America. If the Kiwis have a certain unity within their culture, then you could say that I do not fit into that unity, and I also feel disconnected from the unity – and the alienation and dissent – I felt within my own culture.

It is nice to be a stranger in a strange land, but also alienating. It makes me homesick and it makes me free. The whole experience is rather confusing. I guess I'm not quite at home yet, after all.