Patti Bradfield from Redmond WA wrote this upon arriving in New Zealand in 1979.
It was Patti whose enquiry sparked the articles about changes since 1980.
Throw away the girdles and let your seams out. The fresh bread shops, green
grocer and butcher are alive and well at the bottom of the world, in New
Zealand.
Take a deep breath, turn your mind back twenty years and forget the worries
of our ever increasing plastic society and the long gas lines. Enter a world
where wringer washers are the common place and big fancy cars are almost
nonexistent.
In keeping with my customary timing I visited the land of milk and honey in
their winter. Fully equipped for a south seas holiday, sandals, swim suit,
cotton skirts, etc.; I immediately froze to the landing ramp at Auckland
International. Rain was pelting down and small puffs of steam were visible
from everyones mouth. No matter, I thought, everything will warm up as soon
as my friend gets me to her house.
Lesson One...Kiwi's (as the New Zealander calls himself) don't feel the need
to heat their homes.
"It's not cold", Ann said, as her pale blue hands
started the water for tea. "Yes, I suppose your right," I lied, " just getting
in from Hawaii has made me unused to the climate."
As we sat at the kitchen table, our breath could be seen. "Look," I said,
like a small child, puffing steam from my mouth. "Well, it is a bit cold, I
suppose," she said, with no move to turn on the heater.
"Would you like a hot bath after your trip?" I visualized getting wet and
standing in the cold trying to dry the ice off my body. "That's all right, I
had one in Hawaii," I lied again.
What I did want was a nap, after thirty-three hours with no sleep I was
beginning to feel like a giant blue zombie. The thought of climbing between
two clammy cold sheets snapped me to alertness.
"The electric blanket should be hot by now " said Ann with a knowing smile.
Lesson Two...Kiwi's are not as cold blooded as first imagined.
But my first
cultural shock came when I lay down. The warmth from the blanket was coming
from beneath me, not from over me. Well, I said to myself, at the bottom of
the world where else would you put an electric blanket?
Sleep overcame my amusement. I awoke shortly before dinner to aromas of
roast lamb. After donning all the warm clothing I could find, I joined the
family for a typical New Zealand Sunday dinner. Roast lamb, Kumeras' (sweet
potato) roasted potatoes, vegies (vegetables), fresh bread and milk.
Nine year old Shawn sat beside me, in his short-panted school uniform asking
questions about America. "Does everyone really carry guns? Is Disneyland
the capitol," (and other provocative statements, that left us all in tears of
laughter).
As Shawn watched me eat, I noticed a funny smile creep across his face. "Do
you all eat like that?" he said. "Like what?" I answered. "You do so much
with your fork and knife before you put food in your mouth."
I glanced around at the rest of the family, forks in the left hand, knives in
the right, busily pushing food onto their forks with their knives. I thought
for a moment, then cut a piece of meat, placed the knife on the plate,
changed fork into right hand and poked my meat. "Yes, I guess we do. Your
way does seem more practical." I said.
Lesson Three...When in Rome, or some such thing.
The next day I was to embark on a bigger battle than the knife and fork
episode. Renting a car to drive around the country. The Hertz rental agents
first question, "Have you ever driven on the left side of the road?" was
answered with a nervous giggle. "No, actually not, but I'm a quick learner,"
I reassured him. "Have you ever driven a stick shift?" he slowly asked.
Indignantly I told him, "Of course."
Knowing I was about to do alien things with my mind and body, still didn't
prepare me for the adventure ahead. Steering wheel on right, shift on left,
turn signals on right. Your mind doesn't immediately accept the left hand
doing the work and going through the shifting pattern made me very uneasy.
"Now," said the man, "Your ready for traffic," (that's what he thinks).
"Always remember to look to your right, not left, mind the roundabouts and
stay to your left." "Oh," I said, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands, "I
shouldn't have too many problems."
Switch on, left hand push into first gear, remove hand break, look to right,
proceed into street, drop cigarette on floor, PANIC. Look left, no one
coming, dart across street (Honk-Honk) "what did I do?" I yelled. Pull into
nearest open space, throw open door to find burning cigarette has put hole in
mat, discard cigarette. Take off coat, roll up sleeves, check moisture
dripping down various places on body.
"Self control is the answer," I said to no one in particular.
Glancing to the left, I proceeded forward, right in the path of a bus.
Inaudible words came at me through the window, as the drivers passengers
picked themselves up from the floor of the bus.
You learn or you die, is my motto for anyone learning the left hand system.
Now I constantly was looking to the right. Being a heavy smoker, through
the years I've gotten my procedure down to a smooth maneuver when driving.
Cigarette in left hand, shift in right, window to left for flicking ashes.
Lesson Four...When driving in left handed nations, smoke only on non-driving
time.
My passenger seat was strewn with cigarette residue, and the knuckles
on my right hand were red from hitting the door when trying to shift.
Onto Queen Street, main business district in Auckland. Keeping a car ahead
of me at all times proved to keep me on the proper side of the road, but my
first roundabout was almost my demise. Give Way! the sign said, but which
direction were they coming from, I thought. I didn't get a chance to figure
it out because of the pile up behind me. I lurched to the left, went round
the circle, emerged on the opposite side and thought I'd done quite well.
Only the car coming straight towards me told me I was wrong. Honking and
with an obscene gesture, the man and auto swerved past me. I jumped back to
the left, bringing 3 cars behind me to a screeching halt. "Keep the white
and yellow lines to your right," I said aloud, to reinforce the fact to my
numbed brain. Unfortunately Kiwis drive side by side on one lane roads, and
the lane next to the lines is used for passing. Their cars, for the most
part are so small, they can get away with it.
Lesson Five...Keep to the curb.
Only problem with lesson five is that Kiwis
double park wherever they need to stop., They just stop, get out, and there
sits their car.
Lesson Six....Drive like a Kiwi.
Put it in gear and God forbid anyone that
gets in your way.
Tea time in New Zealand is a treat for travelers.
You not only get a pot of tea, or coffee, but fresh (un-sugared) whipped
cream, and a sweet. This is where the dieters fall away. Sweets come in many
shapes, sticky buns with cream and jam, hot rolls with cinnamon and raisins,
dainty cakes of assorted varieties, and sweet cream butter. (My quick step
finally has become a cream and milk sloshing plod, "I'll never see size 10
again).
How to see New Zealand in the winter and live to tell about it, would make
interesting reading. How to see it on $10 to $15 a day was what I read.
Lesson Seven...Those books are written for summer visitors.
Most motels that come in the $10 range don't have a heating system, save for one space heater
in the ceiling, as I found with my first motel.
Being the pampered American that I am, warmth is a necessity. Mornings would
find me beating my chest like Tarzan to kick start the frozen heart valve.
And, if you've never put on solidified liquid makeup, you have not lived.
The only warm part of the motel was the bathroom after a shower. All
steamy and warm, you reach for your towel and find it hasn't dried from the
previous morning, and smells like under the sink after 6 months with a leaky
faucet.
My first flat (apartment) was over the allotted $10 a day, but it commanded a
view of the city and harbor that was unequaled. And it had one rare
commodity, a giant electric portable heater that warmed the entire unit.
Fresh milk and the morning paper were delivered (free) to the door every
morning, and I decided I'd finally found a little paradise inside paradise.
There is a sense of "coming home" after only a short time in Kiwi land. You
enter a world where people have learned to relax, and live with life not
against the flow of time. The marvelous people and the time tunnel feeling
of 20 years reversed is enough to make a person want to give it all up and
stay here forever.
Ask me if I'll come back. Yes, in Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall. For all
the strange and different things, it's a fantastic land, and if they can run
around in the middle of winter in short pants and sandals, so can I.
