Reflections on New Zealand

Leaving New Zealand has caused me to reflect on it and -as is so often the case- with distance comes clarity. 

New Zealand possesses a quiet that most of the world seems to have lost.  Maybe that’s why so many of us are drawn there: we’re seeking what our home countries lack and at the same time what we still know instinctively to be a part of the human experience.  We live prescribed lives; we wake up, eat a rushed breakfast, go to work, share a few quick conversations with our colleagues throughout the day, then go home exhausted and without enough time to spend with the people we love; we repeat it all the next day.  The treadmill is speeding up more and more and yet some voice inside tells us this doesn’t have to be THE WAY.  So one day we buy a ticket, pack our bags, and GO. 

At least that’s what I decided to do one year ago. 

Leaving Auckland aside for the purpose of romantic license, New Zealand is a peaceful, serene land that remains unjaded in comparison to other popular tourist spots like Hawaii or Bali.  This makes it the perfect training ground for people finding their way.  Safe, cruisy, and open minded, New Zealand offers young travelers the opportunity to get to know themselves in a rather unstressed fashion.  There’s not so much pressure to make a lot of Money (unless of course the traveler puts that pressure on herself) and the cost of living is low compared to other parts of the Northern Hemisphere.  Vans with mattresses in the back are tolerated and usually allowed to park on the streets (though it does become stricter in the middle of the high season when all the tourists come out) and in many places it’s still possible to set up tents without having to pay (referred to as “freedom camping” by the Department of Conservation).      

Despite the pull of the hedonistic life, many backpackers work insane hours (60 or more a week) at a mundane job such as picking kiwifruit.  They do this for a month or two and then take off to go traveling.  I preferred to work less hours and spend the down time at the beach, writing, reading, or with friends.  Occasional weekend trips sated the desire for travel and still afforded me the luxury of time to develop creative projects. Through this simple lifestyle I felt a balance that I’d wanted so badly in the States.  I can’t say that this balance isn’t possible there, only that in New Zealand I found it much easier.    

Part of this balance is most certainly due to the Kiwis themselves.  Kiwis don’t rush or get stressed in the way that many other people around the world do nowadays.  When at work they make sure to take breaks (especially on sunny days) and they always have time to chat with passer bys.  If you need a lift somewhere you can walk to a main road, stick out your thumb and there’s a good chance you’ll get a ride.  Kiwis trust.  And it’s wonderful to feel that trust as a backpacker. Whereas in other places you may be looked on with suspicion, in New Zealand you are treated with respect which makes you want to send that respect back.      

But alas, the world is constantly shifting and evolving and New Zealand is no exception.  A friend who moved there from England often said with a smile on his face: “New Zealand is 10 years behind the rest of the world.”  He’s happy to live in a place where people earn enough to get by, and still have time for barbies with their friends.  Of course the implication is that New Zealand will “catch up” with its fellow countries and I cringe to think of what that might look like.  Then again, maybe the type of people (like my English friend) who migrate there will help protect that way of life.  Or maybe those of us in other countries will decide that a slower, more balanced lifestyle is needed, and so we’ll work to consciously create the “New Zealand experience” wherever we are.  

Rocky Road

Two weeks ago I moved from New Zealand to Argentina which is a little like moving from Vermont to Harlem.  If New Zealand is vanilla, then Argentina is definitely rocky road, make that the rockiest, most cracked, beaten down road you’ve ever driven on.  And yet something about this new road attracts me.  I love the grit, the noise, and the mess.  Even the sidewalks littered with dog poop don’t discourage me.  Everything here carries a certain energy- dogs barking and cars screeching down the street, people shouting salutations and stopping in the middle of a busy crosswalk to hug and kiss hello, all these cultural nuances awake in me some deep inner passion. 

The decision to come to Argentina was a sudden one.   One month ago my close friend (and roommate), Georgi, received a phone call in the middle of the night that her mother had died.  Totally unexpected, it is every backpacker’s worst fear: to lose your parent without warning and while on the other side of the planet.  Within 14 hours Georgi was boarding a plane to Buenos Aires from Auckland and a week later I was doing the same.  There I was flying over ‘Los Andes’ to join my friend, thinking how quickly reality can change.

Reality in Argentina is difficult, as Georgi cautioned me it would be.  The economy is struggling and the government is mistrusted at best and despised at worst.  Inflation may be a plus for U.S. or European shoppers who come to Buenos Aires for a quick trip, but for Argentines it means paying $15 pesos for a coffee at a café or $150 pesos for general admission to a football game.  Imagine the same amount in dollars and you can see why people are angry.   Inflation is beyond frustrating for the locals, it seems to have dampened their spirit.  The middle class (with whom I’ve mostly mingled) can’t travel as they used to or take classes for the fun of it.  As for the poor, I see many homeless walking the streets with carts full of odds and ends.  Second-hand shops don’t seem to exist in Argentina.  They don’t need to.  Just put a bag of old clothes out in front of your door and someone will soon come and rummage through it.

Most Argentines will mention lack of trust as a defining characteristic of Buenos Aires.  One need only spend a day in a neighborhood to see this manifested in various forms.  People don’t smile at you if you pass them in the street.  Nearly every house is surrounded by an iron fence and boasts a guard dog in the yard.  Front doors are typically closed and locked.  Shoppers need to be buzzed into the local stores by the owner.  Despite this apparent mistrust, I’ve met many people who gave me a contact for a job or passed on to me the number of a friend who could help find a good Spanish class.  So this mistrust seems to melt away once you’re with a friend of a friend or the cousin of so and so.

From an outsider’s perspective, a more noticeable characteristic is the color of life here.  So far I’ve met people who love to talk (passionately and about almost any subject), people who love their food (especially meat!), people who love to read (they sell copies of Orwell’s Animal Farm on the subway), people who are educated (they know where Boston is!)  and people who are self aware (psychoanalysis is very common here).  The colors the Argentines paint with are bold and bright and maybe that’s why it’s so easy for them to recognize the contrast in the grey of how their society is run.

Argentina has many lessons to teach, especially to a girl who lived 26 years in a prosperous corner of the United States and lived the past year in New Zealand, a country whose wealth and culture isn’t so far from that of the States.  I hope you’ll join me on this journey, as I discover a new path in a world where the roads aren’t always well-marked and often end just as quickly as they began.  I’ll do my best to include observations and insights that will interest you the reader and together we’ll share the ride.   

Happy Reading!