A shameless rip-off, I realise, of Gertrude Stein, but occasionally it hits me that, well, I’m actually in New Zealand. This, I do understand, might seem a slightly odd remark, but hear me out.
Auckland by night
I spent ten years, give or take a month or two, living in Japan. And when I was there, I was struck, pretty much daily, by how terribly foreign the place was. Every time I looked out of my front door, whenever I walked to the shops, certainly any time I went down the pub, I couldn’t escape the terribly foreign nature of the place (and yes, it was the place that was foreign; I’m not foreign, I’m British).
From Japan I moved to Florida. Once again, but for very different reasons, I was acutely aware, on a daily basis, that I was in a foreign land. And anyone who thinks that American and England are in any way similar hasn’t spent eight years living in Florida, where, as soon as you leave the Greater DisneyWorld area, you start hearing the banjos playing and towns have half a dozen surnames, and fewer teeth, among the entire population. It might not have been a good thing, but it was, nevertheless, a thing, a way of knowing that I was abroad.
And then I came to New Zealand. And, three months on, I have to remind myself, occasionally, that yes, I actually am in New bloody Zealand. The reason is simple, of course — I could almost as easily be back in England.
There is, I hasten to add, as I point out to any Kiwi with whom I share this insight, no higher praise. But the reality remains that I don’t find especially much to remind me that I’m in a foreign country on a day-to-day basis. Accents, are, of course, rather different from what I was used to, many years ago when I still lived in England. Attitudes and ways of thinking frequently mirror what I’m used to. Towns and architecture look familiar.
One of the reasons, I suspect, is a lack of readily-recognisable landmarks. Yes, I know, Auckland has the Sky Tower (which I visited at the weekend and scored, I thought, some pretty decent photos), and Wellington, for reasons that escape reason or logic, has the Beehive. But there’s nothing as immediately recognisable as, let’s say, Sydney’s Opera House (and I can only imagine how many Kiwis I’ve upset with that reference). I’m even going to go so far as to say that the Auckland Harbour Bridge is — let’s be blunt here — a rather uninspiring structure, a triumph of function over majesty. Not for Auckland a Golden Gate or a Brooklyn Bridge; each city gets the bridge it deserves, and while London has Tower Bridge, Auckland has the Nippon Clip-Ons.
Part of the joy, though, of New Zealand is the comfort to be found in that very familiarity. Yes, I do feel very much, at times, as though I’ve gone back to England the long way round. But, much as I enjoyed my time in Japan, I found it in many ways to be overwhelmingly foreign, and I knew I would never, ever fit in. The same was true of the United States; for all Americans’ talk of diversity, Americans ultimately want the immigrants they’re willing to tolerate to become American. That simply wasn’t going to happen; I’m British and always will be.
And that’s fine here. In America I knew I would, I could, never be American, but I felt pressure to assimilate. Other immigrants I met, Brits included, were so enamoured of their new homes that they embraced not only America but American-ness. I was happy enough to be there, but I couldn’t let go of who I was.
And so I came to New Zealand. I know — and I’m perfectly happy with the idea — that I’ll never be a Kiwi. I can’t — I wasn’t born here, I didn’t grow up here, it’s not who I am. But that’s OK. New Zealanders seem perfectly happy to welcome their immigrants for what they are — I live among Kiwis, and feel welcomed by them, but I don’t feel pressure to become exactly like them. I can fit in here, but still be me.
And that’s worth an awful lot more than a bridge.
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Hi Steve,
Enjoyed your blog of your residence travels very much. Just a short comment on fitting in and yet not being one of them. I migrated from Britain to Australia in 1967 as a young, fairly well educated Brit, thinking, as much as you do now, that, while I felt most welcome, I could never be a true Aussie. In fact, it was when my daughters were born in the mid 1970′s and we travelled widely (I worked in the airline industry), my daughters and my wife on their Australian passports, me on my British one with permanent residence, I came to the realisation that this was quite stupid. I obtained my Australian passport after undergoing naturalisation and I now strongly feel that Sydney is my home, not London or Farnham. When the Wallabies play England, I shout for the Wallabies, probably more loudly than the average Australian. This is very strange as I have lived in Thailand for the last 26 years and still call Sydney home. You may probably find the same in New Zealand in the course of time, a country where I ran my best marathon time of 2.50.10 at the age of 43. Wonderful country, wonderful people.
Hi Steve, I am enjoying your writings. I just joined yahoo NZ expats. After many intense months of going through the motions, I was unable to move there to be near my daughter and her family. I’m American, but I understand exactly what you are saying. In fact, I am an ESL teacher and program manager and understand what you are talking about assimilation because I help students do that. I have been “on the road” for 10 years myself. I grew up in a family that loved international travel and live in other countries now and for the last several years and I started traveling at an early age. Britain was the first stop when I was 15, for a month. We had a wonderful time. I spent two months living there again – in Brighton – 8 years ago and again loved it. I made so many fun friends. My parents, brother, daughter, and all relatives left the home base before I did. Therefore, there is no home base to go to for holidays, for Barbeques, or just to hang out sometimes. I spent much less time in China than you did in Japan, but I lived in two cities and backpacked over 2,000 miles by myself through cities and remote areas. It was fantastic, but I stuck out like a sore thumb even in frigid temperatures and wrapped head to toe in my full-lenth down coat, scarf, and hat – the eyes gave me away. I learned I would never fit in also, and how difficult is is to give up one’s nationality – which is giving up oneself. I guess it works for some, it is the right choice, I respect their courage. Like you, I could never do it. Living overseas helped me be better at what I do because I can share this with others in my field who have no understanding of what it’s like to live in another country what those brave souls face and hopefully spread some compassion and understanding. Anyway, not to go on about me so much, but to say that I am Californian, and American, but ever since that first time I went abroad, after moving away from California and living in many other states and England and China, I am not really a Californian or American anymore by the real sense of the meanings. Meaning, if I just stayed in America, or moved back to California, I would not fit in there either, I would not be content, I would still be dreaming and exploring, which is painful because there is no one place to call “home” but rejoicing because there is so much out there to find, so many people to meet, so many other ways to learn about. I read the disappointments other people wrote about on websites about not making it in to NZ, I never thought it would happen to me. Now I have to find my next journey, my next home. Good luck in your searching! Thanks for your sharing.