Suntans, Surf and Skymall
Dave Says:
I have a suntan. I also haven’t shaved for nearly two weeks. Both feel good although the former didn’t feel quite so good at first and the latter is starting to itch so probably won’t feel quite so good for much longer. We leave tomorrow. No doubt my skin is looking forward to that more than the rest of my body. I can hear and see the surf from our little caravan situated in the garden of the hostel we’re staying at in Opotiki. Our friends from Seattle, Kurt and Lisa have joined us. They are on the start of a seven month sabbatical in NZ and coincidences in this small world being what they insist on being, we were able to meet up and enjoy a few days together. They are settling in well to their new adventure and I have stopped baby-sitting them. They didn’t really need me to do that but I can’t help myself. I’m always meddling in other people’s ability to think for themselves.
I think K&L are quite bonkers. I think they think the same. Currently, in a dog pound in the quarantined section of Auckland sits not only their Australian Sheppard, Ransom but their rather aging mixed-meat kitty cat Gracie. In just a few days Scooby Doo will come to life when their little Toyota Town-Ace van becomes the Mystery Machine and Kurt (Shaggy), Lisa (Daphine), Ransom (Scooby) and Gracie (Thelma) head around the North Island to be those meddling kids. Hannah Barbera always implied that Scooby was perfectly house trained, could probably use a bidet and prefers Charmain softness to toilet paper made from a recycled paper product. K&L have to find somewhere in the van to put a litter tray and Gracie has to learn to poop at 100km/h on winding country roads. She’ll have a month in which to master this new skill before they settle in Nelson but in the meantime all four of them will be living out of and sleeping in the van/litter tray. Much hilarity is sure to ensue.
In my last piece I bemoaned the fine sport of surfing. Today I sea-kayaked which is somewhat like surfing only more comfortable. One sits in a special kayak and paddles out through the surf to the quieter waters. Turn the thing around, paddle hard and ride the wave all the way to a shuddering halt on the sand. It’s terrific fun but mainly because little effort is really involved and sitting in the calm waters is reminiscent of taking to a rowboat on a lake whilst sipping a fine chardonnay. I did tip over a few times though so best not take out the fine crystal.
New Zealand sounds idyllic I know, but it is not without its cultural struggles. As you may know, the semi-native Maori have done better than most indigenous peoples in wresting equality and some semblance of their culture back from The Crown. Pocket battles still rage however, especially in the renaming of towns from the anglicized versions given to them in the late 1800’s. In Maori, most towns that have a “W” in their name are spelled with a “Wh” and pronounced “fha”. Apparently the Victorians had a problem with this and either took the “h” away or stubbornly refused to change their pronunciation from a hard “W”. All this useless information only serves to make the following anecdote barely understandable and whether it is at all amusing remains to be seen:
So, there we were, in the car, tuning into the local (they are all local) radio station when the news report broke into the somewhat sporadic music selection to announce that the town council of W(h)anga-something-or-other had just reached a long awaited and long fought for decision on the correct cultural spelling of their town.
[Cut to news reader]:
“John Smith, chairman of the town council said this was the hard decision he has ever had to make.”
[Cut to field recording of John Smith, chairman of the town council]:
“This was the hardest decision I have ever had to make.”
[Cut back to news reader]
And the verdict? They have decided that the town of W(h)anga-something-or-other can be officially spelled Wanga-something-or-other or Whanga-something-or-other.
This story illustrates two main facets of global travel. Firstly, cultural imperialism is hard to quash. Because the British got their far reaching fingers on these small islands first means the British trait of reiterating the bloody obvious only to come to a decision that placates everybody and pleases nobody instead of leaving the status quo that at least pleased somebody, prevailed. We should, however, be content with that minor quibble for when America’s cultural empire crumbles the world will be left only with a global obesity of bad food, guns, violence and reality television.
Oh yes – the second facet of global travel – local news stories are hard to transcribe into blog entries without boring your reader.
For me there is one travel event that says “I’m heading home” and that’s the reading of the Skymall catalog. I just finished my last perusal for a while as we jet back to Jet City. Could I resist the urge to purchase a palm reading device that promoted itself as “the latest in ancient technology”, a team logo’d football helmet for my dog and any number of devices that would secretly record my business meetings via video enabled sunglasses, pens and paperweights? (Question: does anyone still use a paperweight – when was the last time someone in your office opened a window and your carefully arranged stack of memorandums took flight from a freak gust of wind?) Skymall represents America in all its gory glory. The excess, the commercialism, the innovation, the snake-oil, the entrepreneurial drive and the utter uselessness of most things in our life. When I travel, if people should ask me what America is really like I say it’s just like you see in the movies and every stereotype you hear about is true. If you stop to consider the breadth of the American movie experience from indie flicks to major productions and the range of every American you know from cab drivers to gun-toting freaks you realize that America is a stylized, hyper-realized pastiche of itself and everything it exports in its popular culture is true. New Zealand is not that. It is many things but not as many things. It is neither better nor worse, just different. I will tire of America one day and when I do, I’ll live somewhere else and that’s when I’ll stop reading the Skymall catalog.
There you have it. Another 10,000 miles flown and several thousand biased words written on the world in general. Thanks for flying with us – we realize you have a choice and we appreciated your patronage but please remember that your nearest emergency exit may be behind you.