For better or worse I'm nearly at the end of my stint living in this 'ere Antipode, and I thought I'd collect some of the ways trying to blend in with these kiwi-types has wrecked me and my ability to live anywhere ever again. Which... I guess is a good thing? Note this isn't one of those "Things you'll learn living...". Your experiences may differ OK? What, were you expecting me to predict your own personal development in this country? Get a grip man. 1. My vocabulary is ruinedUntil October 2016 I had spent my life referring to these items as "flip flops". And now, I unironically call them "jandals". Why? Because the dangerous lunatics who inhabit these islands call them jandals and I'm afraid that if I don't fit in I'll be shunned and ostracised. Corner shops/convenience stores are called "Dairies" despite their non-bovine-lactate-based offerings. Spellings are more or less the same as the UK but they use the word "pants" for trousers and pronounce "data" to rhyme with "barter". The word "lots" is almost unheard of in favour of "heaps", and nothing is ever "good" when it can be "sweet as". And you know what? I'm part of it now. I say heaps. I say "wee" instead of "small". I say "EFTPOS" when I mean paying by card. I say "kiwifruit" because I'm aware that this is one of the only countries where distinction is necessary between a bird, a fruit, and a man wearing "jandals". I'm part of it and I'm scared that it won't easily be undone. But I do take solace in one thing: jandal or not, at least we can join together to laugh at the Aussies that call them "thongs". 2. I think I'm a coffee snobBack in my now legendary list of five ways New Zealand is better than the UK I mentioned that I'm by no means an expert on coffee, and I was perfectly happy with a tepid artificially sweetened milk drink flavoured with hazelnut. Well shame on me because I think I've been permanently infected. It's happened: I'm a coffee snob. I went to get a drink from the café next to my office a few weeks ago and offhandedly commented that their cappuccinos tasted different of-late. Turns out their supplier had changed to 'single origin' beans, hence the change in flavour. I was in shock. Admittedly I still haven't bothered learning what single origin means or how it's better, but the fact I could taste the difference so markedly left me feeling a weird mix of pride and shame, like I'd just burped the national anthem. So that's it then. I'm forever destined to wander the streets of major cities looking for self-styled 'artisan' outlets that serve coffee in a vase with gluten-free vegan savoury muffins. At least I'll be able to try growing a beard. 3. New thoughts on the UK's location, and the UK I guessUpcoming British government-lead freedom of movement trainwrecks notwithstanding, a lot of the locals dahn unda' have commented repeatedly how lucky I am that the UK is within such easy reach of so many other awesome places to visit. I'd never really appreciated that before, but coming over here and seeing that the average overseas flight costs as much as a modest three bedroom apartment does tend to put things in perspective. Of course this will come as no surprise to anyone who's read my other now world-renowned list; 5 Ways In Which The UK Is Miles Better Than This Dumb Country You Losers. With the benefit of a bit more thought I've concluded that not only have I been incredibly lucky to holiday in more than zero foreign countries from a young age, and that being able to motor throughout most of continental Europe without noticing the borders (except for the odd sign and sudden changes in pothole magnitude) is awesome, but that I should probably try and savour more of my own country as well. New Zealand is fortunate enough to have so few noteworthy towns that most people here have been to all of them at least once; while I've still got a few significant gaps in my knowledge of the British Isles. I've never been to Northern Ireland, for example, and I should because it's nearby and it looks awesome. Still I guess my limited intra-UK travels are more extensive than the average British pleb, who considers going to a KFC a bit hoity-toity. 4. My idea of a 'short drive' has been mutilatedBeing from the UK means if anything is more than 10 minutes (3.048 metric minutes) in any direction it's cause to pack a day's rations and an emergency flare. Most cities are a short stroll from each other and even then the majority of your travel time is because there are more cars on our roads than pieces of broken glass in the face of your average Friday night football hooligan. But hey: now I've lived here (and to a lesser extent I've travelled in Australia) and suddenly I don't question anymore why on your average American police procedural they just have a quick cutaway when Patrick Jane and Detective Lisbon have a short six hour hop from Sacramento to Los Angeles.
It helps that I've embraced podcasts so much, otherwise I wouldn't have made the trip to Queenstown four times already. I don't know how people used to do it.
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Author28 year old computer scientist/physicist with major depressive disorder, a need to write, and a deep-rooted mistrust of beetroot. Categories
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February 2018
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