Tämä Maa Persikka

Having traveled from Minnesota to New Zealand, I am unfittingly reminded of a saying from Finland.  Oma maa mansikka, muu maa mustikka, or, “Own land strawberry, other land blueberry.”  Both fruits, of course, are sweet, but differently so: the strawberry rich yet simple, the blueberry tart yet refreshing.  Wandering around Auckland, I am tempted to add a third section: tämä maa persikka, or, “this land peach.”  It swells before my eyes: this tangy, dripping flesh.

I’m used to the phrase “It’s a beautiful city,” but I’m not used to believing it.  If I do, I think about architectural beauty: the skyways of Minneapolis, the lights of night-time San Francisco, or the morning fog hanging postapocalyptically between the high-rises of Manhattan.  Organic beauty seems to either retreat or to assimilate to the architectural.  Thus, the rectangular park, the tree-lined street.  Here, though, nature exists either in harmony or in a lively, playful tussle with the man-made.  Outside my window are thirty-story apartment buildings, but my view is somewhat blocked by a purple-flowered tree.  Off Karangahape Road, which apparently serves as the red-light district, is a road where the tree branches reach up from either side and nearly touch.  The topography is stubborn, with long, steep hills we all complain about having to trek on our way to campus.

Auckland is at least as diverse linguistically as it is botanically.  Besides English, I have seen things written in Maori, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, Hindi, Turkish, Japanese, Spanish, Thai, Malay, and Khmer.  Admittedly, some of these were in restaurants, but then that just speaks to culinary diversity.  My friends and I peek into restaurants as we would take in a scenic vista.  The nigiri lined up like candies, the steaming kebabs with multiple sauces, the Korean pancakes and Indian curries.  Except, when viewing a landscape, I can’t tell how exactly to interact with it meaningfully.  Take a picture?  Climb the mountain?  Frolic in the grass?  With food, one can achieve a consummate communion.  (Not that I’m opposed to frolicking, mind you.)

All the variety comes without significant culture shock (the blueberry’s bite).  I kind of wish there were more.  English is the official language, and the biggest language barrier we came across was when Abby paid with a debit card and the cashier asked, “Pen or signature?”  We had a baffled exchange, wondering what the difference was, until we realized she was saying “PIN or signature.”  Those wacky Kiwis, man.  I’m still trying to piece together what defines New Zealand culture rather than just “multiculturalism.”  The native Maori culture has been largely displaced.  Maybe modern New Zealand is the lamb burger you can get from the McDonald’s here and the pineapple-cream cheese sushi from Bentto.

Shifting so suddenly from winter home life to long, warm days in a new place has a certain anxiety to it.  I feel like any sunlit moment spent inside is waste.  Look, the earth is benevolent and welcoming, so how dare I spurn it?  The weeks to come will involve many hours of reading, and while I can do some in the park or courtyard, sometimes I need my bed, covers, and a cup of corn tea.  And then there’s typing everything up.  I have to ask myself, “What do I really enjoy?”  I enjoy falling asleep with the sun in my eyes, and poetry, and eating…yeah, eating.  Also watching foliage and, oh hey, walking up hills.  Though there’s an urge to take advantage of everything specific to this place, I know that’s not possible.  Am I having an enjoyable experience?  Well, yes.  Hell yes.  I’ll leave it at that for now and wait for developments.