A Day in the Life

It happened like this.  A week ago, I anticipated that I would write a retrospective post about the last day of the program in which I would ceremonially go through the last time I did each thing.  Yes, I would have gazed down at the waters of Auckland harbor knowing I was seeing them a final time.  Indeed, I would have given the bus driver a particularly emphatic “Cheers!” when he dropped me off a final time on Symonds Street.  But it did not go like this.  Rushing to meet with Tongan speakers and finish two final papers, I found that there was no time for ceremony.  Suddenly, my host mom has dropped me off, and all the last times had already passed.

Therefore, forgive me the pathos of my narrative as I go through my normal day in Auckland, knowing that it was not all that normal, and will not come again.

First, I wake up.  My Vodafone phone has a frustratingly cute alarm.  Though it is only 7:30 in the morning, everyone in my homestay family—mom, dad, brother, sister, and fellow exchange student Josh—has already left for the day.  Only Lizzy, the loving dog with two broken tendons in her hind legs, remains.



I am never truly clean until I have washed with the fish sponge.

I shower and eat breakfast, which is either Weetbix cereal or toast.  I can never decide what to put on my toast, so I make two slices and cover half of each with a different topping.  That way, I can have Vegemite and butter, lemon curd, lime marmalade, and Nutella all in one go.  Then put Lizzy outside, lock the door, and run to catch the bus downtown.

 

I get off exactly here, on Symonds Street.

Here we are, walking along Symonds Street toward the Human Sciences Building.

Depending on the day, I’ll either go to the student commons to work (preferably in the bean bag chairs), to the library to check out books, to Maori class, or to anthro class. 

A favorite study spot of mine, near the library.  The bush is so big that no one can see you unless you approach from a certain angle.

A statue by the library.  I don't know what he means.  He has no label.  He only is.

 

 

In any case, before class, some of us usually meet up to eat lunch at a food court.  Which sounds dull, but is actually delicious, as you can pretty much sample any Asian country and then some.  It is a little dull, however, when I pack my own lunch to save money.  I make a mean ham sandwich, but sometimes the omelet rice beckons.

This food court is in the Metro Center.  It felt like space.

 

Getting back to campus involves some walking around, so we usually end up seeing a decent bit of the city every day.

Albert Park, the liminal space, if you will, between the main commercial streets and campus.  We pass through it probably daily.

Victoria and Queen Street, one of the main intersections.  Go one down to Wellesley Street, and you hit the busiest intersection probably in New Zealand.

The famous Sky Tower.  Just wait till you read my paper, in which I deconstruct the Sky Tower as, paradoxically, both symbol of Auckland identity and epicenter of outsiderness.  Anthropology aww yeah.

 
As not a city person, I am still made uncomfortable by beautiful public structures. The park, the sculpture, the nice benches—I can tell they were all designed to be used and enjoyed. But I can’t get over the feeling that I don’t deserve to use them, or look at them, or walk among them. “How nice of them,” I think. “I better not ruin it.”
 

I mean, really now, even the bank building has waterfalls.

After whatever class, the ling kids head back to the student commons to brainstorm questions to ask our Tongan speakers.  Elicitation with them is 5:30 to 7:30 every night (for about two weeks).  This means that I miss dinner with my homestay family, which is sad, because they’re awesome.  Working with the Tongan speakers is quite fun, and we get to hear another Polynesian language besides Māori.  It, too, has its quirks.  As we transcribe the “Pear Story” we learn that the word for “pear,” [pea], is the same as the word for “and then.”  Any given sentence has at least one of these.

A pigeon casually strolling between computers in the student commons.  Most large indoor spaces in the city have at least one bird flying around.

If you ever wonder what linguistic fieldwork is like, here's a little bit.  I had to take this picture because I was writing on the board, and thus nothing recorded in my notes.

 

After elicitation, I head home on the bus.  I reheat my dinner and read New Zealand poets until bedtime.  This habit turned out to be useful once I convinced my anthro teacher to let me write my final paper about nature, belonging, and postcolonialism, in New Zealand Poetry.  (I recommend Fleur Adcock and Hone Tuwhare, though they virtually do not exist in the US.)

Now, if it’s not a weekday, my host family is usually up to something.  Meaning hiking, biking, swimming, or “adventure racing.”  If we’re not busy, Josh and I go along.  My first weekend with them, we went to Karekare, a black-sand beach on the west coast, then mountain biking the next day on the Coromandel Peninsula, on the east coast, and then for a swim in Miranda hot pools on the way back.  I don’t think my family has done that much for outings in a year.
 

Karekare.  One of those moments where I think to myself, "Wait, this actually exists?  Like, that's right over there, actually being there?  And I'm here, too?"

A nīkau palm, New Zealand's only native palm species.

See, me, I told you I was there!

Josh, the Japanese exchange student also with my host family.  I had to take this photo on the sly, as he wouldn't let me take a picture of him otherwise.  Even though he's apparently an amateur model.  Maybe my camera skills are not worthy of his face.  Who knows.  I promise, though, he's super duper friendly.



"Foolish Minnesotan, had you gotten the idea that you could stand taller than me?" --the Earth

And then, in a blur of three all-nighters (or near-all-nighters), my time on the North Island had come to a close.  Join me soon for the South Island sequel!