Today marks the end of my second week in the Year of the Kiwi–an international/dual-cultural phenomenon locals are calling “What?” and “That’s not real”– and what a week it has been, amiright?
This installment sees our heroine (me) nab a job at a beachfront cafe due completely to the fact that my new flatmate might be the reigning mob boss of northern New Zealand. [ED. NOTE: This claim is unsubstantiated by science at present…] Copious fish&chips™ have been eaten, the term ‘jay-walking’ has been chopped from my vocabulary, cute Kiwi boys have been smooched. I even took part in a thrilling escapade to convince the landlord a cat does not live here! MY!
Things weren’t all sheep and hobbits, though; this week has been chock-a-block with paperwork, applications and, in general, ADMIN. I also remain in a Mexican standoff with the Auckland transit system which will not allow me to be on time (or even on the right bus.) Satisfying progress on the flat’s 3rd jigsaw puzzle and the
ridiculous soothing sounds of 95bFM radio’s Freak the Sheep and Amelia Discrete are the only cure.
#Live, Laugh, Louvre, my friends! Xoxo, Em-the-Phlegm
If you haven’t read Week 1, you can catch up here.
It’s been exactly 1 week since I landed in New Zealand; ONE. WEEK. since I walked off my third plane in 29 hours straight onto tarmac, on through to the waiting Sky Bus that took me into Auckland City. I refuse to utter a judgement yet on life below the equator– after all, the key to Kiwi living may turn out to be a devotion to 007-like secrecy (too early to say, its all very hush-hush down here)– but I CAN say that I am alive and kicking!
So far I have seen morning joggers run barefoot, eaten at a farmer’s market and a night market (one has vegetables, one has noodles), gotten caught in more rainstorms than I can count, taken the wrong bus, worked a trial shift at a hip cafe (only to spill orange juice all over a table, still waiting to hear back on that career opportunity…) and attended a 4-year-old’s dino-themed birthday party.
People are friendly as all get-out, and in fact I have developed a method of pretending I am getting a phone call which I must take outside if I’ve walked into a shop that I don’t actually want to buy anything from.
I move into my flat on Friday, which I hear has a lemon tree in the backyard, so stay tuned for chapter 2, pleebs!
Love always, your International Gal of Mystery
**Oh, they say “Sweet as, bro,” a lot.